Withering Tights with Bonus Material

by Louise Rennison

We said good night quietly and everyone hugged. Then the dorm girls headed back to Dother Hall and the boys went off to Woolfe. I looked after Charlie; this was probably the last time I would ever see him. As he disappeared into the trees, he did this really nice thing.

  He blew a kiss to me.

  How lovely was that?

  I crept around the trees to get back to the road. I could see Monty and Sidone.

  Sidone was doing a little dance with her scarf and I could hear Monty saying, “Marvelous, marvelous.”

  It was a soft night and I could hear owls hooting. I wonder if it is Connie out there with her friends. I would even miss Connie. And I couldn’t bear to think of not seeing Lullah and Ruby. I must get big Ruby to send me notes and photos of them when I’ve left here.

  As I was walking along, I heard something in the trees.

  I hope it wasn’t a bat.

  A vampire bat.

  Charlie stepped out. And said, “Yoo-hoo.”

  I looked at him and smiled.

  He smiled back.

  “I thought I would walk you back to Heckmondwhite.”

  I said, “What, in case I need to walk up some stairs and fall over?”

  He said to me, “Lullah, that is a very random thing to say.”

  And I remembered that he had not been on the “date.” Which also reminded me that he had said it would have been “stupid” if he had been.

  And that’s when I thought I would show him the northern grit I’d learned whilst I’ve been here. My inner Emily Brontë.

  I said, “Charlie, why did you say it would have been ‘stupid’ to have come to the cinema if I had been going?”

  He came and stood near me and looked into my eyes.

  I said, “I might be young and immature, but I am quite, you know . . .”

  He said, “Tall?”

  I said, “Well, yes, but I’m, well, there is no need for you to be ashamed to be seen with me.”

  Charlie looked at me. “Is that what you thought I meant? That I would have been embarrassed about you?”

  I nodded.

  He stroked my hair.

  “Oh, Lullah. I am so sorry you thought that. I hate to think of you being upset. Look at your eyes in this light, they’re like cats’ eyes.”

  Was that a good thing?

  And then he kissed me.

  Softly on the mouth.

  It felt really nice.

  Then he did it again.

  He had a lovely soft mouth.

  It wasn’t like the bat thing at all.

  It was soft and melty.

  Then he did it again, and put his arms around my waist and pulled me to him.

  Oh, please, Gabriel, don’t let me faint or fall down a rabbit hole or bang my head on a branch or . . .

  Then he stopped.

  He said, “Tallulah, I can’t do this.”

  Oh no.

  I said, “I could get better at kissing, if someone would help me. . . . It’s just that I haven’t—”

  He hugged me to him.

  “Lullah, it’s nothing to do with that, it’s nothing to do with you. You mustn’t think that. And it’s not that I don’t want to. I do. But . . .”

  But what?

  He said, “I’ve got a girlfriend.”

  When I woke up, it was still dark. In my squirrel bed, I dreamt that I was up on the moors with the Brontë sisters. We were having a book club meeting and I said to Emily, “I’ve rewritten Wuthering Heights and now it has a happy ending. Heathcliff goes to dog obedience lessons with Matilda and the whole thing ends spiffingly.” Then Heathcliff came striding toward us in his white shirt and breeches, and as he gets nearer I realize it is Charlie.

  Charlie just looks at us and pours candle wax over his hands.

  How could things go so nearly right all the time? First I’m kissed by Charlie, and then he tells me he has a girlfriend.

  I suppose if it had been Cain he wouldn’t have bothered to tell me.

  It was a good job I was going home.

  But I didn’t want to go home.

  Even one of the squirrel slippers has lost its tail. I could get Harold to sew it back on if I was staying here.

  I got up and went to look out of the window. There was a low full moon, casting silver shadows amongst the trees and across the fields and moors.

  It is the big performance of Wuthering Heights tomorrow. The headmaster from Woolfe Academy is coming and some of Monty and Sidone’s “theater dahling” friends.

  I was so restless and upset. In the end I gave up trying to go back to sleep. I thought I would go and see little Lullah and little Ruby. Everyone was in bed, so I went downstairs and opened the back door quietly. And as I did, I saw Connie swooping off, so the coast was clear. I walked down the path to the barn.

  When I opened the barn door, there was someone in there holding one of the owlets. It was Lullah because I could see her legs sticking out.

  I said, “Um, hello?”

  And the figure turned round.

  Cain.

  Fondling the owls.

  He’d better not be hurting them.

  He said, “Oh, it’s you. You get around for a lanky girl wi’ nowt to her. Are you off back to your soft southern gaff?”

  I said, “You are a complete bounder!”

  He half smiled at me.

  “Bounder? Is tha doing a bloody panto at that Dither Hall?”

  I was so angry with him. Especially as I was practicing being him.

  “You know what I mean, all that rock-star stuff, and Jack. And all those poor girls . . . You pick them up and put them down like they were toy girls. And then they leap into the river. And you just don’t care, because you’re so selfish.”

  He looked at me, with his dark eyes gleaming.

  “Why ist tha blaming me? I can’t help it, tha knows.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t help it?”

  He went and sat down, moodily poking the owlets with a little stick.

  I said, “Don’t do that, poking them.”

  He said, “They like it.”

  “They don’t. Anyway, what do you mean, you can’t help it?”

  “I’m just a boy.”

  “That’s ridiculous, I might as well say I’m just a girl.”

  “Tha can say that. Tha is a girl. . . .”

  “I know that I’m a girl, thank you.”

  “Aye, let’s not get carried away . . . tha’s nearly a girl.” Suddenly I felt like I had grown into my knees. I said straight to his face, his black, hateful face, “Do you know what, Cain Hinchcliff, I hate you. It’s quite a pleasant feeling.”

  He looked at me and said, “No, you dunt really. Tha just don’t know what to mek of me. I make you feel funny.”

  I turned and stormed out of the barn.

  Wearing the golden slippers of applause

  WE ARE ALL IN the dressing room, getting ready for the show. Oh, I was so nervous. I hope I didn’t have to go to the loo again, it took ages to get out of my breeches.

  Ms. Fox gave us her pep talk before we took to the stage. It was: “Right, girls, this is it. Now then, remember what counts is this—it’s not the preparation, it’s not the costumes, it’s not even how tall you are. . . . The main thing is . . . go out there and . . . BE GOOD!”

  And that was it.

  Be good. I’ve peeked through the curtains—the whole of Dother Hall is here to watch and some friends of Sidone’s. And the headmaster of Woolfe Academy. I said to Jo, “That bloke with one leg must be the headmaster; Charlie told me about him.”

  Jo had a look. “Phil has given me a special friendship band to wear. We’re going to write, and I hope that I’ll see him, if, you know, I come back.”

  I said to her, “Of course you’ll come back.”

  And I am sure she will. I am pretty sure all of them will. Even though they all do look very odd indeed.

  Jo has devised her own costume for being thunder. It is some black trousers that are tigh
t from the ankles to the knees and then really baggy round the bottom area, like she has pooed herself. She has big black headphones on and a dustbin lid attached to her chest which she is going to bang.

  And she is loving every moment of it.

  She gave me a big hug and said, “This is going to be great. You are going to be great.”

  Flossie and Honey are tuning up for the wind-singing. Honey is covered in veils and Flossie has a yashmak and harem pants on.

  We’ve also made the set, which is Grimbottom with blasted oaks and painted waterfalls, and boulders made out of chicken wire and papier-mâché. It looks very atmospheric.

  Monty came backstage to wish us luck. Monty has his mates Biffo and Sprogsy with him, and I think they might have had a sherry because Monty is wearing a kilt and sporran. He says it is the de Courcy clan tartan and then giggled a lot.

  Just about ready to go on. Bob is cranking up the opening music. I am wearing breeches, a white shirt, and riding boots. I have got my hair scraped back into a ponytail and my eyebrows have got some eyebrow pencil on them.

  Flossie said, “You don’t need much.”

  She’s right, my eyebrows are dark enough. In fact, with my hair back, I do look like Cain. Especially if I scowl.

  Vaisey is wearing a dark wig and pale makeup. It’s so odd not seeing her red hair bouncing around and glossy like she’d eaten a tin of dog food. She is “getting into character.”

  I don’t need to get into character, I feel so mixed up and cross anyway. Seeing Cain really upset me. And I have just banged my head on the prop-cupboard door. I was looking for some more fake grass for one of the villagers to throw about.

  The curtains went up and I took a big breath.

  The performance started with Cathy and Heathcliff as children, playing on the moors.

  I walked out first onto the stage and strutted about, kicking stuff and finding my inner wildness. Then I yelled, “Dog, dog, where the bloody hell art thee?”

  And Matilda came on!!

  She was my special surprise idea. I had worked out with Ruby that if I carried her squeaky bone, she would follow me around. Also, every time I say “Hooray” she lies on her back and puts her legs in the air because of her dog obedience classes. If I want her to go off, I just chuck her squeaky bone into the wings and she scampers off after it. Milly and Tilly feed her doggie treats until it is time for her to come on again.

  I think she should definitely audition for the West End stage.

  In the first bit, Cathy and I are all happy together, apart from when we fight and squabble. And even though the weather is often very bad (Jo, Flossie, and Honey flitting and banging and singing and crashing into one another) Cathy and I enjoy just being together. And making our own fun. Because we are in love. And it makes us dance with joy.

  At the bit when I was teaching Cathy my Irish dancing there was spontaneous applause from the audience. And for the very first time I felt the slippers of applause!

  The second half was much darker. Heathcliff hears Cathy saying to a village person (Becka), “I would no more marry Heathcliff than die, he’s rough and coarse and dark.”

  And Heathcliff goes off to London, brokenhearted.

  Then Cathy is heartbroken because he is gone.

  Vaisey sings her big song:

  I woke up

  We’d broke up

  Before we could start.

  I’ll never forget you

  Because I am so . . .

  Bluuuuuueeeee

  (Ooh-oooh-oooh)

  It was amazing, we all watched from the wings.

  Monty and his mates had their handkerchiefs out and were weeping.

  THEN I come back from London. Much, much more cross than when I went. I’ve got a jacket and a scar and my mustache. And sideburns.

  The wind gathers and Cathy shivers as she sees me. I stopped in the middle of the stage. Just looking at the audience. Moodily, I paced up and down. I kicked a boulder. I didn’t flinch. Then I shouted, “DOG!” And squeaked my squeaky bone.

  And Matilda came on.

  In a leather jacket. And shades.

  It brought the house down!!

  At the end, when Cathy died and was scrabbling at my window (Tilly on a box with a window frame) I started a band and “sang” a song about her: “I know you are dead, but it doesn’t have to be the end. . . .”

  I growled it out and strutted around, like a rock star. And for the final chorus, did Irish dancing by myself, in a mean and moody way.

  I was improvising and jumping high and throwing my legs around. It made everyone really laugh. And applaud.

  Backstage, Ms. Fox gave me a slap on the back and said, “Quite amazing. The squeaky bone was a stroke of comedy genius. And your legs . . .”

  We were all high as kites afterward. And when we went back to take another bow, Sidone came onto the stage and said to the audience, “Once again, we see the magic of theater. Who would have thought we would see these little embryos fill the stage? Absolutely FILL the stage. Congratulations, congratulations, and we will see you all next term.”

  At first I thought that I had heard wrong. But it’s true. I can come back next term!! The Dream is not over!! I am coming back to Dother Hall.

  Hoorayyyy!!

  Gadzooks.

  Spiffing.

  Back in my squirrel room, I’m saying good-bye to Heck-mondwhite. I will miss my little squirrel room. In fact, I think I will ask Dibdobs if I can take my squirrel slippers home to keep me company until I come back.

  I went down into the kitchen and Dibdobs was sitting at the kitchen table with the lunatic brothers. She said, “Hellooooooo, Tallulah. Say hellllllooooo to Tallulah, boys.”

  Sam said, “Oo going seepin?”

  Aaaah.

  Dibdobs said, “Come and join us, we’ve got toothpicks and we are making alien vegetables, aren’t we, boys?”

  Sam said, “Valien bum bums.”

  Dibdobs said, “That’s a silly word, isn’t it, bum bums?”

  Max smashed his courgette down, “S’nice!”

  Sam said, “You’re a BUM BUM!!!”

  And they both started laughing madly and jabbing at each other with courgettes.

  Dibdobs was trying to be calm. “Don’t jab each other with the courgettes, boys.”

  I went for a last look around Heckmondwhite. Across the village green, I saw the bus from Skipley screech to a halt at the bus stop. Mr. Barraclough got off.

  I tucked myself back in the shadows. I don’t think I could take any more horsie jokes.

  Mr. Barraclough shouted back into the bus, “If there is any lasting damage from that bloody duck attacking my nether regions, I will be in touch, Job Earnshaw, so be said. My nether regions are my livelihood.”

  And he went limping up to The Blind Pig.

  I’m going to miss all this.

  But not for long.

  Because I have filled my Withering Tights . . . and I will return to fill them again.

  I’ve written a letter to Ruby and I’m going to give it to her to read after I’ve caught my train today.

  Dear Rubster,

  Ay up!! Just to say, look after little Lullah

  and little Ruby till we all get back. Tell them

  that we’ll take them on a mouse picnic in

  September, if there is no fog.

  I’ll really miss you but it’s not long till next term. I’ll bring you your own lipstick and Matilda a special bonio. Oh, and I forgot to tell you about Charlie and me, but I’ll tell you when I see you.

  Watch that Cain.

  See you soon, fun-sized friend.

  Love,

  Loobylullah xxx

  P.S. My corkers are definitely on the move. Toodle pip for now.

  Tallulah’s glossary

  apple catchers

  These are attractive huge pants. Pants that are big enough to collect a lot of apples in.

  Another term for this sort of commodious pant is “harvest festiva
ls” (i.e., all is safely gathered in).

  bagsie

  If you say this it means, “Oy, that is mine,” meaning “Oy, I have bagged that.” It’s probably an old poacher’s term. And believe me, there are a lot of old poachers in the North.

  barm pot

  A fruitcake. If you say, “You barm pot” it’s not like saying, “You loonie”; it’s more sort of affectionate.

  Like saying: “Oooh, you slight idiot.”

  bejesus

  This is from Hiddly Diddly land (Oireland). It’s a not-too-naughty swear. Like “Oh my word, you caught me on the knee with that hockey ball.”

  Or, gadzooks.

  Is that any help?

  No, I thought not.

  Boots

  A large drugstore chain selling mostly cosmetics.

  The Brontë sisters

  Em, Chazza, and Anne. They lived in Haworth in Yorkshire in . . . er . . . well, a while ago. And they wrote Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, and loads of other stuff about terrible weather conditions and moaning. But in a good way.

  cat’s pajamas

  When someone (like Cain for instance) thinks they are just too great for words. Like when a cat is so full of itself it shows off in its pajamas.

  OK, I’ve never really seen cats out shopping for pajamas, but they must do it sometime. Otherwise why would this be a saying?

  Grammar never lies.

  corkers

  Another word for girls’ jiggly bits.

  Also known as norkers.

  Honkers, etc.

  Cousin Georgia calls them “nunga-nungas.”

  She says because when you pull them out like an elastic band, they go nunga-nunga-nunga.

  I will be the last to know whether this is true or not.

  corkie harness

  Something to hold the corkers pert and not too jiggly.

  A bra.

  The Dane

  Hamlet.

  All actors do this. Refuse to tell you what’s going on.

  It’s like never saying “Macbeth,” and always calling it “the Scottish play.”

  If we all did this, where would we be?

  I don’t know.

  No one would know.

  Mr. Darcy (and Mrs. Rochester)

  Two characters well known for their sense of fun. Not.

  Mr. Darcy was in Pride and Prejudice and at first he was all snooty and huffy; then he fell in a lake and came out with his shirt all wet. And then we all loved him. In a swoony way.