What does he know???
Beverley shouted, “He’s a bloody animal, he’s rotten through and through, you should be shamed to be ’is brothers.”
Seth said, “Blood’s thicker than lasses.”
And he and his brother walked out.
Blood’s thicker than lasses?
What does that mean?
Flossie said, “Why that Seth boy, he’s gorgeous, isn’t he?”
As we surged out of the pub, everyone was chattering. Bob said, “That Honey is a diamond.”
It was a clear dark night outside and you could see Grimbottom looming. There was shouting and commotion all over the village and torches flickering everywhere.
Flossie said, “I bet Cain will be back with Fang. Probably having a nourishing Cup-a-Soup.”
Will he though?
I shivered. Perhaps he was looking at us even now.
From his black lair.
In his black coat.
As we hovered outside The Blind Pig, inside Mr. Barraclough said loudly into his microphone, “Ladies and gentlespoons, now that the students have finished entertaining us with their lovely version of Twits in Tights, it’s time for a reight good singsong—may I introduce to you … The Iron Pies!” And a loud crashing started. “Pies! Pies, I’m gonna …”
Bob was packing stuff into his Bobmobile, but he stopped and said, “Dudes, that is awesome. That is Iron Butterfly reborn.” And went back into the pub.
We didn’t know what to do after all the excitement.
Flossie said, “Wow, oooh, we get to stay at Dother Hall.”
Vaisey said, “I wish I could tell Jack—I thought he might be here.”
Jo was chucking sticks around. “When is Phil going to come? Eh? When, when, when? Wheny, when, when???”
Ruby has given us crisps and lemonade so we thought we’d go to the barn and see the owlets before we leave for half term. We crunched down the back path to the barn.
It was nice to get into the warm. The hay and straw kept it snug.
As we sat eating our crisps, I said to Flossie, “You know when you—well—what did you talk to Seth about?”
Flossie looked serious. “Oh, the usual, world peace, the Euro.”
Vaisey said, “Really?”
And Flossie said, “No. We said ‘hello’ and then he snogged me.”
We all went, “Ooooooohhhhhh.”
I thought Vaisey’s eyes were going to fall out. She said, “What was it like?”
And Flossie considered. “Quite nice actually. He’s a bit too pokey with his tongue but he improved.”
I said aloud accidentally, “Oh yeah, I know what you mean, the tongue thing is tricky, it can be a bit too much like bat boy and not enough like Ca—”
Jumping Jehosophat, I’d nearly said Cain!!!!
At which point, praise be to Our Lady, a miracle happened. Out of the hay burst the Woolfe boys.
First Jack and Ben then behind them Charlie … and Phil!
Jo flew off her hay bale and leapt into Phil’s arms and they both fell back into the hay. Laughing. And kissing. And fighting. Just like the old days.
It was great to see the boys again. And my little mates, Vaisey and Jo, were so happy. Jo was sitting on Phil’s knee, nuzzling his neck and he had his arms around her. He said to her, “Hello, trouble, I’m back!!!” And then they snogged in front of us.
Vaisey and Jack did a lot of big smiling at each other and Flossie fluttered her eyelashes at Ben, saying in her Southern accent, “Why, hello, young fella.”
Oh no, she’s doing Honey’s hypnotic eyes as well. He is putty in her hands, poor thing.
Charlie came and sat next to me.
“Hello, missus.”
I said a bit shyly, “Hello.”
Charlie smiled and said, “Done any more owl work?”
I smiled back. “No, but I’ve just been Bottom in mouse’s ears and I still managed to do some Irish donkey dancing and mushy knees.”
Charlie said, “Praise the knees.”
I like Charlie a lot. And I sort of even like him because he told me the truth about his girlfriend. And I think it’s nice to know the truth, even if it is a bit painful sometimes. I told him about the money from Honey’s agent, and he told me about Phil coming back to Woolfe Academy and how the headmaster had made him stand in front of the whole school.
Charlie said, “Yep, Hoppy said he’d let his family down, his school down, but most of all he’d let himself down.”
I said, “Was Phil upset?”
Charlie said, “Oh yes, indeed. So he set up a gambling club in the dorm.”
As the boys were leaving, Charlie said to me quietly, “Lullah, I’ve thought a lot about you being so worried that you weren’t pretty enough or a good enough kisser, and it really upset me. You’re top, Tallulah, and don’t let anyone tell you any different.”
And he gave me a hug.
Then he kissed my cheek.
Then he kissed the other cheek. Then …
Phil shouted, “Come on, Charlie, put her down.”
Charlie said, “See you next term, gorgeous.”
In my squirrel room, on the last night before I leave for Cousin Georgia’s for half term. Wow. Just when you think nothing will ever happen, everything happens at once. I’ll just add all this to my diary …
There was a thud at my window.
I crept over and looked down. I couldn’t see anyone there.
I opened my window and looked out.
Then from the dark, a voice said softly, “Ay up, Southern lass—av I woken thee up? I bet I av. I’ve left summat for thee.”
I whispered, “What’s that?”
But there was no reply.
I pulled my dressing gown on and crept downstairs quietly, trying not to make the wooden stairs creak. It was pitch-black but I felt around and found Dibdobs’s emergency torch by the door. In its knitted torch-holder.
I unlatched the door and crept out in my slippers. The wind was moaning amongst the trees. I pulled my dressing gown tight around me against the bitter cold. The beam of the torch made a pool of light before me.
I went down the side path to just under my window and flashed my torch about. The beam illuminated a knife, stuck into a tree trunk.
Ooooh. This was creepy.
I said, “Cain, Cain, stop this now, it’s not funny.”
But there was no reply.
I went and looked at the knife. It was stuck through an envelope.
Back in my squirrel bed, with the owls hooting and the wind rattling the windowpane, I opened the envelope.
There, in thick untidy writing, it read:
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
Underneath in barely legible handwriting it said:
I know tha likes this sort of thing.
See thee later.
On the train home to Georgia’s, I thought, this time I’ve got something to tell her and the Ace Gang.
I’ve done nose-licking and other dark things … Things that I will never tell another soul about as long as I live.
But I’m not going to think about the bad things, because from now on I will only go for the good.
Like Charlie calling me gorgeous.
And a naturally cracking kisser.
And saying that I was lovely.
Perhaps I just dreamed the dark bits? Perhaps they never really happened.
As the train pulled away from the station, a dark-coated figure was standing by the Skipley Home of the West Riding Botty sign.
He turned and winked to me as my carriage passed.
It was Cain.
Tallulah’s glossary
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.
Borstal
Is a place for very bad yoof. Like a young person’s prison. Woolfe Academy is sort of like Borstal, only the yoof (mostly Charlie, Jack, and Phil) are allowed out now and again to go on cross-country hops.
The hope is that this will make them stop being naughty and get a job in a bank.
This is the hope.
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.
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.
corker holders
Something to hold the corkers pert and not too jiggly.
A bra.
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.
Mrs. Rochester was Mr. Rochester’s secret wife in Jane Eyre that he kept in a cupboard upstairs. She was mad as a snake and would only wear her nightie.
In the end it all finished happily because she set fire to the house, went up on the roof for a bit of a dance about, and tripped over her nightie and fell to her death.
Leaving Mr. Rochester blind.
This is one of Em, Chazza, and Anne’s more comic novels.
gogglers
Eyes.
To goggle is to look at stuff.
If you couldn’t see anything then you would need gogs.
golden slippers of applause
Sidone, the revered and possibly mentally unstable principal of Dother Hall, has her own unique view of the world.
Especially the showbiz world.
In this world she is obsessed by feet.
So her opposite of the “golden slippers of applause” is “the bleeding feet of rejection.”
Heathcliff
The “hero” of Wuthering Heights. Although no one knows why.
He’s mean, moody, and possibly a bit on the pongy side.
Cathy loves him, though. She shows this by viciously rejecting him and marrying someone else for a laugh. Still, that is true love on the moors for you.
heavens to Betsy
An expression of astonishment like …
“Gosh!”
Or, “Crikey!”
Or, as they say in Yorkshire:
“Well, I’ll go to the top of our stairs!”
I know it makes little sense but believe me it’s best not to argue about these things with Yorkshire folk. Or they will very likely get a cob on.
hiddly diddly diddly
The sound of all Irish songs (and dances). It fits them all.
Try it.
human glue
Aaaaah, this is the mysterious thing that happens when two people kiss and there is a sort of “uuuummphhh” moment because they both like it so much. And after that, it’s like they have magnetic lips that glue themselves to each other.
I thought that Cousin Georgia had told me about it but actually I think I made it up.
Which probably makes me a genius.
Or an idiot.
laiking around
This means larking about. Or playing.
It sounds quite fun, doesn’t it?
But it isn’t.
Especially not if it is Cain, the Dark Rusty Crow of Heckmondwhite, who is laiking around.
You don’t want Cain to “laik around” with you.
Unless you like ending up sitting in the village stream in your best dress and then having to go to bed crying for two weeks.
lawks-a-mercy
“Crikey” but longer.
lollipop lady
We have ladies who help children cross roads after school. They wear yellow coats and have big sticks with a round disc on the top that says STOP! To stop the cars whilst the children cross the road.
The stick with the round stop thing looks like a lollipop.
If you normally eat six-foot lollipops.
mardy bum
“Mardy” means stroppy. Being a spoiled brat.
You know, stomping around yelling, “It’s all about me, dahling, me!!!! Shut up, everyone, I’m talking!! Look at my lovely shoes! Hurrah, it’s me again!!”
Someone who is so bad-tempered and “mardy” that even their bottom is annoyed.
Like Beverley when she found out that although she was engaged to Cain (she bought her own ring), he had two other girlfriends.
Which is why she flung herself in the river.
And ruined her dress because the river was only two inches deep.
Mummers play
Not a mummy’s play, which is what I thought at first. Because a mummy’s play would be quite dull. People all wrapped up in bandages and dead.
No, centuries ago when people didn’t have anything to do and it got dark at three in the afternoon (and that was in summer) they had to make their own “fun.”
They had loads of sheep and woad (blue dye) so Ethelred the Unready or someone said, “Lawks it is boring eth what can we do eth? I know eth lettus dye ourselves blue and go eth to ye local pub and bang people over the heads with these sheep bladders. Oh how they will eth laugh. It will be a hoot eth.”
And so we have been pretending to be them (the “mummers”) for the last 800 years.
nobbliness
I’m on firmer ground here.
Nobbly bits are usually bony bits that look, well, nobbly.
I have loads of it.
In the knee area.
Northern grit
Umph and determination. If you say to a Northern person:
“Don’t go out in that storm, you barm pot. The rain is coming down so hard you will be reduced to half your height.”
The Northerner would say:
“What rain?”
And go out in his underpants.
plectrum
Surely you know what a plectrum is? How do you pluck your guitars in America? And I know you do pluck a lot of guitars because I’ve seen old repeats of Bonanza and Dallas.
But I will explain … it’s that bit of plastic stuff that you hold in your fingers to stroke the strings so that you don’t chip your nail polish.
sjuuuge
When toddlers don’t have many teeth (or brains) they can’t say words properly. So this means “huge.”
Either that or they do know how to say “huge” and are just being annoying.
Maybe toddlers can really secretly talk from birth.
I bet they can read as well.
They are just having a laugh.
And being lazy.
snogging scale
Cousin Georgia has a snogging scale from one to ten.
She told me about it when I visited her last holidays. I think it starts with “holding hands” and goes on getting, you know, more snoggy. Until Number 10, whatever that is. I don’t really remember much after “tongues,” which I think was 5.
I must ask her to write it down for me when I next see her.
splice the mainbrace
A bit like “Swab the poop deck!”
A nautical term of astonishment.
Like “Shiver my timbers” and “Left hand down a bit.”
tannoy
You call this a public address (PA) system apparently.
Which is a very polite term for something which in Yorkshire is a lunatic shouting at you over a loudspeaker on a train.
Other Works
The (Mis)Adventures of Tallulah Casey books:
WITHERING TIGHTS
The Confessions of Georgia Nicolson books:
ANGUS, THONGS AND FULL-FRONTAL SNOGGING
ON THE BRIGHT SIDE, I’M NOW THE GIRLFRIEND OF A SEX GOD
KNOCKED OUT BY MY NUNGA-NUNGAS
DANCING IN MY NUDDY-PANTS
AWAY LAUGHING ON A FAST CAMEL
THEN HE ATE MY BOY ENTRANCERS
STARTLED BY HIS FURRY SHORTS
LOVE IS A MANY TROUSERED THING
STOP IN THE NAME OF PANTS!
ARE THESE MY BASOOMAS I SEE BEFORE ME?
Copyright
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
A Midsummer Tights Dream
Copyright © 2012 by Louise Rennison Ltd
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Library of Congress catalog card number: 2012935601
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EPub Edition © MAY 2012 ISBN 9780062114440
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