Ruby said, “It’s still rustling about, going to rip our throats out, though, isn’t it? Make friends with it.”
I called out shakily, “We come in peace. We mean you no harm.”
Cain’s big black dog emerged with its tongue lolling. Cain calls his black dog “Dog.”
Dog saw Matilda and barked. Matilda shuffled behind Ruby and me. Dog thought she was playing a hiding game. His favorite. He barked and then rushed to one side of us. Matilda quickly toddled round the other side. But then Dog unexpectedly changed direction and he came up behind and started sniffing her bottom.
Ruby shouted into the dark moors, “Cain! I know you’re out there. Stop messing abaht and come and get yer bloody dog. It’s got its nose up Matilda’s bum!”
Oh Dear Mother of Baby Jesus.
Cain.
He was here.
What should I do?
I must be very cool with him.
Which is not going to be easy with my anorak hood up.
But nothing happened. There was no noise except the wind whistling and Dog sniffing.
Ruby shouted again, “Come on, Cain, stop messing abaht.”
But the moors were silent.
Then Dog cocked his ear as if he could hear something we couldn’t and bounded off.
It started to pelt down, and we ran and stumbled down the hill, almost blinded by the rain.
By the time we got back into The Blind Pig, the rain was thunderous, pounding on the roof like it would break through. We got dried and had our supper in the back room. The Iron Pies were still “rehearsing.” Well, shouting and banging.
We went up the two flights of stairs and snuggled into bed in Ruby’s room high up in the attic. Matilda was tucked up at the bottom of the bed and Ruby put a little nightcap on her head. She almost immediately nodded off. Oooooh, she is sweet.
She reminded me of the owlets. Not her big puggy face and snoring, just the general feeling of lovey-doveyness.
I said to Ruby, “Hey, I’m dying to see the owlets. Shall we pop down to the barn tomorrow? Cor, I bet Little Rubes and Little Lullah will be pleased as anything to see us.”
Ruby started plaiting her hair.
“They’re not there. Connie has chucked them out. They’ve flown the nest.”
I looked at her.
“Our little owlets have flown the nest? But . . .”
Ruby said, “Well, when I say ‘flown’ the nest, what I mean is they’re crashing abaht in the woods somewhere. Tha’s nivver seen such rubbish flying in your life. Little Rubes knocked herself out on the barn door the fust time she tried to get out.”
Our little owlets. Gone?
But they hadn’t even said good-bye.
Not even, “Woo-hoo, see you later.”
Ruby said, “And that Beverley Bottomly has gone on a hunger strike, and she says she won’t stop until her mum stops stalking Cain with her shotgun.”
I said, “Isn’t Beverley glad about the stalking thing? She must hate Cain after what he’s done to her. He’s awful. He dumped her twice. And he made that song up about her called “Put Your Coat On, Girl, You’re Leaving.” And the second line was “You were all right in the dark but then I put the light on.” At The Jones gig. He sang it straight at her. Everyone could see.”
Ruby said, “I know. But she LUUUUUVS him. She thinks he’s a dog wi’ a bad name.”
“He IS a dog with a bad name—that’s because he’s a bad dog.”
Ruby said, “I know. But you let Cain the bad dog lick your nose.”
Oh no, the nose-licking incident rears its head again!
As we lay in the dark with the wind howling and the rain sluicing down, I quickly said, “I wouldn’t like to be out in this. I hope the owlets have got little owl umbrellas.”
Ruby went on snuggling down. I couldn’t settle, though. I kept thinking about Dog.
“Do you think he saw us—Cain? Do you think he was out there with his dog, watching us?”
I shivered.
Ruby said, “Mebbe. You know those Hinchcliffs. . . . They can be anywhere at any time. Like a reight bad smell.”
As she said that, I nearly fell out of bed because there was a massive farty noise from Matilda. It was so loud it even woke Matilda up. Ruby went mad.
“Get down, Matilda!! Bad girl, you’ve let yourself down AND you’ve let the bulldog breed down.”
Matilda looked all shamefaced and tottered about on the side of the bed. She got tangled up in her nightcap and then one leg got stuck. It took so long that in the end Ruby unfastened the stuck leg and said, “Oh, for goodness’ sake, get in bed again. And no more trumping.”
Matilda blinked sorrowfully at Ruby.
She was still harrumphing about. “She hates it when I’m cross with her. Serves her right for trumping. She’ll worry all night and not get any slee—”
She was interrupted by little snuffling snoring noises from Matilda.
We settled down again.
I said casually in the dark.
“Have you . . . er, heard how Alex, you know your brother . . . erm . . . is getting on?”
Ruby said sleepily, “Dun’t start that again. Anyway, I thought you liked that Charlie?”
Ah yes, Charlie. I do like that Charlie.
The boy from Woolfe Academy for naughty boys.
But he was gorgeous. Not naughty.
Well, not very naughty.
Where’s the harm in wiring up your headmaster’s door handle to a minor electrical circuit? As Charlie said, “It was just high spirits, an innocent schoolboy prank.”
A shame that another of Charlie’s schoolboy pranks completely destroyed the chemistry lab. But, as he said, he only really meant to blow up the fume cupboard.
Charlie was lovely in every way and had given me my very first proper kiss.
His only fault is, he has a girlfriend already.
Has every boy got a girlfriend already?
As I drifted off to sleep next to Ruby, lulled by the rain pattering on the roof, I dreamed of Charlie.
I was up on the moorland path behind The Blind Pig. Looking through my Darkly Demanding Damson Diary. I was dressed in a black miniskirt and green tights. Thinking of doing a performance about being a person with corkers, not a silly schoolgirl anymore.
Hmmmm, perhaps through the medium of dance I could show my Inner Woman.
The things I had learned from my wise cousin Georgia.
How to do sticky eyes and “look interested” when boys do things.
I started wafting my arms from side to side, and as I did so (in my dream, otherwise Ruby would have kicked me out of bed), sweet music began floating across the moors. So lovely and magical and otherworldly, but somehow familiar . . .
I looked up into a tree, where the music was coming from and . . .
There they were, the owlets with tiny electric guitars . . . hurrah!
Little Lullah was on rhythm guitar and little Rubes on bass. They were playing “Dancing Queen” by Abba!
I began to dance, incorporating a mime of a clown trying to get out of a telephone box. Drawn by the inescapable rhythms of Sweden, lost in a world of my own.
The owlets turned up their amplifiers. (Not easy when you haven’t got any hands.)
I sang.
Friday night and it’s got late
I’m out here without a mate
Got my new green tights on
You can see them from Skipton
They’re in the mood for a dance
And when I get the chaaaance . . .
I am the dancing queen
My Irish legs have a lovely sheeeen!!!!
Oh yeah, you can dance, you can . . .
And I began to spin and kick wildly, doing my Irish dancing on a hillock to the cool sounds of The Owlets when . . . Charlie!
He smiled his special smile and gave a thumbs-up to the owlets. Then he danced towards me. (In time to the music, but carefully as his Lurex flares were quite snug.)
/> Charlie looked into my eyes and then lowered his lips towards me. Clearly drawn by my irresistible womanliness-ness. Then, just as he touched my lips with his, he drew back and said (in that weird slow voice like in dreams) . . .
“No . . . I caaan’t . . . I haaaaave a girlfrieeeeeend.”
And he got a tiny girl out of his pocket. She waved at me.
He left with the tiny girl in his hand and sadness filled my tights. The owlets started playing a slow version of “Dancing Queen” on panpipes.
But the show must always go on. That’s what Sidone told us.
I began singing again, even though my heart was breaking.
I am the dancing queen
My Irish legs have a lovely shhheeeeeen!!
And someone started whistling along.
Who could this be?
Alex! Alex the Good.
Alex came up the path. In a flouncy shirt.
He danced towards me in time to the music and put his hand to my face. The frills on his sleeve temporarily blinded me. He said in a deep voice, “Hello, Tallulah, you’ve grown up. You are the dancing queen. Your Irish legs have a lovely sheen.”
From somewhere behind him came a loud growling and Cain’s big black dog emerged . . . ridden by Cain.
Lullah’s Lululuuuve List
I WOKE UP ON Sunday morning to the light pattering of hail on the roof. I still felt a bit tired. As if I’d been dancing to Abba all night.
Rubes and Matilda were snoozing nose to nose at the bottom of the bed. I wanted to sneak out early without seeing Mr. Barraclough. So I quietly crept downstairs and unbolted the door without anyone hearing me. The church bells rang as I crossed the village green to the Dobbinses’ house.
Dandelion Cottage looked sweet in the early morning hail. The trees in the garden were losing their leaves, but a wisp of smoke came from the chimney and doves cooed by the side of it. But no sign of Little Lullah and Ruby. I hope they’re all right.
Would they know how to build a nest? Could they catch stuff to eat?
I don’t think their mum, Connie, has really shown them domestic skills. I’d seen her eat a mouse headfirst, but I hadn’t seen her teaching them grooming or homemaking. Bit like my mum and dad.
When I went through the unlatched door into the kitchen, Mrs. Dobbins looked up from the stove. Wearing a hat covered in dead leaves and brown stuff. She was so pleased to see me she started jumping up and down. And the hugging began immediately. She is very huggy.
“Oh, Tallulah, I have SO missed you!! You darling girl!! You’ve grown AGAIN!! Look at you! You are GORGEOUS. What a shame you’ve just missed the twins and Harold—they’ve gone to church. They’ve got Micky and Dicky with them because it’s Tortoise Sunday. We had such a time last night foraging: We found an old badger’s set. Thrilling!!! Harold followed the badger droppings . . . actually, he brought some home—I’m drying them in the airing cupboard so be careful with your undies. . . . Anyway, when they’re dried, we’re going to make sculptures with them.”
I said, from underneath her arms, “That sounds, er, spiffing.”
Dibdobs kissed me on the hair.
“Oooooh, you smell soooo Tallularish. The twins will be so pleased to see you. Are you coming to church?”
I said, “Er, well, I’d love to but, er, I haven’t got a tortoise.”
Dibdobs said, “The boys would let you hold Micky and Dicky, I’m sure! Or you could take a duck.”
I said quickly, “Ooooh, that would be nice, but I have to, erm, prepare myself for Dother Hall. Check my tights and so on.”
“Yes, yes, of course, you must follow your star. I understand. Do you like my hat? It’s made entirely from our foraging.”
I said, “Gosh, yes, it’s . . . spiffing. I’m just going to unpack. Toodle-pips for nowsies.”
Toodle-pips?
I had turned into Mary Poppins. I don’t know why the Dobbinses have that effect on me, but they do. I always feel like doing a little tap routine when I see them or getting a mouth organ out. I don’t know why.
They are nice, though, even if they are mad. It’s nice to have someone so glad to see you. When I phoned Mum to tell her I’d got here last night, she didn’t even know I’d gone back to college. I said, “But didn’t you think it was odd that I didn’t say anything? Or eat anything?”
She said, “Oh no, I just thought you were in one of your quiet moods.”
The Dobbinses were not going to be back until teatime because they were going to play table tennis in Pocklington after church.
I unpacked in my old familiar squirrel room, with its window looking out over the back woods. So many memories there. The last one of Cain leaving me a note with a knife pinning it to the old oak tree.
Huh.
Well, I will not be giving the Dark Rusty Black Crow of Heckmondwhite the oxygen of publicity. Note or no note.
He needn’t think that writing a bit of a poem makes up for all those other things that I will never, ever be thinking about.
The nose-licking incident and the rubbing-corker thing and the other terrible, terrible thing. That I will never, ever mention, even to myself.
I had all my “theatrical” stuff in my special theatrical bag. Leggings, black leotard, dance shoes. So I’m ready for whatever Blaise Fox or Monty or the other teachers have to throw at me theatrical wise.
I’ve stowed my private Darkly Demanding Damson Diary in a secret panel next to my squirrel bed. There are many things in it that I would prefer no one to see.
I had a hot chocolate and a mooch around downstairs. It looks like the lunatic twins have made a tortoise home for Micky and Dicky behind the sofa.
It can’t be made out of a cabbage, can it?
Yes, it is.
By eleven, the hail had eased off so I got togged up again to look around the village and see if I could find the owlets. Ruby’s curtains in the attic were still closed so she must have been having a little lie-in.
I walked down the back path to the barn. There were no signs of life in there, just the old nest where the owlets had been hatched. How sad. I shut the door and walked on.
The sheep shied away from me when I got to the back field. If I didn’t know for a fact that they are very, very stupid, I would think that they remember me singing “The hills are alive with the sound of music” to them last term.
Then I thought I’d go down to the river. I crossed the village green as the back of Mr. Barraclough disappeared into The Blind Pig.
Over the little bridge is the path that leads up to Dother Hall. Underneath it is the Heck River, or actually, the Heck Stream. That Beverley threw herself in because of Cain.
Yes, there it was, the mighty Heck Stream, swollen to twice its depth by the incessant rain. So now it was four inches deep. What a fool that Beverley was. When she threw herself into the river, she just ruined her frock. The water only came up to her bottom.
I wondered what size her bottom was now after her hunger strike.
Anyway, I’m not going to be intimidated by the Bottomly sisters this term. Dignity at all times is what is called for. I’m not going to enter into any ugly scenes with them. I am, after all, fifteen and not a kid who—
And that’s when I saw them.
The Bottomly sisters.
Well, three of the Bottomly sisters—Beverley wasn’t with them.
Ecclesiastica, Diligence, and Chastity were eating pies. In fact, Chastity had one in each hand. And it wasn’t even lunchtime. They were eating pre-lunch pies.
And I bet they’re having pies for lunch.
Eccles saw me and said, “Oooh, look, it’s the long dunderwhelp.”
Chas said, with her mouth full, “My mum said she saw you, sitting on blind people on her bus.”
Dil said, “Come on, let’s go. She’s putting me off me pie.”
And they went off eating and giving me the evils.
Eccles turned back and said, “Oh, I forgot, Beverley told me to gie you this. So here you
are, you lanky idiot.”
And she gave me a grubby bit of paper.
As they lumbered off, Ruby and Matilda came tumbling along. Ruby was out of breath. And Matilda had to have a little lie-down.
“I saw you . . . I drew me curtains. I wor up in me room and I thought, Ay up, there’ll be trouble. So we came to your rescue. Wot did the big daft lasses say?”
“They gave me a note from Beverley.”
Ruby said, “Can she write? Is it a death threat? Gie us a look.”
She took the note from me and read it slowly, tutting, and then she said, “That Beverley can’t really do joined-up writing, but I think it says, ‘To the lanky streak of lard.’”
What?
Ruby said, “That’s you, Tallulah.”
“What is?”
“You are the lanky streak of lard.”
“What’s lard?”
“It’s fat made from bits of cow.”
Nice.
She went on. “Then it says, ‘Si tha if thee knows wot’s good for thee tha’ll shut it and sling yer ’ook.’”
I looked at her as if she was speaking rubbish.
Which she was.
She explained, “Erm, well, in a nutshell it says, ‘Shut up and clear off.’”
Charming.
There was more. Ruby read out, “‘He’s not interested in a bumberskite like you. It’s only because tha threw your sen at ’im and gallivant around like a tit.’”
“When have I ever done that? I don’t even know how to gallivant, let alone like a . . . and what is a bumberskite?”
Ruby had really got into it now. She went on.
“Yes, he, that’s Cain, isn’t interested in a bumberskite like you. . . . Cain’s not interested in you because you’re like a sort of bum in a skirt.”
“Thank you, Ruby.”
“And, secondly, because you threw yourself at him.”
I started going red. This was so awful.
“Threw myself at him? Threw myself at him!!!”