I was getting redder than red. This was a nightmare come true. Then Mr. Barraclough shouted from The Blind Pig doorway. “Ay up, Ruby, it’s nearly dinnertime. Stop prattling with that big lad—next thing you know you’ll be wearing his clown shoes.”
Ruby started pulling on Matilda’s lead. “I’d better go before he sees his socks that Matilda ate.” Ruby and Matilda tore off towards The Blind Pig.
I looked at the note. I suppose it’s like a threatening letter. I’ve never had one of those before.
What does Beverley know?
She can’t know about the thing that even I have forgotten about.
Can she?
Anyway, I’m not going to be blackmailed by the Bottomlys.
I’ve got my own little gang. The Tree Sisters. Wait till I tell them about the note.
Except that I can’t tell them about the note because then I would have to tell them about the thing that I can’t remember.
And that even if I could remember I wouldn’t mention it to myself. I’ll keep the letter from Beverley as evidence, in case of an unexpected pie attack by the Bottomlys.
To cheer myself up after the horrid letter, I thought I’d get my Darkly Demanding Damson Diary from its secret hiding place and look at my ideas and notes from last term.
I calmed down a bit as I looked over all the notes I had made. Here are my poems and short stories. Ooooh, I’d forgotten about writing “The Daughter of Fang.”
And here are some sketches for my dance tribute to Withering Tights.
Oh, tee-hee, here’s a sketch of Dr. Lightowler. . . .
In the name of Baby Jesus’s nostrils, she has got ENORMOUS glasses on. Perched on the end of her beak. I don’t know why she’s taken against me so much. Ho hummity hum.
I’ll put the threatening letter in my secret hiding place right at the back.
Oooh—here’s the James Bond book that Dad gave me. He said, “Best you learn the real facts of life,” and I read it, and I reenacted a corker-holding scene1 and Cain saw me through my window and . . . but I won’t think about that.
Talking of corkers, Cousin Georgia said she could certainly see signs of life in my T-shirt when I ran for the bus. And in fact, as a celebration, she bought me a special packet of crisps that are actually called “Corkers.” It said on the packet, “Hand-cooked in sunflower oil, we’re sure you agree that Corkers are another great British tradition in the making.”
I’ve got Georgia’s Ace Gang “snogging scale” in here somewhere.2
I’ve stuck it in on a page right in the middle of my diary underneath a picture of the Dalai Lama. Although the Ace Gang snogging scale doesn’t really fit with mine so far, I’m going to write mine on the next page.
I’ll call mine, erm . . . “Lullah’s Lululuuuve List.”
So here goes. This is what I have written:
HAND RESTING
(A friend of my brother, Connor, put his hand on my bottom at the bus stop, and when I noticed, he said his hand was tired and he was just resting it.)
CORKER-HOLDER RELEASE
(Same boy undid my corker holder from the back and I couldn’t do it up on the bus and I had to sit there jiggling about, worrying that the tissue would fall out.)
BAT KISS
(Floppy Ben from Woolfe Academy kissed me after we went to see Night of the Vampire Bats and tried to put his tongue in my mouth. And it felt like the bit in the film when a bat was trapped in someone’s mouth, just barging around.)
NOSE-LICKING
(Cain licked a hailstone off my nose. I can’t discuss this.)
PROPER KISS POSSIBLY LASTING TWO MINUTES, WITH ADDITIONAL PRAISE FOR KNEES
(Boy—Charlie—kissed me really nicely so that I felt wobbly and he also said he liked my knees.)
CAIN HINCHCLIFF CAME UP UNEXPECTEDLY ON THE MOORLAND PATH AND HE . . . AND HE . . . OOOOH, PROPER KISS, LIP NIBBLING, AND TONGUES
(Oh Holy Mother of God, bless me for I have sinned. With the Dark Black Crow of Heckmondwhite.)
Return of the lunatic twins
IT WAS DARK WHEN the Dobbinses came back. I heard the kerfuffle and banging. Then gurgling and steps coming up the stairs.
Uh-oh.
There was heavy breathing outside my door.
Dibdobs whispered, “Do you know who’s in there, boys? Shall we knock on the door and see who answers it?”
One of the twins said, “Eth.”
There was knocking near the bottom of my door. I got up and opened it.
The lunatic twins were in their fun-fur hats in the shape of otter heads. And sucking on their dodies. They looked at me and then both grabbed me round the knees and put their heads into my legs. Dibdobs was almost crying at the beauty of it all.
“Ooooh, boys, it’s Lullah. She’s come home!!!”
Max (or Sam) looked up and said, “Ug oo.”
And put his head back in my leg.
Then Sam (or Max) looked up and said, “Ug oo.”
And put his head back down.
Then Max (or Sam) said, “Ug oo.”
This could have gone on for years.
Dibdobs took charge.
“Right, boys, split splot. Let’s get your jimmy-jams on and then have our tea with . . .”
They looked up and said, “Ug oo.”
And put their heads back into my legs.
We managed to pry them off at last, and half an hour later Dibdobs called me down to tea.
The boys were in their jimjams now.
Still with their otter hats on.
They started shuffling towards me for more knee-hugging, but Dibdobs stepped in firmly and said, “Let Lullah sit down, boys, and have her supper. Lullah, it’s a local supper.”
Max said, “Bogie supper.”
Dibdobs ignored him although she went a bit red.
“The eggs are from Jessica and Maureen. Maureen’s the one with the clubfoot.”
I was just thinking I didn’t know any woman with a clubfoot when I realized she meant the chicken Maureen.
As I ate my supper, the boys stood about an inch away from me, looking at me and sucking. It was very unnerving. They certainly do not get any less odd.
Dibdobs was prattling on.
“So much going on, Tallulah!! I must tell you about . . .”
At that point Max fell over Micky the tortoise.
Dibdobs laughed and said, “You silly old chap, Max. You just fell over Micky onto your bottom!!!”
The lunatic twins rocked with laughter.
It was like being in the House of the Mad.
Max said out of the side of his dodie, “An’ sjuuuge bumbums. Look at my bumbums!!!!”
And he pulled down his pajama bottoms.
Sam started laughing so much I thought he would choke. And both the boys began yelling, “Bum bum bum bum!”
Dibdobs said, with a fixed smile, “Yes, it is funny, boys, but pull up your jimmies now. That’s enough. You’re BIG boys now, aren’t you, and . . .”
Then they both started rubbing their bottoms together and shouting, “Bummity bum bum.”
Dibdobs lost her rag and flicked at them with her tea towel. “Boys, boys, that’s not funny.”
I quickly finished off Maureen’s egg and stood up. “Well, that was a lovely supper . . . I think I’ll turn in now, just do a bit more creative thinking for tomorrow. Night-night.”
As I went up the wooden stairs, I heard Harold come in. The boys were still squealing and Dibdobs yelling, “What will your father say???”
Harold’s voice rumbled up as I opened my bedroom door. “Put your bottoms away now, boys. I’ve got some live maggots in my pocket.”
When I got into my bed, I flicked through my Darkly Demanding Damson Diary to look at my Lululuuuve List again, and it fell open at the last page.
And there was the poem that Cain had pinned to the tree with a knife.
Written in thick, untidy writing.
Like he had got a twig and dipped it in ink.
> Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
And underneath:
I know tha likes this sort of thing
See thee later.
Did it mean he knew I had liked kissing him?
Did he even know we’d got to Number 6 on my Love List?
No, he couldn’t know that because I’ve just made it up.
What does “this sort of thing” mean?
I could do with some proper girl company.
Thank goodness I’ll see the Tree Sisters tomorrow.
Hurrah!! The Tree Sisters together again. Vaisey, Flossie, Jo, and me. We used to be five, but Honey, dear lovely Honey, has gone to Hollywood. She’s been, what do you call it . . . ? Talent-spotted by an American entrepreneur.
Hey, I’ve just thought of what you’d call it if the owlets had been spotted by an American entrepreneur looking for talent in the bird world.
Talon-spotted!!!!
They’d be talon-spotted!
I’m going to write that down.
I may turn out to be a comedy genius.
Snogs ahoy!
ON MONDAY MORNING, I struggled against the wind walking over the bridge to college. I’m early so I’ll go and stash my stuff in my locker, then find the Tree Sisters. If Bob hasn’t burned the lockers as fuel. I hope the money thing at Dother Hall is better than it was last term. Or at least we’ve still got a roof this term. I dread to think what would have happened if Honey’s manager hadn’t come up trumps with cash to keep Dother Hall going.
I miss Honey. She is sooo Honeyish.
And knows such a lot about boys.
Maybe she’ll come back and visit. Or we could visit her!
Yeehaaa, I feel like a real performing artist. I am one of an elite gang of “entertainers.” Our sole purpose in life is to give give give of ourselves. Until our feet bleed and we wear the golden slippers of applause. As Sidone says, “Do what you were born to do, girls, my girls! Give give until your feet bleed. And then give some more! And one day you will experience the golden slippers of applause.”
My only worry is that I’m not sure I have anything to give.
The rest of the Tree Sisters have special talents. Vaisey can sing and dance and act, and Jo can sing and act and . . . Flossie can sing and act and she’s really great at art. And Honey is so good at everything that she has been taken to Hollywood to be in films, and then there’s me . . .
Ms. Fox (“Just call me Fox. Blaise Fox.”), our dance tutor, believes in me. She thinks I have my own very special quality. That no one she has ever met has. Well, what she actually said was “Watching you perform is like watching someone set fire to their own pants. Strangely riveting.”
So that’s good, isn’t it?
Isn’t it?
Dr. Lightowler thinks I’m made largely of the twit gene. She has hated me ever since I accidentally flew off my bicycle and destroyed the backstage area during my Sugar Plum Bikey ballet. Oh and because I did spontaneous Irish dancing in her class. When we were doing a tragic improvisation of the Brontë sisters dying of consumption.
And maybe because I pretend she actually IS an owl.
But this term I’m going to show her and everyone else that I am Tallulah Casey, superstar in the making. Bleeding feet at the ready.
Walking along the woodland path I passed the sign Woolfe Academy for Young Men.
That’s where Charlie goes.
Oh, Charlie. I hope I can be friends with him. The last thing he said to me was “See you next term, gorgeous.” And he said I was a really good kisser.
It’s just that he’s got a girlfriend.
I can be grown-up, though. You know, so what if he’s got a girlfriend?
Girls and boys can be mates.
We can be mates.
I might even be mates with his girlfriend. That’s how matey I can be.
I don’t mind tiny people. I like them.
I turned the next corner and saw the impressive Gothic façade of Dother Hall. With its towering ramparts and cockeyed, spiraling chimneys. High up on the roof, if it wasn’t sleeting, you could see all the way to Grimbottom. And past the woods to the gray brick walls and mullioned windows of Woolfe Academy.
The place where naughty boys were sent. Bad boys like our friends Charlie, Phil, Jack, and Ben.
Naughty boys who are watched over by a stern and strict one-legged headmaster.
A man that Charlie says demands and gets their full respect.
A man they call “Hoppy.”
Which reminds me, Phil, Jo’s boyfriend, is officially back in captivity. After serving his time at Woolfe, he was sent to ordinary school the term before last. But it was a short stay because he dug a secret tunnel under the rugby pitch. He was going to unexpectedly pop his head up during a match. But sadly it collapsed and some of the rugby squad fell into the hole.
Phil had done it for Jo. He said freedom was nothing to him if she wasn’t there. Punching him on the arm and shouting at him.
I wish someone felt like that about me.
I wonder if they ever will.
They won’t get a chance if the Bottomlys get to me first.
As soon as I walked through the gates, Jo came running out the front door. All little and shiny and dark, jumping up and down like a mad terrier and shouting, “Loopy Lullah!!!!”
She gave me the usual dead arm. Violence is her way of showing affection.
She was followed by Flossie, who has such a long fringe that her face really only begins at her glasses. For some reason she often finds herself (in her mind) in Texas.
She was in Texas now.
I knew because she was walking really slowly and fanning her face like it was a thousand degrees and drawling in a Deep South accent, “Why, Miss Lullabelle, I do declare, it’s too goddam hot. I was axing and axing, ‘Where in the name of hominy grits is Miss Lullabelle?’ And here y’all are!”
Vaisey was at the back, dear Vaisey, with her curls bouncing and her little bottom . . . er . . . bouncing as well. She came running to me and threw her arms round me. “Oh, Lulles, Lulles, I’ve missed you.”
And we had our first official Tree Sisters hug. It was so good to be with my pals again. Nothing can go wrong when you have your little girl gang around you. Nothing!!!!
Back in the Theater of Dreams with my gang!!!!
I started singing “There’s no business like show business, we smile when we are down . . .”
And doing high skipping. I don’t know why, but my legs got excited.
A voice behind me said, “I might have known. Tallulah Casey. WALK properly. You are not a silly baby.”
Oh, how I remembered that voice. I didn’t have to turn round to see who it was. I could feel beaky eyes staring into the back of me.
Dr. Lightowler.
Half woman, half owl, half really, really horrible to me.
Well, this term she was going to see a big change in me and not only in the corker department. She wasn’t dealing with a little kid anymore. I had grown and matured.
Vaisey whispered, “Don’t say anything to annoy her.”
It was sweet of her to care, but I had everything under control.
I stopped and turned round. Blimey, I must say, and this didn’t seem possible, Dr. Lightowler looked even more owly. Had she got a new winter cloak?
She glared down her thin nose unblinkingly. I smiled cordially, my legs together.
“Ah, Dr. Lightowler, how marvelous to see you again. You look rested. The rest has done you good. In fact, you look in beak condition.” (Oh sweet Jesus!) “Er. Hahaha, woopity doodah . . . peak, PEAK condition.”
The girls were snuffling and putting their heads down to hide their laughter.
Dr. Lightowler wasn’t laughing. She was still looking and not blinking. She hissed, “It’s a shame that the rest of us aren’t as impressed with you as you are, Tallulah Casey. Remember, I am watching you. And I don’t like what
I see.”
And she swished off.
Flossie said, “I think deep down, really deep down, so deep down that she’d have to get a rope and the emergency services to get there, she’s very, very fond of you.”
Vaisey put her arm round me. “It’s so unfair. Just because you fell off a bike once, she never gives you a chance.”
How right she was.
Jo was jumping up and down. “Shhhh, shhhhh. Don’t let’s start talking about Lullah. I want to snog Phil. He phoned me and said he would be at our Special Tree!!!”
Snogs ahoy!!!!
As we walked into the main hall, Vaisey said shyly, “I got a postcard from Jack. I think he might like me.”
I gave her a hug. “Who doesn’t like you, missy?”
Flossie said, “Fiddle-de-dee, Miss Vaisey, I just want to see some menfolk. LOTS of menfolk. ANY menfolk. It’s this goddam relentless heat.”
I didn’t point out that there was ice on the inside of the windows.
The main hall was full of babbling girls. Milly and Tilly, Honsy, Bibby. It was nice to see everyone again. Groovy to see the “showbiz” crowd.
I was leaning against the stage, queuing up, and a posh voice said, “Oh, Tallulah, begorrah, bejesus. Did you have a noice time in your holidays?”
It was Lavinia and her mates Davinia and Anoushka.
Lav, Dav, and Noos.
For some reason, Lavinia pretends she’s Irish and even though I’m only about two years younger than her she treats me like I’m a half-witted five-year-old. I can’t really not like her because she’s so nice to me. But I know it’s only because I know Alex and she rates him. In fact, as I was thinking that, she said, “We must see that noice friend of yours again. . . . What was his name . . . Alex? When he next comes home, to be sure, to be sure.”
She tinkled her girlie laugh and swished her copper hair as she went off.