Flossie said, “SHE loves you as well. There’s a lot of love in the room for you, Tallulah.”
Gudrun, Sidone’s assistant, came onstage with the register. She was covered in knitwear from top to toe, including a knitted beret. She banged her gong and everyone ignored her except Flossie, who said, “Is she a knitted person?”
Gudrun shouted at us, “Achtung, Fräuleins!!! Bitte!! Achtung! Ve müssen sign the register!!!” (She always gets a bit German when she’s left in charge. It goes to her head.)
We carried on chatting. Gudrun shouted again, “Willkommen, girls. Danke for your attention. Erm, those girls at the back, will you just come down from the stag’s head? It’s, well, it’s not really made for sitting on. I don’t know how you got up there in the first place . . . and we don’t want any accidents . . .”
At that moment the stag’s head and the girls on it crashed to the floor. We all cheered.
After registration, we went to the loos. The water in the taps was freezing. And when I went to use one of the taps, it fell off in my hand. Then we found there were no towels, just a notice written by Bob:
No paper towels this term—we are saving the rain forest, dudes.
Remember,
Be a shaker
Not an endangered resource taker.
I had to dry my hands on my leggings.
As we came out, Bob was dragging a big roll of plastic sheeting up the stairs that led to the roof. I said, “Hi, Bob, didn’t recognize you without your horns.”
He said, “Yeah, it’s a bummer because my first love is the band, but hey, you’ve got to earn your bread.”
Flossie said, “What’s the plastic sheeting for?”
Bob said, “There’s been, like, a roof incident.”
Jo said, “What incident?”
Bob said, as he huffed and puffed away, “Well, dudes, it’s essentially blown off.”
I said to the Tree Sisters, “Get your umbrellas out. You’re going to need them when you go to bed.”
The rest of the morning we had tutorials and sorted out rehearsal times and class syllabuses and book lists, so we didn’t see much of each other until lunchtime. Still no sign of Sidone. Apparently, she’s off doing some community-work thing.
Jo said, “She thinks the community will try to help us save Dother Hall.”
We laughed.
At lunchtime bell, we all met in the café. Vaisey is mad keen to go to the Special Tree to see Jack, and Jo looks like her head has exploded, she is soooo excited about seeing Phil.
Flossie said, “I just want to see some boys. Let’s go let’s go let’s go!!!!”
After a bit of lip gloss and hair shaking and a reviving lunch on the run (Cheesy Wotsits), the Tree Sisters were ready to face the boys of Woolfe Academy.
Well, most of us were.
I felt shy about seeing Charlie again. I know he said he was sorry and had handled the whole snogging-me-but-having-a-girlfriend thing badly. And that he’d said, “You’re top, Tallulah, and don’t let anyone tell you any different.” But that sort of implies that other people WILL tell you different, doesn’t it?
If you say, “Don’t let them tell you,” that means they might tell you.
And that . . . oh, I don’t know.
And also, what do I do about the girlfriend thing?
Do I ask politely if she’s still as tiny? As a mate?
Hang on, is that my dream or has he actually said she’s tiny?
I mustn’t say she’s tiny if she isn’t tiny because that would be . . . tiny-ist.
No one noticed I wasn’t as keen as they were.
Vaisey and Jo were doing very fast walking, crunching through the leaves and bracken to get to Phil and Jack.
Flossie said, “So do you think about those Hinchcliff boys, Miss Lullabelle?”
Uh-oh.
I said casually, “No, I don’t. They’re wild, uncontrollable animals.”
Flossie said, “I know, that’s why I like them so much. I’d like to see that Seth boy again. I wonder where he is.”
I stumped on and said, “In a cave somewhere, I should think. Or prison.”
Then we got to our secret place, the secret meeting place in the forest. Where we danced around our Special Tree.
The Special Tree where Honey told us we should be proud of every part of ourselves. Flossie’s glasses, Jo’s conker hair, Vaisey’s wiggly bottom, even my knees! Yes, even my knees!
A chill breeze rustled the leaves left on the trees; there were no signs of life. No birds or creatures and certainly no boys.
After five minutes of kicking leaves and hunching her shoulders against the cold, Jo said, “Where are they? Phil promised me that he’d come to see me on our first day back.”
I was sort of disappointed and relieved at the same time. I said, “Well, they’re not here so . . .”
Vaisey shouted out from behind the tree, “Do sausages normally grow on trees?”
Flossie said, “Vaisey, is this like ‘why did the sausage cross the road?’ because I’m not interested in sausages, I’m interested in boys. If you’d said ‘do boys normally grow on trees’ you would have got my attention. But the sausage thing—no.”
That’s when we saw what Vaisey meant. Attached to the back of our Special Tree was a sausage with a ribbon round it, and underneath it an envelope.
Jo grabbed the envelope and ripped it open. Then started jumping up and down saying, “Ohohohoh!”
I said, “What? What? WHAT?!!!”
Jo’s face had gone all pink. Flossie put a hand on her shoulder to hold her down. Jo panted, “It’s from Phil. It’s his writing. He sent me lots of photos of himself over the holidays. In unusual poses.”
We all looked at each other.
Vaisey started to say, “What sort of unusual . . .” until I shook my head at her.
Jo was in full flow reading out the sausage letter.
Dear Tree Sisters,
Yes, I do mean you, Vaisey, Jo, Lullah, and Flossie. This letter is from us. The lads. The top lads of all time. The bad lads. The lads . . . sorry, I had to stop there because Charlie got me in a headlock until I stopped writing “lads.” What’s he like? He’s such a lad . . . sorry, another break there. He did it again. Anyway, we can’t be with you because we are on a special bonding workshop all day with no breaks.
Hoppy says it will give us an identity as a group and respect for others. Mostly it’s press-ups and stabbing sacks with sticks.
Flossie said, “Cor.”
Jo continued.
I know for a fact you like that sort of thing, you naughty girls. Anyway, we can’t get away till tomorrow so I crept out and left this note and a sausage in case you were peckish.
See you tomorrow.
Phil, Charlie, Jack, and Ben.
PS Big snog, Jo, you tiger (that is me, Phil, by the way) xx
PPS Charlie here. Hi, everybody x
PPPS Cheers, Vaisey, Jack x
PPPPS Hi, everyone, and Flossie, very much looking forward to seeing you again. Ben x
As we walked back to Dother Hall, Jo was jumping around in front of us, telling us about the photos that Phil had sent. “And then there was this one of him and his mates and they’d taken a human-sized inflatable banana shopping with them and they bought it some shoes in a shoe shop and . . .”
Flossie had learned to juggle in the holidays. She said, “I think you’ll find it very entertaining.”
I made the mistake of saying, “I don’t really know how juggling can be—erm—entertaining.”
Flossie put her arm round me, which was a bit alarming. She said, “I’ll illustrate for you, my little chum, how very, VERY entertaining juggling is. Everyone give me your tights.”
I said, “No way. I’m not going to take my tights off—it’s bloody freezing.”
Vaisey and Jo both said no, they wouldn’t either.
Five minutes later, Flossie showed us how she could make our tights into little juggling balls. Sh
e juggled our three tights balls with one hand and threw her tights ball up in the air from behind her back. She was doing four-tights-balls juggling. After she bowed, we clapped and quickly put our tights back on.
She said, “You see? Do you? How Very Entertaining that was?”
We walked on. I said, “Vaisey, what did Jack do during the holidays? How did he get in touch if you were on your wilderness thingy?”
Vaisey bounced her curls around shyly.
“Well, he sent a postcard. It was from his caravan site in Blackpool. It had a picture of a girl eating an enormous candyfloss on it. And it said, ‘Wish you were here.’”
I looked at her and she said, “That’s nice, isn’t it?”
Vaisey went on. “Oooooh, I tell you what I did do at nighttimes in our yurt. I learned to play the guitar and I used my lucky plectrum that Jack gave me. If The Jones play any gigs soon, maybe I could jam along.”
I could imagine what the Hinchcliffs would say to a girl “jamming along” to one of their songs. I laughed and said, “Yeah, you could ‘jam’ that one Cain wrote especially for Beverley Bottomly when he dumped her: ‘Put Your Coat On, Girl, You’re Leaving’ and the follow-up when he dumped her again: ‘Is It So Very Wrong to Want You Dead?’”
Jo said, “What’s happened about the Cain thing—is he still on the run, Lullah?”
I went a bit red and quickly said, “I’ve no idea. With a bit of luck he’ll just keep running.”
Flossie said, “Oh, you are sooooo unreasonable, Miss Lullah. Yes, those boys are BAAADDD, but they are so goddam handsome.”
I said huffily, “Yeah, if you like Dark Black . . . animals in trousers.”
Flossie said, “I do, as it happens.”
Vaisey was trying to be nice. “P’raps they’re just a bit misunderstood.”
I snorted. “Vaisey, do you remember that Cain got Jack to dump you because no girlfriends were allowed in The Jones? He said it was a band rule.”
Vaisey blushed.
Flossie sashayed about. “I am looking forward to seeing that bad Seth Hinchcliff again, oh and Floppy Ben. He’s not quite so floppy since Honey gave him the snogging advice.”
I said, “You’re insatiable.”
Flossie said, “I know, but remember what Honey said about boys: ‘Alwayth have one ow two on the go. Theth thafety in numbeth.’”
We walked along, thinking about lovely golden Honey in her new golden life in Hollywood. Then Flossie said, “What about you, Miss Tallulah, what did you get up to in your holidays?”
“Well, I was staying with Cousin Georgia and she told me how to do sticky eyes and showed me her snogging scale. It’s from one-quarter to ten.”3
Jo said, “Yeah so, are we going to use your cousin’s snogging scale?”
I said, “Well, it doesn’t really fit with my Lululuuuve List so . . .”
They all looked at me.
Jo said, “What’s your snogging list then?”
I wanted to tell them about Lullah’s Lululuuuve List but not everything at once, so I said, “Er, well, I’ve written it down and I was going to bring it in . . . but I forgot because . . . I got a threatening letter!”
Flossie said, “What? From someone who thinks you should keep your snogging list to yourself?”
“No, honestly, a real threatening letter saying I was like a bum in a skirt and if I knew what was good for me I would clear off.”
Jo said, “Was it from Dr. Lightowler?”
I went red. “No, it was from . . . from Beverley Bottomly. She said I gallivant around like a tit.”
Flossie said, “Well, she does have a point, Lullah.”
Just then Gudrun came out of the front door of Dother Hall, wildly tinging her handbell, and shouted, “Go straight to your classes, girls. Ms. Beaver has double-booked herself with the Blubberhouses Large Ladies Who Pole Dance for Fun Society, but she will definitely be in to welcome you at some stage today.”
Thankfully, I’d got away with the Lululuuuve List thing for now.
But then Jo said quietly to me as we went in, “Did your cousin Georgia tell you what number ‘nose-licking’ was on her snogging scale? Is Cain licking your nose on your list?”
She’s like an elephant in a dress.
How on earth could I tell them that nose-licking was quite literally the tip of the . . . er, the tip of the . . . nose on the face of the snogging Cain list?
I know I should tell the Tree Sisters everything, and I will.
Soon.
The Blubberhouses Large Ladies Who Pole Dance for Fun Society
MONTY WAS OUR TUTOR for the afternoon. He bustled in. “Hello, hello, girls!!! Happy days!!! Le Show RE-commence!!!”
He’s wearing a tartan suit and pink waistcoat. The waistcoat is hanging on round his tummy for dear life. Just by one button.
He went to sit down on his chair but then paused and took to standing and leaning against his desk. I suspect the spirit was willing to sit down, but the suit wasn’t.
He was beyond himself with enthusiasm. His chubby hands clapped together in delight.
“Girls, I am THRILLED, absolutely thrilled about the project this term. Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew, the Bard’s masterpiece about the battle of the sexes. Of course this is often misunderstood as a battle between a man and a woman.
“For the more artistic and creative soul like myself it can of course be interpreted as the battle between our masculine and feminine parts. As a man, I, of course, have a delicate female part hidden. And you girls have a secret male part hidden in a secret place.”
Flossie said, “Is he saying I have a goddam man lurking about in my dance tights?”
Vaisey whispered, “Er, I think he means that we have a sort of male bit.”
I said, “I haven’t got a male bit.”
Jo said, “Monty definitely looks like he’s got more than one person in his suit.”
And we began laughing uncontrollably. It didn’t matter though because Monty was off in Italy with his mates. . . .
“I first saw The Shrew as a young man in a nightclub production in Italy. Ah, gilded youth! Biffo and Sprogsy, my great pals, were with me. It was our first trip abroad and we didn’t know it was an all-male production. The boy in the part of Kate was most convincing. The Italians are much more at ease with finding their Inner Woman.”
Monty got us to discuss what we thought “Being a Woman” meant.
Flossie said, “Well, ah don’t rightly know if ah could say, sir, maybe ah could show you . . .” And she started her Southern belle routine, sashaying around the room.
Monty clapped his pudgy hands. “Marvelous, marvelous, Flossie. I know, girls, let’s go with physical expression to feel our way into the mood. Let’s pursue Flossie’s idea of being a spoiled Southern belle! I’ll start.”
At the very last bell, Sidone burst into the classroom.
She was a vision in fur.
Well, she was in fur.
I don’t know what kind of animal is purple.
She leaned against the door, panting.
Monty flung his arms wide. “Girls, girls, here we have it before us: Woman!!!”
Sidone blew kisses to us all individually which went on for quite a long time, then said, “So sorry, my dears, not to be here to welcome you back, but the Blubberhouses ladies were very demanding. Such big, big women. The poles will have to be replaced of course.
“Anyway, I wanted to be here to welcome you, but such is life. In order to keep Dother Hall going, sometimes I must rent my services out to amateur groups. I do it willingly, of course, but the headaches are quite violent afterwards. . . . But . . . what do I matter??? It is you, my dears, who are the hope for the future. I am just a dim light from the past, blinking in the firmament of you bright little starlets.”
Monty leapt in. “Nay, nay, madam, you remain the brightest light, the brightest!”
Sidone tinkled with laughter and shook her head at him. “Too kind . . . and yet perha
ps I still have some of the old skills.” She suddenly did a high kick that only just missed Monty’s chin. He was ecstatic and clapped like a seal in a suit.
I noticed Sidone was holding her leg as she said, “Girls, here are your instructions for tonight, your FIRST night of many first nights, if you will excuse the theatrical pun.”
Which we did because we had no idea what she was talking about.
She handed us each an envelope.
“Open it this evening and bring your ideas for Ms. Fox tomorrow. Till then, my dears, my dearie dears.” Kissing her hands, she withdrew from the room.
I said to Flossie, “Did you think she was limping slightly as she went out?”
We were all tired at the end of the day. The Tree Sisters gave me a hug and went off for supper and a lie-down. Flossie said, “If Bob hasn’t burned our beds for firewood.”
I wish I could just have my dinner and pop upstairs instead of trailing all the way into the village. Even though the Dobbinses are nice.
When I got to the village I kept my eyes peeled for signs of the Bottomlys, but they weren’t around. But I saw Ruby bundled up in her coat on the doorstep of The Blind Pig with Matilda. They both looked glum.
I said, “What’s up, Rubes?”
She said, “Me dad went spare. We have to stay out of his sight. I can’t have any tea, and when he’s had his, I have to go straight to bed. All because Matilda ate his vest from the wash basket. His special lucky vest he always wears when he goes to pie-eating contests.”
I said, “That’s bad, little pal.”
I sat down beside her and Matilda put her sad, crumpled-up face on my knee.
“Maybe we could go and have a proper look for Little Lullah and . . .”
Then I heard Mr. Barraclough shouting, “Look at the state of this!!! That was a bloody heirloom.”
I thought I’d better nip off.
As I crossed the village green I heard an owl hooting somewhere. It reminded me of Little Lullah and Little Ruby. I still couldn’t believe they’d left home.