Withering Tights

  I left the house a bit earlier than I needed to, so that I could get to the pub and maybe accidentally on purpose bump into Alex. But Vaisey was already sitting on the wall waiting for me. Just as well, really, I would have probably said something insane and fallen over a leaf if I’d seen him.

  And to be honest, he only said I had a cool name.

  We mooched to Dother Hall and as it loomed into view I remembered that we had Dr Lightowler for two hours. The roof still had its bit of old blanket flapping about. Mrs Rochester is not a highly-skilled worker. I hope for the girls’ sakes it doesn’t rain anytime soon.

  After registration we crowded into the studio for Bob’s ‘talk’ on music and music technology.

  I couldn’t help noticing that his ponytail, burnt off in the dorm inferno, seems to have grown back. Twice the length.

  I whispered to Flossie, “He’s wearing a false ponytail.”

  Bob gave us the benefit of his many years ‘on the road’ with bands.

  “Listen up, dudes. Yes, I’ve toured with some of the greats. The legends. I’ve done all the big gigs: Wembo, Glasto.”

  Glasto? Wembo?

  Bob looked at us.

  “The Glastonbury.”

  Vaisey said, “Which bands did you do?”

  Bob was twiddling with knobs and put his feet on the mixing desk. He was wearing leather Cuban-heeled boots. He put on his shades.

  “The lot, the big boys – Floyd, Purple, Zep, Heap.”

  We looked at him. Who were Zep Heap? Or did he mean Purple Zep?

  He let us bang a drum and rattle some maracas. It was exciting when he showed us the sound booths and asked if anyone wanted a go. Vaisey and Jo sang a bit from Grease and Flossie and Honey did “Oo-oo-oooos” in the background.

  “You’re the one that I want…”

  “Oo-oo-oooo.”

  They were good, actually.

  Jo had to stand on a little box to reach the mike and Vaisey was moving her bottom around in time to the music.

  Bob recorded it and then he did ‘multi-tracking’ so it sounded like fourteen people singing. This is more like it.

  I said to the girls, “I feel like part of this great big crazy world of showbiz, now!”

  Bob said as we left, “The Jones are coming in to lay down a few tracks. It’s not my sort of stuff, not heavy, just more indie landfill, but they’re local so…you might want to come on down, chill out and get your ears on.”

  Get our ears on?

  I said, “Did he say ‘chill out’? It doesn’t seem right coming from a man with a false ponytail.”

  Anyway, I will not be going to see The Jones for love or money. In fact, if it is at all possible, I will never see any of the Hinchcliffs again.

  Cain in particular.

  We walked along to the small theatre space for the dreaded Dr Lightowler experience.

  Dr Lightowler swished in in her cloak. I wonder if she has a summer cloak and a winter cloak?

  As part of the background for our end of summer school performance of Wuthering Heights, Cloakwoman was telling us about the appalling life of the Brontës.

  She said, “It’s hard for you spoiled modern girls to imagine the evenings in that forsaken place, Haworth Vicarage…Cooped up, imprisoned by the forces of nature, no escape, because of the weather, but also because they were women.”

  Dr Lightowler was going on and on, swishing her cloak about as she talked. I wonder if she goes to bed in it?

  “Now, girls, get up and start moving about in the space. Imagine that you are the Brontës. It’s a dark winter afternoon…” She snapped off all the lights and said, “I’ve got some torches here, girls, some of you come and take one and shine them in an improvised way.”

  She put on a torch in the dark and handed more to Honey and Vaisey and some others I couldn’t see. She held a torch under her chin so it lit her up really weirdly.

  She said in a spooky, guttural voice, “The light is gone by three, and the wind howls around the draughty cold house, making the candles gutter and cast strange shadowy shapes on the wall. Could some of you howl a bit?”

  We howled like mad and she had to shout over the top of us.

  “Girls, just light howling, please.”

  I said, “Okey dokey, Dr Light-howler.”

  Which Vaisey thought was funny, but fortunately the Doctor didn’t hear.

  We toned the howling down.

  Dr Lightowler went on. “Flossie, perhaps you are Emily huddling by the fire and trying to entertain your sisters. To take their minds off their bodies racked with consumption.”

  Two of the girls formed a fire with their torches, and Flossie huddled by it, shivering and coughing. She said in a Texan drawl, “Now y’all girls, come here a cotton-pickin’ moment.”

  Dr Lightowler said, “Emily is from Yorkshire, Flossie.”

  Flossie tried again, “Ay up, lasses, come around t’fire and we’ll sing a song.”

  Dr Lightowler came forward. “Milly, Tilly, be Anne and Charlotte.”

  Milly and Tilly came and huddled alongside Flossie, warming their hands at the torch fire.

  Dr Lightowler said to us in a hushed voice, “Perhaps they might make up little stories about the shadows? The rest of you girls be imaginary shapes guttering across the room. Girls with the torches, flicker them everywhere.”

  Be an imaginary shape?

  Honey and the rest started swooping and fluttering about.

  Tilly cried, “Oh, Emily, Charlotte, what is that? Over there by the fire extinguisher…um, by the…loom…Why, is that an eagle? Er…hunting?”

  And Flossie said, “Nay, lass, I think it’s a witch, high on a broomstick.”

  I tried to join in, but I just felt like a twerp. Especially as when I did attempt to flutter about I caught myself in the midriff with the fire extinguisher. It crashed to the floor and Dr Lightowler gave me a foul look. I tried to get it to stand up again, but it was making a hell of a noise clanking about.

  The ‘Brontës’ were excitedly saying, “I think I can see, I can hear…a little hand tapping at the window, is it Cathy out on the moors looking for Heathcliff????”

  Then Flossie said, “Yes, yes, I can hear it, what is that over there?”

  And she pointed at me. And everyone stopped and shone their torches on me.

  So I put my arms down by my side and bobbed about.

  I don’t know why I do Riverdance when I’m in the spotlight. I must have an inner Irish dancer trying to get out.

  Everyone started laughing.

  Apart from Dr Lightowler who said, “What are you doing, Tallulah Casey?”

  I said, “Um, I’m sweeping up. I’m an Irish broomstick.”

  I could see Flossie put her fist into her mouth and Jo had a coughing fit.

  Dr Lightowler just looked at me.

  I can see that inwardly she’s ticking me off her list of people for next year’s places.

  CHAPTER 9

  I want to live! I want to live!

  Do you think my corkers are growing?

  As we walked down the long main corridor towards the café, Vaisey said, “Ruby was telling me about The Jones. They are supposed to be cool, but moody. And the lead singer is called Cain, that’s la gothic, isn’t it?”

  Cain.

  I didn’t answer. Where to begin? Where to end?

  The Mark of Cain.

  I am haunted by Cain.

  And now he could be somewhere in the building.

  I haven’t even got any fake tan I can slap on.

  I could wear my hat and pull it right down. That’s what I would do. If Sidone can wear a velvet suit, I can wear my hat.

  I put my hat on in the loos. Avoiding looking at Bob’s notice about my smalls, which makes me feel somehow dirty.

  When I came out Lavinia and her mates were coming out of the dance studios wearing ballet shoes and leggings. Lav was saying to Dav, “I love the ballet, just love it. If I was as slim as you, Dav, I would go for
it like a shot.”

  Dav said, “But Lav, you’ve got a railly, railly nice figure and anyway you are soooo good at modern and jazz. Madame Frances said she had never seen better jazz hands.”

  Lavinia said, “Now you are just being a railly big love.”

  When she saw us, Lavinia gave me a number 58 on the beam-o-meter. Really beaming. Like she really liked me. Perhaps she did.

  She twitched my hat, which is annoying. Especially as it had probably made my hair stick up. She said, “Sweet. How you doing little Oirish, are you oiright? Are ye haven the crack?”

  Then Lavinia said, “Oh, and there is another performance lunchtime in a fortnight, you should try and do a little something for it. I’d be glad to help with anything you have an idea about.”

  And she went bouncing off. She is very bouncy, if you know what I mean.

  Vaisey said, “She’s really nice, isn’t she?”

  Flossie said, “Hmm.”

  And I said, “Hmm.”

  But not in an entirely good ‘hmm’ way.

  Honey said, “She’th got a vewy nithe complexthun.”

  It was a lovely day and Jo said, “Oh, I don’t know. Where should we have lunch, here do you think? Or it’s such a nice day…what about in the woods, maybe?”

  And we all went, “Oh…yeah, that’s a good idea. If you like, yeah. I don’t mind.” Really casually. As if we hadn’t given meeting Charlie and Phil a second thought.

  We went into the woods and settled down under the dancing tree.

  Talking about our morning, I said, “Dr Lightowler hates me.”

  Vaisey said, “You’re not wrong. But why did you have to be a broom? Why couldn’t you just flit around being a bat? Anything. Why a dancing Irish broomstick?”

  I said, “I don’t know, it’s because she notices me so much, it makes my brain freeze and when my brain freezes my legs get out of control.”

  Jo was munching her way through twenty-five apples. She’s got a very healthy appetite for a small person. She said, “I wonder if the Woolfe boys will come over. Have you seen them around the village?”

  I said, “Why, are you missing them?”

  Jo nearly choked on her Granny Smith. “No. How could I miss them when I don’t know them?”

  Flossie said, “I think you’ve been thinking about Phil, haven’t you? You were talking in your sleep last night saying, ‘Phil, Phil, I want you’.”

  Jo said, “I was not. Anyway, how would you know? I had to come and put your teddy pyjama case over your face to drown out your snoring.”

  Flossie said, “Are you telling me that you touched my teddy pyjama case in the night?”

  Jo said, “Yes.”

  Flossie got up. “That does it. Come on, let’s fight. You teddy toucher.”

  Jo got up and said, “I warn you, I’m smallish, but…”

  Flossie, who was limbering up like a prize fighter, said, “I know, I know, I’ve seen your inner Hulk. Come on!! I’ve been cramped up in that damn vicarage all morning with consumption. I want to live, I want to live!!!!!”

  I got up then and shouted, “I am not an Irish dancing broomstick, I’m a human being!!!!”

  And suddenly it turned into a wrestling match. Even Honey tucked her skirt into her knickers and dived on to the top of the pile.

  I couldn’t see my feet.

  But I knew what I could feel.

  I said, “Oy, will whoever is grasping my nearly corker area get off.”

  I heard Vaisey’s muffled voice say, “Sorry, I was just stopping myself from falling over.”

  Then Flossie, who had my head in an arm lock, said, “Oy, leave my bum alone!”

  And that is when a lad’s voice joined in.

  “Bloody hell, fightin’ lasses!”

  What!

  When we eventually disentangled and got up, in front of us were two very dark-haired boys. Is there a whole tribe of forest boys who just appear all the time when girls are doing private group work? They had leather jackets on and slung around their necks were guitars in guitar cases. I recognised them. Oh goodie. They were the two boys I had seen fighting on the bench on my second day in Heckmondwhite. I took a bit of a twig that had got caught in my leggings and put it in my mouth like a cigarette. I don’t know why.

  There was something menacing about the boys. They were staring at us from under their dark hair. One of them spat on the ground and I realised it was the pig poker, he was the one who’d been prodding Streaky and Smoky.

  “C’mon Seth, we’ve got no time for silly lasses.”

  Seth?

  Not Seth Hinchcliff.

  They started bowling off towards Dother Hall.

  Then the one called Seth turned round and stopped. He looked at Flossie who was just getting to her feet and smoothing down her skirt.

  She looked him straight in the eye and he said, “Tha’s not bad. I wouldn’t mind laiking about with thee.”

  And he turned and went off.

  Even Flossie was speechless.

  Who did they think they were?!!

  We soon found out who they thought they were when we got back to Dother Hall, because there was a big group of girls hanging about the studio in the corridor.

  Milly and Tilly spoke at the same time. Breathlessly. “Have you seen them?”

  Becka said, “The Jones. They’re here.”

  We went along to the dance studio for our first dance class with Madame Frances. She had been classically trained and, as she said herself, “I danced with all the greats, in the chorus at first, of course, but just as I was chosen to dance the Swan I suffered my…” And here she hesitated and her voice went quiet and husky, “…injury.”

  She was silent for so long that eventually, just to be polite, I said, “What, um, did you injure, Madame?”

  She looked up and said, “No, no, you young things don’t need to know about me. I don’t complain. I soldier on. Would one of you just go to my drawer and fetch me my wrap? I feel strangely chilled.”

  Someone sloped off to the drawer and got her wrap. Then her thermos flask. Then a little stool to rest her foot on. Then her stick which she had left at the far end of the studio.

  Eventually she said, “Now, girls, all to one end of the studio and let’s begin and have a little warm up. Could someone get my drum…”

  And that was it, that was our first dance workshop. For about an hour, Madame Frances sat on her chair in her wrap drinking tea from her thermos flask with one hand and hitting a drum with her stick. And we had to run across the room. In time to the drum. Backwards, forwards, sideways. Spinning, leaping, running, you name it, we did it to the drum.

  It was exhausting.

  Madame Frances might not be able to stand up but she could certainly bang a drum.

  My hair was all over the place and Vaisey looked like she’d been thrown in a vat of tomatoes. So we nipped to the loos and chucked water over our heads (not even saving it to do our smalls).

  When we came down again at break there was a huge gaggle of girls trying to see into in the music studios. Good, that meant that The Jones wouldn’t be able to get out very easily.

  At this point there was a big kafuffle, girls were sort of semi-fainting. Then we heard a voice I recognised saying, “Stop being so nebby, you lasses, and get your apple catchers out of t’road. Afore I do it for thee.”

  It was Ruben. The Jones came out of the studio looking a bit moody.

  I got my hat and pulled it right down over my eyes so that Cain wouldn’t recognise me.

  But when I peeped out there was no sign of Cain.

  Honey said, “Oh, have you finithed wecording alweddy?”

  The other one, not Ruben so it must be Seth, looked like he was going to kill her.

  He said, “Wot the bloody ‘ell did tha say?”

  Honey tried again, “I thaid…HAVE you FINithed WEcording?”

  “No, we haven’t finished WEcording. Bloody Cain nivver showed up.”

  As they wen
t through the front doors, pursued by girls, Ruben said, “I don’t know why we let him be in the band, he can’t sing and he’s an idle git.”

  Seth said, “I tell you why we let ‘im be in the band, the lasses come to see ‘im, ‘e writes the lyrics, and ‘e’s our brother.”

  On the way home Vaisey said, “Honey’s quite, you know…advanced for her age, isn’t she? She told me she’s a size 34 C.”

  I looked at Vaisey sideways and said casually, “Yeah, yeah, she would be about that. What are you…about a 32 um…?”

  Vaisey looked down at herself.

  “Yeah, I’m 32 B. So far.”

  I looked down at myself and she looked as well.

  We walked on in silence for a bit.

  Then I said, “Do you think my corkers are growing?”

  Vaisey looked closer and said, “Yes, I think they are. Maybe you could do some excercises. Like press-ups.”

  Hmmm.

  I said, “Oh yes. I could do the massage and press-ups combined.”

  Vaisey said, “Massage?”

  I didn’t mention the corker-rubbing business because there is something about Vaisey that makes me think she would find it unhygienic. And also we were sharing a bed tonight. Sharing a bed with Vaisey, but sharing a pub with Alex.

  When we got to Heckmondwhite I said I would see her in about an hour and scampered to the Dobbins’. I unlocked the door. Aaaah, the peace and tranquillity. No looming mad twins, no huge shorts. I walked around the kitchen just for the sheer pleasure of not having anyone staring at me from the floor.

  In my squirrel room, I opened the window, it was still quite hot. I was putting together my little overnight bag when I thought, what if I unexpectedly bump into Alex on my way to the lala in the middle of the night? What should I say?

  What about a quirky saying? To enhance my quirky nature.

  What about, “Cor, love a duck, I didn’t see you there, young sir!”

  No no no!!!

  I didn’t want him to see me in my jim-jams.

  And what about if he said, “Do you fancy a ride in my car?”

  What is good car wear?