Withering Tights with Bonus Material Read online

I will improvise a ballet. I will think of being Cathy, flitting about in ballet shoes on the moors, lashed by cruel gales, looking for Alex—I mean, Heathcliff.

  I sang from my notebook and danced, danced on the moors:

  I’m out on the moors,

  the wild moors, Let’s roll about in rockpools.

  Oh, it gets lonely without you,

  I hate you, I love you.

  It’s Cathy, trying to get in your Windoooooow ow

  ow ow . . .

  There wouldn’t be a bedside lamp on the moors. But if there was I bet I could find it with my shins.

  It was funny not going to meet Vaisey.

  Also, to be honest, it meant that I didn’t have an excuse to hope that Alex was about. As I began to walk across the bridge and up the lane to Dother Hall, I was thinking, I bet they all had a pillow fight in the dorm last night and lashings and lashings of ginger beer. And as I was feeling a bit left out I saw Ruby skipping off to her mates. Yes, quite literally skipping. She saw me and shouted, “Oy, squeeze you later!!!”

  It was like having a mad little sister. Which I’ve never had before.

  And I had nice new friends.

  And I had been kissed.

  Also my corkers are on the move.

  And I’ve still got the chance to do something to impress everyone at Dother Hall.

  With my secret hidden talent.

  That was secret.

  And hidden.

  Secretly.

  It was a beautiful day, so I thought that I wouldn’t wear my crash helmet on the imaginary Harley. I was riding along with the wind rushing through my hair, but then, nearly at the gates of Dother Hall, my lovely country drive was spoiled. I had to squeal to an imaginary halt because out of a bush jumped Vaisey, Jo, Flossie, and Honey.

  Vaisey said, “Were you driving your imaginary Harley-Davidson?”

  I nodded.

  The ballet class was another low spot of embarrassment. When I tell you that the high spot was putting my special ballet shoes on, you’ll get the picture.

  Madame Frances hobbled in to her usual chair and adjusted her hot-water bottle. “Aaah. The ballet is the only true art. Before I had my accident I . . .”

  I said to the girls under my breath as she rattled on about her bad feet, “Is there anyone in this place who hasn’t had an accident?”

  This is the ballet.

  We had to point our feet and go up and down. And then put our legs on bars, still pointing our feet, and go up and down. Then we had to hold each other’s legs and go up and down. Pointing our feet. And then we did a bit more pointing and going up and down.

  How can that be a good thing?

  I said to Flossie, who had had to Sellotape her glasses to her head with all the pointy leg business, “When did this get invented? It’s not proper dancing.”

  Flossie looked at me. “Lullah, I don’t want to be unnecessarily rude, but I have seen your Irish dancing.”

  At the end we had to do jeté, which essentially means you leap up in the air with pointy feet.

  Honey was really good at ballet. Really elegant and floaty. Even Flossie was good, although I think the Sello-taped glasses spoiled the total effect. Jo was good armwise but could only leap about an inch off the ground. When it was my turn, I was pleased because I went higher than everyone. I did it again and then noticed that Flossie and the others looked like they were having a fit.

  Flossie said, “It’s just that, it’s just that . . .”

  And then she started laughing uncontrollably.

  I said, “It’s just that what? I was leaping quite high.”

  Jo said, “I know, I know, the leaping is good—it’s just that when you leap you make a rabbit face.”

  Madame Frances was crying into her flask as we went out.

  At break I pretended to go to the loo but went into the vegetable garden by myself.

  The sun was glinting through the runner beans and Sidone’s bicycle was leaning against the wall where all the plums were stored.

  There was a watering can and a ballet dress in her basket.

  Is that how she watered the garden? On a bike in a ballet dress?

  Probably.

  That’s how arty she is.

  I wonder what Cousin Georgia would do for the performance assessment if she were here.

  I closed my eyes and tried to imagine her talking.

  I could see her in my mind’s eye, doing her disco inferno dance. And jiggling. Funnily enough she was wearing Sidone’s tutu.

  I think she was saying something like “Sugar Plum bikey”—but it was hard to tell because of the banana stuffed sideways into her mouth.

  Despite a lot of protests from the girls, I am trying to get them to be in my bicycle ballet at the performance lunchtime. If I’m going to be on the course next term, I am going to have to pull out all the stops.

  I said, “And the bicycle ballet might be a truly unforgettable event.”

  Jo said, “That is what we are all afraid of.”

  First I started with pleading. And saying I would get chucked off the course. And that they would never see my knees again.

  Everyone looked at my knees.

  I sensed they might be crumbling.

  In the end they agreed that they would do the bicycle ballet.

  Now all I have to do is to make up the bicycle ballet.

  I’m going to go and make notes in my performance-art notebook.

  The others wanted to know what it’s about.

  Aaah.

  I said, “Well, the idea is that . . . not everyone is a ballet dancer . . . but that all life is art . . . and beauty can be found in the everyday . . . stuff.”

  They still looked a bit puzzled. They weren’t alone.

  Vaisey said, “Will there be singing in it?”

  I said, “Yes, of course.”

  She got interested then.

  “Will I be singing in it?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “What will I be singing?”

  Honey and Jo and Flossie all said, “Why can’t we sing in it?”

  I said, “You can—you’re all singing in it!”

  Vaisey said, “What are we singing?”

  And I said, “Well . . . it’s the Sugar Plum Fairy . . . theme song.”

  We’re going to rehearse in secret every day. First we have to find some bikes.

  But then fate took a hand in events at Dother Hall.

  We were summoned to the Hall. There were candles burning and all the blinds were shut. Even though it was a spanking hot day. Then “Nessun Dorma” began playing, you know, that classical thing they had for the World Cup when even grown men cried.

  The house lights were dimmed and Sidone Beaver came out onto the stage in a veil.

  A full-length veil. She had something in her hands.

  She was moving in a very odd way. Like she had a trolley for her feet.

  Bejesus, she did have a trolley for her feet! She was sort of being drawn along on it to the center of the stage.

  Then from underneath her veil Sidone spoke.

  “I have here something . . . that says more than I could ever say in words about one of the finest artistes . . . it has been my privilege to work with.”

  And Sidone held up a pair of ballet shoes.

  And that is the world-breaking news. Madame Frances has left and we have a new performance art dance tutor arriving today.

  Afterward we were lolling about on the front steps outside, talking about Madame Frances leaving. I said, “Well, it’s sad, of course, but look at it this way . . . Hurrrrahhhhh!!!”

  We had been run-run-leaping for the best part of a fortnight.

  Vaisey said, “What is she called, the new dance teacher? It was sort of like a James Bond name, wasn’t it?”

  I said, “Well, she can’t be any odder than Madame Frances, I mean—”

  At which point an old sports car came hurtling up the drive and stopped in front of us in a shower of gravel
. A person dressed entirely in red plastic, with huge goggles, leapt out. She took off her goggles and underneath she had another smaller pair.

  She said to us, “Just call me Fox. Blaise Fox.”

  The weird thing is that I immediately liked Ms. Fox. She is undeniably insane. We all agreed on that.

  For our first session with her she walked around looking at us. She had a riding crop in her hand and she said, “I am looking at you and you are looking at me. This is very good. I am looking and I am liking. You are looking and you are thinking, ‘I hope she doesn’t hit me with her crop.’ But that is because I am me and you are you. I am going to show you a film about the work I have done. Don’t be frightened.”

  I have never seen anything like Ms. Fox’s film.

  There she was, dressed up as a German businessman on a train, sitting down with a newspaper, then she started slapping the commuters with her newspaper.

  And then she was in a doggie outfit dancing around a kennel in a shopping center.

  And finally, she was scratching her teeth in time to some music.

  After we had watched the film, she said, “Right, you’ve got four minutes. Go find something in the studio and make up a little performance with it.”

  Wow.

  And also wow.

  And crikey Moses.

  Everyone panicked and ran around the studio. I found an old bit of bandage backstage. I don’t think it was used. I really hope it wasn’t used.

  I didn’t really know what I was doing. I wrapped it around my hand leaving a little mouth hole. Like an Egyptian mummy. I think I was modeling it on the idiot boys without their “teef.”

  Before I had time to think, Ms. Fox blew a whistle and shouted, “On the stage, let’s see it. You!” And pointed to people.

  Even Jo looked rattled. She’d found two drumsticks and put them in her hair and started to speak Japanese, I think.

  Flossie put on a lampshade and started being a catwalk model.

  Next it was Vaisey. She got up and said, “This is Vaisey.” Then she put a curtain round her shoulders and said, “But this is Vaisey, star!” And burst into song: “Fame, I’m gonna live forever, I’m gonna learn how to fly. I’m gonna—”

  Ms. Fox shouted, “Next!” And pointed at me.

  I got up onstage and said, “Um, hello, Dad used to bring me stuff back from Egypt, and once he brought me a baby mummy.”

  Milly and Tilly started sniggering.

  Then I said, “And here it is.” And put my bandaged hand up.

  Everyone was just looking at me. Like I’d gone mad.

  I had.

  I looked at the mummy. I said to it, “So you are an ancient Egyptian, then?”

  I made the mummy nod its head and open and shut its mouth.

  “That’s very interesting.” The mummy nodded.

  I said, “You’re very small for a mummy.” And the mummy started making muffled noises.

  I said to it, “Well, there is no need for that kind of language. You are only letting yourself down, and ruining a lovely occasion.”

  The mummy made muffled noises again.

  I said, “Right, that does it!”

  And I wrestled my own hand to the floor and fought with it for a bit.

  Some people clapped at the end.

  Vaisey and Jo and Honey and Flossie stared at me.

  As we were going out, Blaise said to me, “What’s your name?”

  I said, “Tallulah Casey.”

  She said, “Watching you is like watching someone whose pants are on fire. Strangely fascinating, keep it up.”

  I went home to write in my performance-art notebook. Already some of the slate is coming off the cover.

  Ms. Fox said “strangely fascinating.” Is that good?

  Make the bicycle ballet “strangely fascinating.”

  I’ve sort of mapped it out now.

  The girls sing the Sugar Plum Fairy song in chorus on bikes at the back.

  It starts with swirling snow as they go to the Land of Sugar and Sweets. (Note for swirling snow: Get a fan from Bob and lots of bits of paper.)

  The chorus goes up and down the back of the stage on their bikes, first with legs out to the sides. (Will have to give big shove to get it across stage.)

  Then one knee on the saddle.

  Then both legs out at the back.

  Then the Sugar Plum Fairy dance. I will be the Sugar Plum Fairy. (Costume note: Get lots of lollipops from village store and net underskirt from Ruby’s ballet class.)

  Could I get a unicycle from somewhere?

  And dance with bike in center of stage before I ride off really fast, and then come gliding back on when I have momentum. With no hands.

  Sucking two lollipops.

  We’ve rounded up five bikes from Ruby, although one is a bit small as she had it when she was six. Jo can have that one. And the rest are ones that have been left at The Blind Pig after people had The Blind Pig special ale (Ruby says).

  We’ve got the music. And most of the costumes, and we’re rehearsing every day at the back of college.

  I popped round to see the Rubster (and Matilda) on the way home, to see if the owlets were hatched yet and if Alex was about.

  Ruby was eating an apple on the wall and she said she’d had a scientific idea.

  “Dad is redecorating the downstairs ladies’ loos, we could do your corker outline there. You know, a sideways outline. And see the difference the next time you are up here.”

  I said sadly, “Rubes, I don’t think there is much chance of me being here next year. We’ve got our halfway assessments this week.”

  Matilda was hurling herself at my legs. She loves me. And goes mad with excitement every time she sees me. Ruby said, “Tha must smell like a doggie treat.”

  I said, casually, “Is Alex about?”

  And Ruby tutted.

  On Thursday, we were just going to check that the bicycles were oiled when I saw Alex in the corridor, talking to Lavinia.

  I wished I had got my Barely Pink lipstick on to make me seem a bit more grown-up.

  They looked like they were sharing a private joke, and Lavinia was grinning like a beaver.

  As we passed them I was pretending to find something in my tote bag, but Lav spotted me and said, “Hellooo, little Oirish. I’m railly looking forward to your piece in the performance lunchtime. What is it called?”

  Damn.

  “Um, well, ah . . .”

  She and Alex were looking at me.

  “It’s called . . . Dance of the Sugar Plum Bikey,” I said wildly.

  Alex had a slight grin on his face. He said, “Dance of the Sugar Plum Bikey. Yes, that’s got a nice ring to it.”

  Lavinia smiled.

  I smiled back.

  But I didn’t really mean it, to be honest.

  And also she was the only person who called me “little” anything. I’ve never been called “little,” even when I was little. Which was never.

  Alex then said something that made my bottom quake a lot. “Look forward to seeing it, I’ll be there at the performance lunchtime.”

  No!

  Out in the bike shed, as we were oiling away, I said to the girls, “I can’t do this!”

  None of them said anything. They just went on oiling.

  I said, “I want to stay on at Dother Hall, but I can’t let Alex see my knees.”

  Flossie said, “You’ve got to do something, Lullah.”

  I said wildly, “I could do my Egyptian mummy thing!”

  The girls handed me my bike.

  Dance of the Sugar Plum Bikey

  I THINK I HAVE sprained my ankle. Certainly I have destroyed a stoat mask made out of corn on the cob and a Hula-Hoop. The bike might be fixable.

  It took Bob and a couple of the bigger girls a little while to untangle me from the stage lights. When I eventually hobbled back onstage for the crit there was a big round of applause. And I heard someone yell “Encore.”

  But I think they may
have been being ironic.

  The singing was good, the lights went on and off, the bicycles’ chorus across the back was good, it was all going so well. I think the audience was a little bit surprised by my bike solo when I did a jeté and then the bike did a jeté but . . .

  It was when I came to do my final pièce de résistance: the lying on the saddle with my legs outstretched at the back. I was fine, I was balanced and focused. Vaisey’s singing had reached a crescendo and I had my lollipops ready when my net skirt caught in the back wheel. And ripped off. Leaving me in my apple catchers.

  In the spotlight.

  The net skirt also jammed the wheel so the bike suddenly stopped and I plunged over the handlebars and into the backstage area through the blackout curtain.

  Gudrun handed me a bin liner to cover my knickers. As I hobbled back in front of the audience, all I could think of was that maybe, by the grace of God, Alex had been in a minor car accident.

  But then Lavinia hopped up onto the stage and said, “Well, that was soo railly good.” And she glanced over to me. “And railly brave. Well done, you. You may have noticed that we have a tall, handsome stranger with us today. Besides you, Bob!”

  Bob flicked what was left of his ponytail back. And gave a thumbs-up. He truly does think he is handsome.

  Lavinia went on. “May I introduce you to the lovely Alex Barraclough. A local boy made good. Alex has starred in West End shows and is now on his way to take up a place at Liverpool Rep. So very exciting. He kindly said he would give us a word or two about today’s performance. So over to Alex.”

  Alex stood up and swung himself onto the side of the stage. All of the girls and most of the staff (especially Monty) were practically drooling and flicking their hair. Alex seemed very relaxed. He was probably used to it.

  I pulled the bin liner around me more tightly. God, my ankle hurt. I could never ever go round to The Blind Pig again. I didn’t want to listen to what he was about to say. And also I thought I was probably having a heart attack. My heart was thumping, my knees were bruised, and Alex had seen me in my knickers.

  Vaisey was standing next to me and she squeezed my hand.

  Jo mouthed, “You’ve got a lollipop in your hair.”

  Oh goodie.

  Alex talked about “exploration” and “pushing boundaries” and not being afraid to fail. He said he’d enjoyed each piece in its own way.