Withering Tights with Bonus Material Read online

  Then as a final thing he said, “It’s always hard to say what you like and why, but I have to say, in all honesty, I have never seen anything like the Sugar Plum Bikey. Never. It was ambitious and daring and . . . of course, accidents do happen. I once opened a door onstage and the whole set wall fell down. I haven’t actually crashed off a bike headfirst into the wings. But maybe one day I will be lucky enough.”

  Everyone laughed.

  I felt a bit better, actually. I think he was trying to make me feel less of an idiot.

  He went off to massive applause.

  The girls were very nice to me. They said it was a brave effort and everything, but I knew.

  We were getting our assessment marks after lunch. I couldn’t eat anything so I sat on the front steps just looking at the moors. I didn’t have what it took. I wasn’t full of northern grit. I was full of some kind of grit from the stage floor, but it wasn’t the kind I needed.

  Blaise Fox came striding down the steps.

  Please, please don’t let her say anything horrid.

  She said, “Tallulah, that was a triumph. You don’t know how funny you are.”

  We got our assessments in little sealed envelopes. So this was it.

  We went to our special tree to open them. I was hobbling along at the back.

  Vaisey said, “Let’s do it all at once. I’ll count. Ready? One, two, three.”

  And we ripped open the envelopes.

  Tallulah Casey

  Dother Hall

  Summer term assessment

  Dear Tallulah,

  You are clearly an intelligent girl as

  well as being very tall. You have an unusual presence

  and on the whole a slightly wild, but pleasing, disposition.

  However, I regret that so far my staff and I have seen nothing that would suggest to us that you are cut out for an artistic career. As we have tried to emphasize, this is not a career choice for the fainthearted. In the time that you have left here, we hope that you will charge your glass with courage and show us that you can do something extraordinary. Sidone Your overall assessment is 45 percent

  Vaisey, Jo, Honey, and Flossie all got over 60 percent.

  Honey and Vaisey were specially mentioned for their singing.

  I didn’t want them to see my letter—but they wanted to.

  Jo said, “Come on, Lullah, it can’t be that bad.”

  I gave it to her and she said, “Blimey, that’s bad.”

  Vaisey said, “She says that you’re tall and you have an unusual presence. That’s good, isn’t it?”

  And that’s when little tears came splashing out of my eyes.

  I didn’t want to cry in front of them. But I was.

  Vaisey started crying then as well, when she saw me. She said, “Please don’t, Lullah, I can’t bear it if you cry and are upset. I think you are lovely, I thought you were lovely the minute I met you and you took me to Heck-mondwhite High Street, which isn’t there. But that is what I love about you.”

  Flossie and Jo put their arms around me. Jo looked up at me and said, “I bet you can do something, I just bet you can show them. What about singing a really big belting song that—”

  Flossie said quietly, “The singing tutor sort of said that maybe, you know, Lullah should concentrate on other things.”

  Jo said, “Oh yes, yes, I remember. . . .”

  No one could think of anything else to say. I was just standing in a huddle by our tree with my friends cuddling me. I’ve never been so unhappy and happy at the same time.

  Then Jo said, “I know this is a bit of an odd thing to say, but it might show you that every cloud has a silver lining. When you were crying, I had my head accidentally on your corker area and I think you could even, maybe, get your first bra.”

  When I hobbled into the canteen at afternoon break, Lavinia was sitting with Dav and Noos. They waved when they saw me. I waved back, but then Lavinia did that “come over here” thing. I couldn’t really pretend I hadn’t seen them, so I had to go over.

  Lavinia got up and gave me a big hug.

  Why?

  Have I turned into Huggy Bear since the bicycle ballet?

  She was all sympathetic.

  “How are you, little Oirish? You weren’t bothered about the marks, were you? It’s all so silly, railly, isn’t it? I mean, even if you got ninety and a half percent, you can’t go up to Andrew Lloyd Webber and say, ‘Andrew, I got ninety and a half percent, give me a job, darling.’”

  She went on. “I thought what Alex said was railly spot-on. You know, you did an experiment. OK, it went a teensy bit wrong, but you had the courage to do it. He was railly right. You know Alex a bit, don’t you, Luls?”

  Why was she calling me Luls? Where did that come from?

  Lavinia was still in Alex world.

  “I feel like I have known him for ages, and we have got so much in common. Is he around much?”

  Oh, I see.

  After break we trooped into Monty’s class. It will be quite restful listening to him talk about himself, after what I’ve been through. In fact I feel quite fond of him. Now that I won’t be seeing him again.

  He bustled in and said, “Exciting news, girls, our next project. Our next adventure. Takes us back in time. We’re going to do a Mummers play.”

  At first I thought he said a mummy’s play. And that everyone had been talking about me in the staff room.

  Jo said, “Sir, what is a mummy’s play?”

  He said, “Mummers, dear, Mummers. I’m glad you asked that, Jo; it’s very, very interesting.”

  Sadly, we now know that every time Monty says something is “very interesting” it is bound to be a story about him as a young man.

  We were right.

  Monty said, “I remember well the first Mummers play I was asked to do. It was a warm summer’s evening in Chelsea. I had a lovely flat where I was wont to entertain friends after drama college. A way of us letting off steam. One of my friends, Simeon, was admiring my vegetables.”

  I looked at Vaisey and Jo. Where was this going to end?

  Monty was still in Chelsea. “Why have roses when you can have fine, firm cauliflowers in your vases?”

  Anyway, it turns out that a Mummers play is medieval.

  Monty went on. “The ‘Mummers’ would dress up in motley (bits of old rag) with their faces painted blue and take sticks with sheep’s bladders on the end of them to hit people with, and they would travel to local hostelries on a Saturday eve.”

  I whispered to Vaisey, “It sounds like The Blind Pig.”

  And she giggled and shook her hair about.

  All afternoon we practiced the Mummers play. It’s mostly fooling around and a bit of olde dialogue. Honey got to swan around singing as the maiden, Jo was St. George and belted people with her sword, and Flossie was the dragon. Vaisey was the wandering minstrel and Monty was the narrator. I didn’t have anything to say because I was to be the horse.

  Actually, to tell the truth it was spiffing.

  We even improvised bits and I pretended to be Black Beauty, which made Vaisey laugh a lot. I seem to have lost a bit of my self-consciousness. I said that to the girls and Flossie said, “That’s because you have no pride left.”

  She’s not wrong.

  At the end of the day, Monty said, “Now then, girls, I have a marvelous surprise. I thought we would pay a visit to The Blind Pig on Friday. And show them our little entertainment.”

  Oh no.

  Crumbs.

  Crikey.

  And also, bejesus.

  On Friday in Bob’s Dude-mobile on the way to The Blind Pig, I said to Vaisey, “You should be the little horse. Tell Monty, tell him, that you always are the horse. Remind him of your Black Beauty.”

  She said, “I can’t now, it’s too late. I’m the wandering minstrel and you don’t want to sing, do you?”

  I am someone who has got 45 percent for their talents and I am having to go into the lions’ den, The Blind P
ig. To give my 45 percent in front of a man who pretends I am a big lad. In tights. When Mr. Barraclough sees me as a horse, he will be so thrilled.

  Well, I am not going to do it.

  It’s not just for me.

  Matilda would never be able to hold her paws up in public again.

  But as if in a horrific slow-motion nightmare, I found myself in the barn at the back of The Blind Pig. In a horse costume.

  I tried to canter off down the road, but Dr. Lightowler spotted me and gave me one of her looks. So I pretended to eat some grass by the side of the road, as if I was getting into character, like Monty told us. I was pretending to be the horse. I tried to explain that to her, but she just shook her cloak and tutted.

  All the Dother Hall staff had come along to support us. Blaise Fox was smoking a cheroot. She clicked her tongue at me and said, “Giddyup.”

  When we appeared in the main bar, Mr. Barraclough was beside himself with delight.

  He was all dressed up and he had put a special bowler hat on the stag.

  On the plus side, Ruby and Matilda were at dog obedience class.

  Oh, it was bad. Worserer than anyone could have imagined. It had seemed good fun in the studio at Dother Hall. All “have at thee” and “jokes” that made no sense—“Hey diddly noddly noo, I will throw thee down the loo.”

  All I can say is that people in olden times must have had nothing to do. But no one else seemed to mind like I did. Honey was the maiden and swanned around singing with a lute. She was flirting with the village boys, who were like moths to a flame.

  I said quietly to Vaisey, when I had done my horse dance, “If Alex or Charlie or Phil or even Ben turn up, please shoot me quickly or stab me to death with the stag’s horns.”

  It was mostly the village lads watching and laughing. But I don’t mean laughing in an entertained way, I mean in a “laughing at me” way. The Dobbinses were at the back of the crowd and the twins just looked and looked at me. Dibdobs clapped each time I did anything, even lean against the bench. And Harold joined in at one point and had an “amusing” fight with Flossie when he snatched her sheep’s bladder and started hitting people with it.

  Also, I was hot. My costume had legs hanging from it. And, besides a long tail, I had big ears and a mane.

  The whole thing was awful, and I didn’t understand why the rest of the girls thought it was so funny. Jo was bashing the big lads over the head with her inflated sheep’s bladder like there was no tomorrow. She was shouting, “Have at thee, you varlant.” And all sorts.

  At last, it was the end and Monty came on as the narrator. There was a spontaneous round of applause. Just for his codpiece.

  Monty was bowing and passing round his hat for change when one of the bigger lads grabbed Monty’s codpiece. Oh, I wish I was kidding. And put it on his head like a bonnet.

  Monty was delighted.

  “Away you go, my boys!!! Play on, play on.”

  Then at a signal from Bob, who had been dressed as a jester with a drum, Monty strode into the center, his tights quite literally bulging with the strain of clinging to his stomach. He said:

  “And now, good friends, forfend,

  “And alack aday our tale is at an end,

  “We hope we have in some small way,

  “Added to this merry day.

  “I thank you and alas must be away.”

  And he bowed and the whole of the back of his tights split.

  I had to trot at the back of him until he could escape into the men’s loos.

  Afterward in the pub we were swigging ginger beer and eating crisps. Everyone was all excited and pepped up. Ms. Fox came to see us and said, “Well done. Well done. Brilliant interaction with the audience. Excellent use of sheep’s bladders. Very, very good. And Tallulah, once again, a masterpiece in how to try and avoid being seen. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. No one could.”

  Oh goodie.

  Ruby was back and nagging me to come and see the owl eggs. She said, “I’ve got a feeling about ’em. . . . I think they’re going to be popping out soon. What do you think we should name them?”

  She said this to me, like I was the owlets’ dad and she was the owlets’ mum.

  Ruby said, “It’s really exciting, isn’t it?”

  I said, “It will be if Connie the killer mum is there.”

  Oh, I was so tired.

  I tried to keep my end up, though, and be cheerful and nice, and join in.

  About half an hour later, after a gallon of ginger beer and two tons of crisps, we were just coming away from the pub when the Hinchcliff boys swaggered up.

  All three of them.

  Ruben, Cain, and Seth.

  It was like a standoff at the OK Corral.

  And I was Trigger.

  Why, oh, why hadn’t I taken the horse costume off? I tried to tuck the dangly legs out of sight, but I still had a horse’s body and tights on.

  The boys just looked at us.

  Then Ruben said, “Cor.”

  Jo and Vaisey and Honey were looking at them like mesmerized sheep.

  And they were the wolves.

  Ruby said, “Don’t take any notice of ’em, it only meks ’em worse.”

  But I could tell the others were a bit fascinated.

  The lads were sort of circling us. Seth and Ruben were dark, like Cain.

  Then Seth pinched Honey’s bottom. And she said, “Ouch, that weally hurt.”

  Seth said, getting really close to her, “Did it WEALLY hurt, love?”

  Then Flossie pinched Seth’s bottom and he leaped about a mile in the air.

  He said, “Bloody hell, you’re a strong dragon!”

  Ruby said, “Clear off, you lot, otherwise I’m going to tell my dad about that chicken you stole.”

  Seth said, “You would an’ all, you—”

  But they began to slope off, making kissing noises. As Cain passed me he looked right into my eyes for a minute, just breathing and looking at me. From his dark eyes. And his dark-red mouth. From under his black hair. I felt like I was being drawn into a vortex of blackness. What did he want with me?

  Then he said, “Look at the state of you.”

  He’s like a wild animal

  AS WE WALKED ALONG Honey said, “They’re vewy thexy in a no-good way.”

  I looked back to see Cain looking back at me. Then he did a clicking sound and one of the village girls, I think she’s called Beverley, came out of the shadows. She got hold of Cain’s arm.

  Cain shouted out, “Night-night, girls, don’t do nowt I wouldn’t do.” And he laughed.

  Ruby said, “That Beverley has been forbidden ever to see Cain since the last time.”

  Vaisey said, “What happened?”

  Ruby said, “Well, she was right keen on Cain and he, you know . . .”

  We all went, “What???”

  Ruby said, “Well, he snogged her and that, and then she was all keen, and he gave her a ring and so she started telling folk they were engaged.”

  Vaisey said, “What happened then?”

  Ruby said, “Beverley turned up at one of The Jones’s gigs and Cain were with someone else.”

  Jo said, “What, she just turned up? He didn’t say anything? What did she do?”

  Ruby said, “She went down to the river and she threw herself in it.”

  We all went, “Oh my God.”

  Vaisey said, “Did she drown?”

  And we all looked at her. Then she realized and went a bit red. She said, “What did happen?”

  Ruby said, “Well, the river was only a few inches deep, so she sat down in it and ruined her frock, and that were abaht it. But she went to bed and wept for weeks, and that. Her dad were livid and started a family row with the Hinchcliffs, and she’s not to speak to Cain again.”

  Cain is a bounder and a cad.

  When we reached the Dobbinses’ house, Jo, Flossie, Vaisey, and Honey decided to try, accidentally on purpose, to find the boys. They were going to have a look round t
o see if they were playing snooker in the village hall or having a game of football.

  I said, “My legs are tired after all that trotting. I think I will hit the hay.”

  Flossie gave my head a little squeeze.

  “That was very nearly a joke.”

  Ruby said to me, “What? What about the eggs?”

  I said, “Maybe tomorrow.” She said, “Huh. I’ll come with you lot, then.”

  Vaisey said kindly, “It’s a bit late, Rubes, and I don’t want your dad on my case.”

  So Ruby went grumbling off home to play with Matilda and her new squeaky bone. That Matilda is scared of.

  As they left, Jo had one last go at persuading me.

  “Ben or . . . Charlie might be there.”

  I was too fed up. I said, “No. I would love to, but I think I have pulled a fetlock.”

  I went into the Dobbinses’ house. They were still out.

  I sat in my squirrel room.

  Looking at my horsie legs.

  What a night.

  I love my new friends, but they can do stuff. And they are not all weird and self-conscious like me. Like Vaisey. Even though her whole head was painted blue and she was charging about in bits of old rag, she enjoyed it. And Honey sang in a lovely voice, and Jo waggled her sword about and slapped the audience with it. And Flossie, well, Flossie was just Flossie. . . .

  And Ben hasn’t sent me a note or anything. Even though he did jabby-tongue business. That seems a bit rude.

  I wish Matilda was here, trying to get up into my bed.

  I may as well get in it myself. There’s nothing else to do.

  I even broke my rule about not being childish and put the squirrel slippers next to me. Because they were soft and furry.

  I wrote in my performance-art notebook:

  I feel all hot and restless.

  I feel like there is some big mystery I don’t know about.

  Something, wild, rising up inside me.

  Calling to me.

  Maybe I’ve got a touch of the Wuthering Heights.

  Out on the moors,

  The lonely moors,

  I roll around in sheep poo.

  Heathcliff, it’s youuuuu,

  I hate you, I love you, tooooo.

  Let me in, I’m here, it’s meeeee,