The Taming Of The Tights. Louise Rennison
was a loud growling and Cain’s big black dog bounded out – ridden by Cain.
I woke up on Sunday morning to the light pattering of hail on the roof. I feel a bit tired. As if I’ve been dancing to Abba all night.
Rubes and Matilda were snoozing nose to nose at the bottom of the bed. So I quietly crept downstairs and unbolted the door without anyone hearing me. The church bells rang for early morning service as I crossed the village green to the Dobbins’ house.
Dandelion Cottage looked sweet in the early morning hail. The trees in the garden were losing their leaves and a wisp of smoke came from the chimney. There’s some ducks in the garden, but no sign of little Lullah and Ruby. I hope they’re all right.
Would they even know how to build a nest? Could they catch stuff to eat?
I don’t think their mum Connie has really shown them domestic skills. I’ve seen her eat a mouse head first, but I haven’t seen her teach them grooming or home-making. Bit like my mum and dad.
When I opened the unlatched door into the kitchen, Mrs Dobbins looked up from the stove. Wearing a hat covered in dead leaves and brown stuff. She was so pleased to see me she started jumping up and down. And the hugging began immediately. She is very huggy.
“Oh, Tallulah, I have SO missed you!! You darling girl!! You’ve grown AGAIN!! Look at you! You are GORGEOUS. What a shame you’ve just missed the twins and Harold – they’ve gone to church. They’ve got Micky and Dicky with them because it’s Tortoise Sunday. Ooh, we’ve had foraging fun, we found a badger’s set. Thrilling!!! Harold followed the droppings … actually, he brought some home, I’m drying them in the airing cupboard so be careful with your undies. We’re going to make sculptures with them.”
I said, from underneath her arms, “That sounds, er, spiffing.”
Dibdobs kissed me on the hair.
“Oooooh, you smell soooo Tallulah-ish. The twins will be so pleased to see you. Are you coming to church?”
I said, “Er, well, I’d love to but, er, I haven’t got a tortoise.”
Dibdobs said, “The boys would let you hold Micky and Dicky, I’m sure! Or you could take a duck.”
I said quickly, “Ooooh, that would be nice, but I have to, erm, prepare myself for Dother Hall tomorrow. Check my tights and so on.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I understand. Do you like my hat? It’s got dried mushrooms in it.”
I said, “Gosh, yes, it’s spiffing. I’m just going to unpack. Toodle-pips for nowsies.”
Toodle-pips?
I’d turned into Mary Poppins. I don’t know why the Dobbins have that effect on me, but they do.
They are nice though, even if they’re mad. It’s nice to have someone so glad to see you. When I phoned Mum to tell her I’d got here last night, she didn’t even know I’d gone back to college. I said, “But didn’t you think it was odd that I didn’t say anything? Or eat anything?”
She said, “‘Oh no, I just thought you were in one of your quiet moods.”
The Dobbins are not going to be back until teatime because they’re going to play table tennis in Pocklington after church.
I unpacked in my old familiar squirrel room, with its window looking out over the back woods. So many memories there. The last one of Cain leaving me a poem with a knife pinning it to the old oak tree.
Huh.
He needn’t think that writing a bit of a poem makes up for all those other things that I will never, ever be thinking about.
The nose-licking incident for instance or the corker-rubbing thing and the other terrible, terrible thing. That I will never, ever mention, even to myself.
I’ve put my private Darkly Demanding Damson Diary behind a secret panel next to my squirrel bed.
Then I had a hot chocolate and a mooch around downstairs. It looks like the lunatic twins have made a tortoise home for Micky and Dicky behind the sofa.
It can’t be made out of a cabbage, can it?
Yes, it is.
By eleven, the hail had eased off so I got togged up again to look around and see if I could find the owlets. Ruby’s curtains in the attic are still closed so she must be having a little lie-in.
I walked down the back path to the barn. There were no signs of life in there, just the old nest where the owlets had hatched. How sad. I shut the door and walked on past the back field.
The sheep started trying to get into the hedge when they saw me. If I didn’t know for a fact that they are very, very stupid, I would think that they remember me singing ‘The hills are alive with the sound of music’ to them last term.
I thought I’d go down to the river and look for the owlets there. I went to the little bridge, and I can see the path that leads up to Dother Hall. Underneath me is the Heck River. That Beverley threw herself in because of Cain.
Yes, there it is, the mighty Heck River, swollen to twice its depth by the incessant rain. So now it’s four inches deep. What a fool that Beverley is. When she threw herself into the river, she just ruined her frock. The water only came up to her bottom.
I wonder what size her bottom is now after her hunger strike.
Anyway I’m not going to be intimidated by the Bottomley sisters this term. I am, after all, fifteen and not a kid who …
And that’s when I saw them.
The Bottomley sisters.
Well, three of them – Beverley wasn’t with them.
Ecclesiastica, Diligence and Chastity were eating pies. In fact, Chastity had one in each hand. And it wasn’t even lunchtime. They were eating pre-lunch pies.
And I bet they’re having pies for lunch.
When Eccles saw me she said, “Oooh, look, it’s the long dunderwhelp.”
Chas said, with her mouth full, “My mum said she saw you, sitting on blind people on her bus.”
Dil said, “Come on, let’s go, she’s putting me off me pie.”
And they went past me, eating and giving me the evils.
Eccles turned back and said, “Oh, I forgot, our Beverley told me to give you this. So here you are, you lanky idiot.”
And she gave me a grubby bit of paper.
As they lumbered off, Ruby and Matilda came tumbling along. Ruby was out of breath. And Matilda had to have a little lie-down.
“I saw you. I drew me curtains, I was up in my room and I thought, ay up, there’ll be trouble. So we came to your rescue. What did the big daft lasses say?”
“They gave me a note from Beverley.”
Ruby said, “Can she write? Is it a death threat? Give us a look.”
She took the note from me and read it slowly, tutting, and then she said, “That Beverley can’t really do joined-up writing, but I think it says, ‘To the lanky streak of lard’.”
What?
Ruby