Withering Tights

Chapter 16

Heathcliff, it’s me

Tap-tapping at your windooooow

When I got to Dother Hall, I felt like a month had gone by, so much had happened. It was really only a few days since I had seen the girls, but I had been through the wringer of life. I wouldn’t know where to start to tell them everything.

Was I going to tell them everything?

Did anyone else know about corker rubbing?





As I reached the gates, Vaisey came hurtling out to hug me. Her hair shaking and shimmying about. She said, “Lullah, guess what? Phil told me that Jack thinks I’m cute!!!! Cute!!!”

I said, “Gosh. And goodie. That’s goodie. And spiffing and everything.”

Vaisey said, “I know, I know. AND Jack is going to be coming here on Friday…because…The Jones have asked him to be their new drummer!”

Oh goodie, The Jones will be around on Friday.





I didn’t have any time to talk to the girls about my news because we had mime with Monty, first thing. He was so excited about it that he came and got us ten minutes early. Hustling us into the small studio, he loosened his bow tie and said, “Today we are going to learn how to express ourselves, but not through voice. Let’s begin. I will go first.”

He put on a sailor’s hat and started to sway from side to side.

Then he put a hand over his eye, like he was looking into the distance.

Then he looked sad.

Then he looked into the distance again.

And jumped up and down, looking pleased.

He fell to his knees, putting his hands in prayer position. Then leapt up again and did a war dance.

At the end, he said, “So, girls, what happened?”

Flossie said, “Were you a drunken sailor?”

Monty looked a bit annoyed.

We knew it was some sort of sailor because of the hat, but then Flossie said, “Well, were you on a cross-channel ferry in a storm?”

Monty got exasperated and told us that he was Columbus discovering America.

I don’t know how we were supposed to know that.

I said to Vaisey, “Wasn’t Columbus Spanish or something? He should have done a little flamenco dance instead of just the swaying.”

At that point Ms Fox came in and said, “Hello, carry on as if I am not here.”

Then she lay down on the floor.

Monty said, “Now ladies, it is your turn. Think yourself into whatever it is you are portraying. Be the thing or person inside.”

We had to get into groups of three and be at a party. The person who was ‘being’ whatever they were being, had to convey to the other two by their actions what they were ‘being’.

I felt strangely calm for once.

I went and crouched on a chair.

I was ‘being’ Connie.

Like Monty had told us, I thought about the ‘qualities’ of owliness. My wise nature. Where my home might be. What I had for supper. Mouse, I thought. I began to only really think in hoots. I thought about my bottom being comfortable on a tree. And what I would do if I wanted a pee. I looked around to see how far I could twist my head. And how long I could stare.

No one came near, although Flossie did offer me a mime cheesy wotsit (I think). Then she and Vaisey went back to pretend conversation and mime snack eating.

Eventually I started waving my pretend wing.

Flossie came up, dabbing at the floor, like I had spilt my pretend drink.

This was hopeless.

I caught Vaisey’s eye and raised my lower eyelids slowly. Surely, that would do it.

It didn’t.

So then I laid an egg.

People can be very thick even when offered the best of mimes. Flossie said, “ Are you having a poo?”

Monty said, “I think we will leave it there.”

Then everyone had to guess what had gone on.

How on earth could anyone have thought that I was sitting on a spacehopper at a party?

What fool would do that?

Monty said, “So what was the mime all about? You seemed, somehow disturbed and angry. Was there some inner conflict expressed in your performance?”

I said, “Yes, there was, Sir, I was an owl laying an egg and…”





As we went out Blaise Fox said, “Come with me to the roof, Tallulah.”

Was I so bad that she was going to push me off?

We went up the windy stairs to the dorm, and then up some tiny narrow stone steps that led to the roof

I had never been up to Mrs Rochester land. You could walk along on the flat bits between the towering chimneys, and there was a parapet that went all the way round. And huge gargoyles on every corner of the roof. Blaise led the way and we went to lean on the stone balcony.

You could see for miles over the woods and moors, all the way to Grimbottom. There was a building to the left, beyond the woods, that looked a bit like Dother Hall…Ooh, that must be where Phil and Charlie and Jack were. The mysterious Woolfe Academy.

Ms Fox said, “Do you want to stay here, Tallulah Casey?”

I thought at first she meant ‘did I want to stay on the roof’, but then I realised she meant at Dother Hall.

So I said, “Oh, yes. I really do. But…you know, you’ve seen me, the bicycle thing and…It’s not enough to just think you want to do something, is it? You have to be able to do it.”

She said, “And do you know what I think you can do?”

I said, “Be an idiot?”

She smiled at me, “Yeah, you are quite good at that. But I believe you have a special quality.”

Blimey.

She went on. “It’s a mix of energy and, I think…a talent for comedy.”

Yippee. Maybe.

Blaise looked at me and said, “I’ve been thinking about our end of summer school Wuthering Heights. It’s going to be a musical. And I want you to be the lead.”

Crumbs.

Me?

Cathy?

I had the hair for it – I could swish it about. And I could sing my song:

I’m out on the moors, the windy moors,

Let’s roll about in mud pools,

Or sheep poo, I hate you, I love you tooooo.

Heathcliff, it’s me, tap-tapping on your windooooow.





Then I came out of my made-up world.

Wuthering Heights, the musical.

I said, “Um, the only thing is, I can’t sing.”

And she said, “I know, it’s a comedy version. And I want you to be Heathcliff.”





When I got back to Heckmondwhite, the whole village was in a state of high excitement as the skipping rope is finished. There is going to be a mass skipathon at nine o’clock with tuba playing. And the village shop is staying open half an hour later, just in case someone needs a bag of humbugs.

I had walked home from Dother Hall in a dream. I was so shocked that I didn’t tell the girls what had happened in Mrs Rochester land, I told them I was rushing off to see the owlets. They wanted to come and see them too, but they all had singing lessons.

As I tramped along the woodland path, I was confused.

What does Ms Fox mean, she wants me to play Heathcliff?

He’s a boy.

Does she mean I am like a boy?

I tried to ask her, but she said I have to figure it out for myself and to come back to her with my ideas, about how to ‘be’ Heathcliff

And to not feel sorry for myself because it is unattractive in a girl with my knees.





The Dobbins were leaving the house as I got there, taking sandwiches for the skipping participants. Dibdobs gave me a big hug as she left.

She said, “Oooooohhhhhhhhhh.”

And the twins hugged my knees and went, “Ooooohhh, sjuuuge.”

They are wearing beanie hats. Which I think is a bit cruel of Dibdobs.

Beanie hats on pudding-headed boys.

I went up to my room to think about the Wuthering Heights thing.

And to make notes in my performance art notebook.

I spent about an hour on it.

It says: Breeches and a moustache.





I thought I would pop along to see the owlets again. It would take my mind off the Heathcliff thing. I was going to make damn sure Connie wasn’t anywhere around, though. And by the way, where was the owl dad, when he was needed?

Probably off abroad, like my dad. Messing about with his mates saying, “Ooooooh, look there’s a bog-eyed mouse, you can’t get those in Yorkshire.”

When I carefully went into the dark barn the owlets must have sensed I was there because they started cheeping and peeping. I went over to the nest. Oooooohhh, they are cute and fluffy. Still blindy, though. They were opening and closing their beaks, but I didn’t have any owl snacks for them. Ruby might know what they like.

I said softly, really close to their ears…Do they have ears?

Anyway, I said near to where ears would be if they had them, “It’s me, big Tallulah. And you are little Tallulah and little Ruby. I am not as furry as you but my eyes are quite big. And when you can open yours, that is what you will see. I love you little owls.”

I stayed for a while, chirping with them. I did touch their little heads but then I thought that Connie might be able to track me down by my smell. And that made me think it was spooky and dark in the barn, so I thought I would go.

As I came out of the barn, I saw Cain with his arm around Beverley.

Cain, AGAIN.

I am haunted by him.

Shouldn’t he have a job, tupping sheep or whatever they do on the moors? Striding about with a big black surly dog, like him.

Oh, actually, he has got a dog.

A big black surly dog. Growly and black. It came bounding up to me and leapt up, and put both its huge paws on my chest. Ow.

Cain said, “Oy, dog. Get down. Mind your manners with the young miss. Nivver just jump up on a lady, you must always give her face a quick lick first.”

The dog got down and went behind Cain.

And he and Beverley laughed.

Oh, great balls of fire, I hoped she wasn’t with Cain when I had been doing the corkers rubbing. She was looking at me, like she didn’t like me.

He was looking at me as well. He’s got incredibly long black eyelashes, like a girl’s.

He does a lot of looking.

Up and down he looked.

It was making me nervous, so I said, “What’s the dog called?”

And he said, “Dog.”

Typical.

Thank Angel Gabriel and all his cohort, because Ruby came skipping along with Matilda. My two little pals.

Cain’s dog looked at Matilda.

Blimey, there was probably going to be dog fight now. Dog growled. And Matilda lay on her back and put her legs in the air. She was doing ‘hooray’.

Cain laughed and said, “Bloody women.”

Cain is just like Heathcliff.

Then he said, “Come on, Dog.” And he started walking off.

Beverley said, “Aren’t tha gonna walk me back fust?”

And he said, “Does it look like it?”

Ruby tutted and went into the barn, to say goodnight to Tallulah and Ruby.

Beverley looked a bit sad and I didn’t know what to say.

When Ruby came back, Beverley said to her, “He’s a right pig, that Cain.”

Ruby said, “I know, why don’t tha know?”

And she said, “I dunt know, I just think that if he got right sort of girl, he’d happen be happy. See thee at skipping.” And she went off ahead of us.

On our way back, Rubes and I popped to the skipathon on the village green. I should have told the girls to come, it was hilarious. I was a bit worried that the Hinchcliffs might be there, but Rubes said they don’t join in with village stuff.





Back in my bed, I’ve written this in my performance art notebook:

They are the dark outsiders. Up on the moors.

The Wuthering moors.

Planning their dark deeds.

In their dark farm.

Ruben, Seth and Heathcliff.

Hmmmmmmmmmmm.





Then I have also written something which I might send to the Yorkshire Post:

Imagine the scene.

A small Yorkshire village, high in the moors.

It’s evening, the villagers are lining up to skip with a fourteen-foot skipping rope.

Harold is holding one end. He has the Christian Table Tennis team hanging on to him.

Dibdobs is on the other end, and she has the whole of the Brownie pack holding her waist.

Two lines of people queue up to skip.

The aim is to get the whole village skipping at once.

That is the aim.

One goes in, then two, then three.

They have to be quick as it is a big strain on the Dobbins’ arms.

Sixteen, seventeen.

It’s all going well. Everyone skipping at the same time.

Then Mr Barraclough lumbers over from The Blind Pig.

The rope comes down for the grand finale and they all leap over it at the same time.

Leaping into a place in village history – apart from Mr Barraclough. He is handing out pies to his mates.

He doesn’t see the rope.

It hits him in the shins.

Everyone falls over.

There is booing.





It’s nearly midnight, but I can hear laughing and yelling from the green, people are carrying on skipping and the Dobbins are still out. I wonder if they have ever stayed up till midnight before?





The next morning when I got to Dother Hall, Vaisey came dashing out again to see me. I thought that Vaisey had hit her peak yesterday, but today she is on cloud nine. And her hair is on cloud ten. I’ve never seen it look so perky.

She’s got a little note. From Jack.

As we went to creative writing class, she was so excited and red. She said, “He must have delivered it in the night. It was in my postbox this morning.”

How romantic, to have a note delivered to you.





Monty was reading from his ‘Diary of a Young Man’. It’s an epic he is writing as a one-man play. It’s about him. He says it is good to take your own experiences and use them in your theatre work.

He started by pretending to be asleep on a chair and then ‘woke up’ as if from a dream.

“Do you know, I really thought I was back there, with Biffo, Boffo and Sprogsy. Those happy, happy days of youth.”

And then he began gadding about, skipping and shouting with laughter.

“Biffo, pass the sandwiches, you greedy pig. Last one to the lemonade shop is a slowcoach!”

Then he was doing really slow-motion running on the spot. Looking behind him.

I whispered to Jo, “Is he still acting? Or has he gone mad?”

As Monty illustrated the use of props, by playing a record on an old record player, I asked Vaisey, “What did Jack’s note say?”

Vaisey was all pink and her hair was dancing about.

“It was really nice, just a short note. He’s been busy with The Jones and he says he’ll be here on Friday, and will see me then.”

Wooohooo. Vaisey’s first date!!





This afternoon we ‘brainstormed’ the Wuthering Heights production with Ms Fox. And she announced to everyone that I was going to be Heathcliff and that Vaisey is Cathy. We are going to improvise towards a production. It’s going to be about wildness and youth and passion. With music.

Ms Fox said, “Let’s start now. I want you to ‘go wild’, in whatever way you like. I’m going to put The Ride of the Valkyries on, so just let yourselves go. Find your inner gorilla.”

So we crashed around the studio, fighting and running and shaking everything to music. It was really good fun.

Then we had to do ‘contained violence and anger’. To the 1912 Overture.

Flossie was very good at it. And Jo had to be hauled off one of the lighting stands.

Then we had to lose our tempers in a foreign language. Jo was livid in Chinese, yelling, “You make me VELLY VELLY ANGWY!”

I tried Norwegian because of my mum. And was able to use ‘Sled-werk’ in a sentence:

“Du grossen biggen Sled-werk nit.”

I haven’t laughed so much for ages.

Ms Fox was falling about.





We went and sat under our tree at lunchtime. Even though it did look like there was a storm brewing.

Everyone was jabbering on about Wuthering Heights. Ms Fox has got us all talking ideas. Flossie and Honey are the wind-singers. And the heavenly chorus. And Jo is thunder and lightning. She’s got loads of drums to bang and a wrestling match with one of the village folk, so she is made up.

The whole thing is an all-singing, all-dancing extravaganza.

It’s going to be filmed.

For posterity.

With me as a boy.

In a moustache.

I said, “Why are none of you surprised that I am Heathcliff?”

Jo said, “Well, you did the owl, and that was good.”

I said, “You thought I was a spacehopper.”

Vaisey said, “Well, what about your horsie thing? I liked that.”

And Flossie said, “You’ve got your own moustache.”

Ms Fox said she thinks my Irish dancing should be the finale. I started to say something about, where did that fit into Wuthering Heights, I don’t remember Heathcliff (or Cathy) being Irish, but no one was paying attention. Vaisey wanted to talk about what she should wear on Friday. And also how to keep her hair under control.

I said, “Don’t any of you think it’s a bit out of the blue?”

They looked at me.

I went on. “Choosing me for the lead role. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

Honey said, “Mith Fox thayth ith inthpired by your bithycle ballet, but without the biketh or you cwathing into the wingth.”





Harold and Dibdobs are very interested in my portrayal of Heathcliff

.

Harold went on a lot about his inner ‘female’. He said, “It is something we explore a lot at our Iron Man camps. This is a really very interesting topic. In fact, I have a book that we were reading round the campfire that I must rootle out for you. We used to dress the twins in dresses until they started playschool.”

I didn’t know what to say. Except, “Golly.”

The book that Harold gave me is called, A real man’s guide to soft goods: how to knit your own socks.

What did Harold know????





On Thursday, after I had accidentally stepped through an imaginary wall into the fireplace. In her French play, Dr Lightowler said to me, “Have you thought about what you will do in show business when you leave here, Tallulah? Perhaps the box office? Or theatre cloakroom attendant?”

She hates me.