Withering Tights

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 went 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?

A hat?

For wind?

Or a headscarf?

I haven’t got a headscarf.

Well that’s it then, isn’t it? The whole thing is ruined. I haven’t even got a headscarf to go out in his car.

I can’t think about this.

I’m going to do deep breathing.

Looking out of my window across the fields. Towards Grimbottom.

Me and the girls are going to go to Skipley tomorrow. On the bus! Who would have thought I would be so excited about going on a bus. But there might be civilisation in Skipley. There might be a Topshop. I am soooo excited. I am over-excited. I’m hysterical, I may have to slap my own face in a minute at this rate.

I got my things and left the house quickly. As I crossed the village green, I saw that Alex was outside The Blind Pig sitting on the wall. I got the funny thumpy-heart thing. I must think of something sensible to say ahead of time.

What would be normal to talk about?

He smiled when he saw me.

Ooooohhh, he was smiling. He was doing the smiling thing. Ooooooh.

“Ay up, Tallulah, are you alright?”

I smiled back and kept my jacket done up to de-emphasise my lack of corkers.

Alex was sitting with his legs crossed and his hands in his pockets. The sun was still quite bright and he screwed his eyes up so that he could see me. He looked lovely with screwy-up eyes.

He said, “What are you up to tonight, then?”

I said in an offhand way, “I’m staying at yours actually, because Dibdobs has gone off making acorn pies with the Brownies.”

He laughed.

And then I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

He said, “What have you been up to at college?”

I said, “Well we did an improvised thingy about the Brontës. You know, howling winds…woooooooo. And then we did leaping and there’s going to be a performance lunchtime about, um…well I thought I might do the owl eggs.”

He looked puzzled.

“Eggs?”

Oh noooo. Now I had started an egg thing. Again. Because I had been thinking about the last time I saw him in the barn. I couldn’t back out of it, so I said, “Yeah, you know, the, well, I was thinking about the owl eggs and I thought I might do a performance about them.”

He still looked at me and didn’t say anything.

So I went on. “Yeah, because Ruby told me that when they are born, the owl twins will have double eyelids, which is, um…interesting.”

And I started doing an impression of double eyelids for him.

Not that he had asked me.

But as I had started I couldn’t stop. I raised my bottom eyelids really slowly upwards without moving my upper eyelids. Which is hard, actually.

Alex folded his arms and leant back and said, “How old are you?”

And I said, “Hahahahaha, old enough.”

Why? Old enough for what? To be friends with eggs?

Just then a car drew up with a boy driving and honked its horn. Alex slid off the wall and waved at the bloke. Then he said to me, “Have fun. Don’t lead my sister into bad ways.”

And he went off and got in the car.

Ruby came out with Matilda, her bulldog, and waved Matilda’s paw at him. And the car drove off.

I said, as casually as I could, “So where is, um…Alex off to?”

She looked at me and said, “Don’t even think about it.”





I daren’t ask Ruby anything about Alex. I felt a bit sad. And stupid at the same time.

But it was good fun with Vaisey and Ruby. We had our tea in the pub kitchen served by Mr Barraclough, Ruby’s dad. I’d never seen Ruby’s mum and I didn’t like to ask where she was. Especially as it might then lead to questions about my mum and dad who I haven’t even heard from.

Mr Barraclough said, “What will you artists be up to tonight, then? Will you be pretending to be stuck in an imaginary cupboard?”

Ruby said, “Dad, can we have crisps?”

He said, “Yes, just as long as you don’t let these two make them into anything unusual.”

And he went laughing off into the bar.

He’s big. He ate fifteen pies at the pie-eating contest.





So we just messed about upstairs in the pub. Vaisey and me worked out what we were going to wear to go to Skipley and tried out different make-up. Vaisey is quite good with make-up. She drew a dark brown pencil line around my eyes and I thought it made me look a bit more grown up. Sort of more moody and less startled.

Vaisey said, “You should wear a darker pink lipstick.”

I said, “How do you know that sort of thing?”

And she showed me some mags that she had, that told you all sorts of stuff. In the make-up and hair guide it said you should wear make-up to balance your shape. And then there were pictures of girls with a square face, and a round face, and a long face; one with big lips and one with thin lips; narrow forehead, chubby cheeks, no cheeks. It was a nightmare trying to choose what I had. In the end we sort of agreed I was a longy roundy biggy-faced person.

Which is a help.

I said to Vaisey, “It’s alright for you, you’re that one in the middle.”

Vaisey said, “The turned-up nose, sticky-out hair, small-cheeked, round-faced person?”

I said, “Exactly.”

Then I said, “You’re cute as a button, though.”

She smiled at me.

She is cute as a button.

We let Ruby use our lipsticks and eye shadows and I said I will get her something tomorrow from town. Her dad shouted up the stairs, “Oy, Ruby, beddy-byes for thee.”

She went off to her bedroom.





Vaisey and I were sleeping in the same bed. It was cosy because we could hear the sounds from the pub downstairs. A lot of laughing and singing.

The bedroom door creaked open and Ruby came in in her nightie with Matilda. She and Matilda looked at us. Matilda is not what you would call athletic. Well, what you could call her is a really odd-looking barrel thing with short, stubby legs. But she is the friendliest doggy in the world and loves everyone.

Ruby said, “Matilda wanted to see you.”

And then Matilda threw herself at the bed. She meant to come up on the bed with us, but she is too short, so she just kept hurling herself at it and bouncing off the side. Sometimes she would manage to get her front legs on the bed before she slowly toppled off. It was very funny.

Ruby got into the bottom of the bed and tucked herself in.

She said, “Come on Matilda, upsy daisy.”

Which was a bit mean as it was never going to happen unless someone brought a ladder.

In the end we hauled her up and into bed with us. It made us laugh a lot seeing her tucked up under the sheets.

Especially when Ruby went and got Matilda’s special Noddy sleeping hat.

The volume downstairs in the pub got louder, as did the singing.

I said, “What is that song they are singing? Is it an old Yorkshire ditty, you know, like that ‘On Ilkley Moor Bar T’at’?”

Ruby said, “Nah, it’s a football song. It goes ‘We hate Chelsea, we hate Chelsea, we are the Chelsea haters’.”