Louise Rennison - Withering Tights

Ruby said, “Yep.”

Me and Vaisey set off down the road and passed the back of The Blind Pig and its outbuildings.

Then we came to a line of cottages and a barn.

Vaisey said, “Which do you like best: cappuccino or hot chocolate? I think I will have hot chocolate…”

And that’s when we saw the sheep. Fields of them, stretching as far as the eye could see.

Oh no, of course I am exaggerating, there was a sign as well and it said:

Blubberhouse Sewage Works 10 miles

We were back at The Blind Pig two minutes later and Ruby was sitting on the wall eating a bag of crisps.

She said, “Did you not go to the shops?”

We shook our heads.

Ruby said quite kindly, “Have you two ever bin in the country before?”

We shook our heads.

Ruby said, “The woolly things are sheep. See thee later, I’m off to the pie-eating contest, my dad’s in it.”

Vaisey and me decided to make the best of things by looking round what there was of the village. I’ll give you a thumbnail sketch of the high spots.

The post office. What we could see through the window: stamps, ten ‘amusing’ birthday cards, sellotape.

The village shop. Pies, milk, teabags, paint and a selection of boiled sweets.

I won’t bother you with the low spots.

As we passed, we could hear loud cheering and heckling from the village hall. It was decorated with a banner that said: ‘ Pie eating’.

A loud voice bellowed from inside. It sounded like Ruby. “Come on, Dad, get it down you! Only twenty to go!!!”

I looked at Vaisey. She said, “Do you want to see my room?”

The pub smelt all beery when we went in. It didn’t have what you would call a ‘cosmopolitan atmosphere’. It had a darts board and skittles atmosphere. It looked like one of those pubs that you see in scary old films.

You know, when two lost travellers are on the moors. Suddenly a thunderstorm breaks. They are soaking and the lightning is crackling across the sky. Then they hear something terrible howling. And as they walk on, the howling gets nearer. A flash of lightning illuminates a slathering monstrous dog with fangs. And they start running, and the beast starts running, and one falls over and then…Heavens to Betsy, they see lights! And hear a piano. The welcoming lights of an old inn. The sign creaks backwards and forwards in the howling wind. A flash of lightning illuminates the sign.

It reads, ‘The Blind Pig’.

Anyway, that is what The Blind Pig was like. I was glad the landlord was out eating pies.

There were pictures of the landlord all over the walls. Mostly with dead things that he had shot. Foxes, stags, deer. Chickens. A cow. Surely he hadn’t shot a cow? In each one he was standing with his shotgun and his foot on whatever poor thing he had shot. There was even one of him with one foot on a pie. Underneath it said:

Ted Barraclough Champion Pie-Eater:22 steak and kidney and 4 pork.

We went up the steep stairs to Vaisey’s room. It had dark oak beams and slanting wooden floors, it was so old. Yorkshire people seem obsessed with wood. There is very little city loft-living style around here. Where are all the shiny surfaces?

Vaisey prattled about her family as we looked through her things. Two brothers and a sister. Blah blah. Dogs, two budgies, both called Joey. Blah. Ordinary every-day legs. She told me she could sing and dance a bit and that she had played Titania in Midsummer Night’s Dream and her mum had made her costume.

I just looked at her as the edges of our planets drew away from each other.

Her mum had made her costume?

I said, “Your dad doesn’t go to work on a bike that has a handy basket, does he?”

She blinked at me in amazement. “Yes, how on earth did you know that?”

I shrugged carelessly and went to look moodily out of the window. Perhaps you could see Grimbottom from here. Sadly I forgot to duck so struck my head on the low beam.

Then Vaisey asked about me and my family. I was a bit evasive.

I said, “Oh you know, they both, um…they go away a lot.” Even Vaisey couldn’t think of anything normal to say about that. Then I said quickly, “Vaisey, have you got a boyfriend?”

She went bright red. And twitched her nose, like a mop-haired bunny.

Then she got up from the bed and went to the window, put her hand to her forehead and whispered, “Aahhh, l’amour, l’amour, pour quoi? C’est une mystery.”

I said to her, “Um…did you just say in French, love, love, for why, it’s a mystery?”

She shook her curls and laughed sadly.

“It was a line from a piece we did last term at school. I was a suicidal nun.”

Gosh.

I didn’t think I’d mention my playing-card experience just yet.

“So does that mean you’ve been dumped by a boy?”

And Vaisey said, “No, it means it’s a mystery because I haven’t snogged a boy – yet.”

Vaisey and I have decided that we will try and have a joint Summer of Love.

Just then I heard Mr Barraclough coming in shouting “Pie! Pie! Pie!” Time to go home for tea.

Dibdobs has been face painting with the boys. She was a butterfly. It was quite a scary sight. Then the twins came in.

Not as scary as the basin-headed owls.

After tea – yes, it was local pies, Harold couldn’t believe his luck – the Dobbins thought a game of Cluedo might be fun, but I said, “I think I should get to bed early for my first day at college.”

Harold said, “At quarter to six?”

I think even they thought that quarter to six was early by anybody’s standards.

I gave my artistic laugh and also threw in some quirky language for good measure. “Lawks-a-mercy, no! I’m going to have a long bath and…”

I looked shyly down. Which is pretty impressive to have done artistic laugh, quirky language and shyness all in the space of ten seconds. Anyway, I looked shyly down, and then shyly up, because the lunatic owl brothers were lying on the floor looking up at me, blinking and sucking on their dodies.

I said, “I need to prepare myself. You know, limber up…my artistic…muscles. Soak up the atmosphere, maybe read Jane Eyre . Anyway, have a lovely evening guessing who bludgeoned who to death.”

I left Dibdobs stuffing the insane brothers into their nightshirts. They didn’t even take their dodies out when she pulled their owl heads through.

I’ve painted my nails a midnight blue colour and I think I will wear mostly black tomorrow. To blend in. It will be funny not wearing a uniform to go to school. And to wear a bit of make-up.

I stayed for ages in the bath. Some of the girls at my school at home were really ‘mature’ for their age. Kate and Siobhan had bras. And a few of them were getting hair under their arms.

If you don’t get bosomy bits by a certain age does that mean you won’t ever get them? I read in one of the magazines that handling them makes them grow.

Maybe I will try rubbing mine about a bit with the soap. To encourage them.

Half an hour later.

My arms are killing me.

Even if my lady chest bits don’t grow I am going to have strong arms. If there is a trapeze class I will be very good at it.

Also I will have very clean lady chest bits.

When I came out of the bathroom the twins were staring at me from the hall. Sucking on their dodies. They’re not tall enough to look through the keyhole of the bathroom door, are they? They couldn’t have seen me making my lady chest bits grow, could they?

I went off to my room.

I could chart my progress.

Maybe do a bit of measuring.

You know, legs: 8ft high. Lady chest bits: one inch each.

I wonder if I can find another word for my non-chest bits…?