Louise Rennison - The Taming Of The Tights

Matilda blinked sorrowfully at Ruby, who was still harrumphing about. “She hates it when I’m cross with her. Serves her right for trumping, she’ll worry all night and not get any slee—”

She was interrupted by little snuffling snoring noises from Matilda.

We settled down again.

I said casually in the dark, “Have you … er, heard how Alex, you know your brother … erm, is getting on?”

Ruby said sleepily, “Dun’t start that again. Anyway, I thought you liked that Charlie?”

Ah yes, Charlie. I do like that Charlie.

The boy from Woolfe Academy for naughty boys.

But he was gorgeous. Not naughty.

Well, not very naughty.

Where’s the harm in wiring up your headmaster’s door handle to a minor electrical circuit? As Charlie said, “It was just high spirits, an innocent schoolboy prank.”

Charlie was lovely in every way and had given me my very first proper kiss. It was dreamy but the only thing is he has a girlfriend already.

As I drifted off to sleep next to Ruby, lulled by the rain pattering on the roof, I dreamed of Charlie … Zzz

… I was up on the moorland path behind The Blind Pig. Looking through my Darkly Demanding Damson Diary. I was dressed in a black mini skirt and green tights. Thinking of doing a performance about being a person with corkers, not a silly schoolgirl any more.

Hmmmm, perhaps through the medium of dance I could show the things I’d learned from my wise Cousin Georgia.

How to do sticky eyes and ‘look interested’ when boys do things.

I started wafting my arms from side to side (in my dream, otherwise Ruby would have kicked me out of bed) and sweet music began floating across the moors. So lovely and magical and otherworldly, but somehow familiar.

I looked up into the tree where the music was coming from and …

… there they were, the owlets with tiny electric guitars. Hurrah!

Little Lullah was on rhythm guitar and little Rubes on bass. They were playing Dancing Queen by Abba!

I began to dance more wildly. Drawn by the inescapable rhythms of Sweden, lost in a world of my own.

The owlets turned up their amplifiers. (Not easy when you haven’t got any hands.)

I sang my version of Dancing Queen .

“Friday night and it’s got late

I’m out here without a mate

Got my new green tights on

You can see them from Skipton

They’re in the mood for a dance

And when I get the chaaaance …

I am the dancing queen

My Irish legs have a lovely sheeeen!!!!

Oh yeah, you can dance, you can …”

And I began to spin and kick wildly, I was doing my Irish dancing on a hillock to the cool sounds of The Owlets when … Charlie! There was Charlie!

He smiled his special smile and gave a thumbs-up to the owlets. Then he danced towards me. (In time to the music, but carefully as his lurex flares were quite snug.)

Charlie looked into my eyes and then lowered his lips towards mine. Just as he’d touched my lips with his, he drew back and said (in that weird slow voice like in dreams), “No … I caaan’t … I haaaaave a girlfrieeeeeend.”

And he got a tiny girl out of his pocket. She waved at me.

He left with the tiny girl in his hand and sadness filled my tights. The owlets played a slow version of Dancing Queen on pan-pipes.

But the show must always go on. That’s what Sidone tells us.

I began singing again, even though my heart was breaking.

“I am the dancing queen

My Irish legs have a lovely shhheeeeeen!!”

And someone started whistling along.

Who could this be?

Alex came up the path. In a flouncy shirt!

He danced towards me in time to the music and put his hand to my face. The frills on his sleeve temporarily blinded me. He said in a deep voice, “Hello, Tallulah, you’ve grown up. You are the dancing queen. Your Irish legs have a lovely sheen.”

Then there 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.