Louise Rennison - A Midsummer Tights Dream

I can imagine myself in the Swiss Alps actually. In a big flouncy dress dancing with goats. “The hills are alive with the sound of music… lalalala… with songs they have sung for a thousand years…”

I got bundled up in my coat and hat and left the house. I had to walk slightly bent because there was a mini gale blasting across the moors and fields. But at least it had stopped hailing.

The sheep were still huddled together against the wind.

Looking at me.

I shouted to the sheep. “I love you, my little woolly friends.”

They didn’t like it. They didn’t want to be my friends. They wanted to be my unfriends. They shuffled off as a group and tried to get in the hedge. And looked at me from there.

They are very cross-eyed.

Maybe it is so they can see round corners?

That would be handy if there were wolves creeping up behind you.

Hang on, your eyes should go outwards to do that, not inwards so that you just see your own looming nose. How useful would that be?

Anyway, I can’t be bothered about the animal kingdom, I am too busy being in a good mood. I’m going to do run-run-leap to The Sound of Music to keep me warm. Run, run, leap… “The hills are alive with the sound of…”

Oh great balls of fire. Leaning against the gate of the churchyard, like a great dark crow, was him. The Dark Force of Heckmondwhite. The Black Hearted Prince himself. Cain.

Cain Hinchcliff.

He was dressed all in black, a long black coat and black boots. He had his collar turned up against the wind. His hair is longer than when I last saw him. And it looks even blacker. He saw me, so I stopped leaping and started pretending that my boots were falling down. A half-smile crossed his face. Not a nice beamy smile, a dark twisty smile. He pushed his hair back and looked me right in the eyes. His eyes are so black you can’t tell what he is thinking. I know what I am thinking, I am thinking, “Oh, banana skins and bejesus, he’s seen me leaping, and talking to sheep.”

Cain licked his lips like a hungry wolf and said, “Well, well, well… it’s the young Southern lass back.”

Then he ran his eyes up and down my body and said, “Tha’s grown a bit.”

Oh, how bloody well dare he?! How could he see through my coat? Maybe he had x-ray vision. What colour pants had I got on? Oh stop it, of course he couldn’t see through my coat and see my pants. He was just being him. Rude and crude and horrible.

If I had my handbag I would hit him with it. I only had my hat or my mittens and that didn’t seem nearly violent enough.

He was like an animal in trousers.

As the wind plucked at his hair and whipped it round his face, I remembered the last time I had seen him. It was in the barn and he was poking the owlets with a little stick.

All dark, with his dark broody eyes. And his black hair. And his long black eyelashes.

He’s not good like Alex. Good and tall and brown-haired Alex. With his frilly shirt and his eyes and so on… he’s…

He was still just staring at me.

He doesn’t seem to know that staring is rude.

Well, two can play at that game.

I stared back.

And I’m not going to blink either. That will show him.

Then he stopped staring and came towards me and did up-close staring. His face was only about a foot away from mine.

Looking right in my eyes.

He said, “Tha’s got eyes like a wild cat.”

I could out stare him any day.

Any day.

It suddenly started to hail quite heavily. I could hear the pattering and bouncing on my hat. I could see the hailstones on his dark hair, hanging there like handfuls of pearls. He didn’t seem to notice. Just went on staring right into my eyes. Then I felt a hailstone hit my face. It didn’t just ping off, it started slipping slowly down the middle of my forehead. Then it got to my eyebrows and I thought it had gone. But then I felt it start slipping down the side of my nose, like a tear. I went on staring, he was not going to win this staring competition. I could feel the hailstone had just got to my nostril when… still staring at me…

He did this thing.

He stepped right up to me, so I nearly went cross-eyed trying to keep staring and… then he licked his lips and put his tongue out and… and…

And he LICKED off the hailstone.

He was licking my nose. I could feel his hot, soft tongue on my nose.

And he was staring at me while he did it.

What? What?!

This wasn’t right.

This wasn’t even on Cousin Georgia’s snogging scale.

This was just wrong.

Very, very wrong.

Then a girl’s voice behind him shouted, “Oy, Cain. What’s tha doing? I’ve been waiting by the bike shed like tha said for half a bloody hour.”

He was licking my face!

Like I was an ice cream!

I nearly said, “I am not an ice cream! I am a human being!”

He said softly to me, “Tasty.”

Then he took a step back and turned around slowly. Behind him I saw Beverley approaching. Cain turned back to me and smiled his mean smile. Then he chucked his teeth like you do when you say giddy-up to a horsie. As he swished his coat round and walked off up the hill towards the moors I could see that Beverly didn’t look pleased to see me.

She didn’t say, “Gosh, how nice to see you again, Tallulah, on this inclement morning.” She just stood with her arms folded looking at me. Had she seen the licking incident? Even though it was hailing, she only had on a short-sleeved jumper.

She had very big arms. Very big. Her dad had a potato farm so she probably did quite a bit of heavy lifting. Maybe if I said something nice to her, you know like, “Ooooh, your arms are a… good… shape,” she might not hurt me.

Cain kept on walking up the hill while she stood there looking at me.

Cain called back, “Beverley, is tha coming wi’ me or are tha going to stand there gabbing all day?”

Beverley went after him but turned back and said in a loud mean voice, “You and your posh stuck-up mates keep your hands off our lads… or else. Think on.”

I was thinking of something to say when Cain whistled and his big black dog came bounding over the hedge with a rabbit in its mouth. Every time I saw Cain something died. Cain gave the dog a brief pat on its head and said, “Good Dog. You’ve got our supper then.”

Beverley was still chuntering on as she caught up with them. She said to Cain, “You treat that dog better’n than tha treats me.”

Cain said, “Beverley, the dog can fetch sticks, it can catch rabbits… it dun’t moan on. Can you do that? No.”

He was unbelievable.

I was so shocked at the nose-licking incident I was unable to move. As they disappeared off over the brow of the hill, Rubster came running along her pigtails going berserk. Matilda was running alongside her and tried to stop when she saw me but the momentum of her tummy made her go past me and collide with the hedge.

Ruby panted, “Were that Cain with Beverley? Uh-oh, he likes trouble that lad, Beverley’s mum will be on the warpath big time if she finds out.”

I didn’t say anything to Ruby. What was there to say? Cain has just licked my face? I must never think of it again. I must put it out of my mind and think only of my letter from Alex. Alex the Good, who would never lick a girl’s face.

We got to the bus stop just as it came careering round the corner. Hurrah!!!! I was so excited about seeing my chums. The bus juddered to a stop and the door opened and… Jo jumped off! All little and dark and excited. With her dark eyes gleaming. Like a human conker, but with legs and arms. And a head. She hadn’t changed. Still as mad as a hen. A violent hen. She ran and punched Ruby’s arm, and then mine, and then both at the same time. She was yelling, “TALLULAH! THE RUBSTER!”