Withering Tights - By Louise Rennison Page 0,32
was still tossing and turning and thinking how unfair everything was when there was a knock at my door again. It was my new ‘dad’ this time. Harold had a book in his hand.
“When I was at the Iron Man camp we did a lot of talking around the campfire. You know, men don’t often get to reveal their softer side. And reading stories to each other as we lay around in the loin cloths we had woven was revealing.”
Oh nooo. He wasn’t going to come and read a book to me, was he?
He had a dressing gown on and a pipe.
He fiddled in his pocket. Oh no, was he going to offer me a pipe as well, like they did round the campfire.
He brought out a little book and said, “Thought you might be interested in this,” and gave it to me. Then he left.
I may as well read it a bit.
I might be able to get some ideas for a performance out of it.
At least it will stop me thinking about Lavinia and Alex – and Cain. The book was called Heathcliff: Saint or Sinner – really bad or just really upset?
Oh no. No. This is not going to help me cheer up. I am going to write some of my own stuff in my performance art notebook.
Hmmmm.
Two lost travellers are on the moors, near the dreaded Grimbottom, when suddenly a thunderstorm breaks. The rain is pelting down and lightning splits the sky.
They hear something terrible howling (note to self – is it Dr Lighthowler?) and they start running. The howling gets nearer. One of them falls over and then – Gadzooks and Lordy Lordy – they see lights. And hear a piano.
The welcoming lights of an old inn. The sign creaks in the howling wind. A flash of lightning illuminates the sign. On it is a piggy in dark glasses with a walking stick.
They stagger in out of the howling, terrifying storm. Everyone in the bar stops talking and stares at them. The pianist gets his coat and leaves. A clock ticks loudly. A stuffed stag’s head falls off the wall.
One of the travellers, the one with the nobbly knees (me) says, “Oh – hello, we’ve come to Yorkshire by mistake.”
And the landlord with two pies in his hands says, “You’re not from around here, are thee?”
The other traveller, the one with fluffy hair and a sticky-up nose (Vaisey) says, “No, no – we are looking for Dother Hall, we are artists.”
Everyone laughs.
The landlord says, “But are you mime artists?”
I nod, twice.
Vaisey says, “And I do a bit of tap. We mean no harm, we just want to don our tights and tap dance our way to the top.”
I say, “Yes, yes, we want to live forever, we want to learn how to fly!!”
Everyone stares at us.
I say desperately, “Look! We can prove it! We are wearing our new all-in-one dance bodies and leggings underneath our kagouls.”
The burly landlord says, “Put them in the room with the others.”
We are led to a door and when it opens we see…the room is full of performance art students. Some in all-in-one body and leggings dancewear.
A few just in leggings. Some of them are very old.
Walking to college with Vaisey, I said, “It will be a relief to get back to the Dother ship.” I was wrong.
Jo was waiting for us by the gates because she’s had a note from Phil, asking her to meet him outside M & Son Wednesday to see a film called Night of the Vampire Bats.
Jo showed us his note: This film makes Twilight seem like afternoon.
Jo said, “Look, and this is where you two come in.”
Bring two others, for my mate, Phil.
Jo looked at me and Vaisey.
I said, “No.”
Jo went on and on all day. It was driving me mad.
Everywhere I looked she was doing her saddy face.
When I went to the loo she was there outside the loo door, looking at me like a sad puppy. Not even saying anything.
The trouble was that Vaisey had said she would go, ‘just for a laugh’, but I think she is hoping that Jack would be going. So it was alright for her. Flossie and Honey are off the hook because they have extra singing that night.
I finally gave in when Jo gave me an apple with a little crying face carved in it.
Phil’s note had mysteriously appeared in Jo’s pigeon-hole by the front desk. It must have been hand-delivered.
Jo said, “How will I get a