Withering Tights - By Louise Rennison Page 0,50

can do, you can look at yourself and make it funny. You’re my star. You’ve always been the star in the family, even when you were little. Anyway darling, you can tell me all about it when you get home. Must dash, Olaf has got the pickled herrings out.”

In the canteen today, Lavinia was sitting with Dav and Noos. They waved when they saw me. I waved back, but then Lavinia did that ‘come over here’ thing. I couldn’t really pretend I hadn’t seen them, so I had to go over.

Lavinia got up and gave me a big hug.

Why?

Have I turned into Huggy Bear since the bicycle ballet?

She was all sympathetic.

“How are you, little Oirish? You weren’t bothered about the marks, were you? It’s all so silly railly, isn’t it? I mean, even if you got ninety and a half per cent, you can’t go up to Andrew Lloyd Webber and say, ‘Andrew, I got ninety and half percent, give me a job, darling’.”

She went on. “I thought what Alex said was railly spot on. You know, you did an experiment. OK, it went a teensy bit wrong, but you had the courage to do it. He was railly right. You know Alex a bit, don’t you Luls?”

Why was she calling me Luls? Where did that come from?

Lavinia was still in Alex world.

“I feel like I have known him for ages, and we have got so much in common, it’s not true. Is he around much?”

Oh, I see.

After lunch we trooped into Monty’s class. It will be quite restful listening to him talk about himself, after what I’ve been through. In fact I feel quite fond of him. Now that I won’t be seeing him again.

He bustled in and said, “Exciting news, girls, our next project. Our next adventure. Takes us back in time. We’re going to do a ‘Mummers play’.”

At first I thought he said a mummy’s play. And that everyone had been talking about me in the staff room.

Jo said, “Sir, what is a mummy’s play?”

He said, “Mummers, dear, Mummers. I’m glad you asked that, Jo, it’s very, very interesting.”

Sadly, we now know that every time Monty says something is “very interesting” it is bound to be a story about him as a young man.

We were right.

Monty said, “I remember well the first Mummers play I was asked to do. It was a warm summer’s evening in Chelsea. I had a lovely flat where I was wont to entertain friends after drama college. A way of us letting off steam. One of my friends, Simeon, was admiring my vegetables.”

I looked at Vaisey and Jo. Where was this going to end?

Monty was still in Chelsea. “Why have roses when you can have fine, firm cauliflowers in your vases?”

Anyway, it turns out that a Mummers play is medieval.

Monty went on. “The ‘Mummers’ would dress up in motley (bits of old rag) with their faces painted blue and take sticks with sheep’s bladders on the end of them to hit people with, and they would travel to local hostelries on a Saturday eve.”

I whispered to Vaisey, “It sounds like The Blind Pig.”

And she giggled and shook her hair about.

All afternoon we practised the Mummers play. It’s mostly fooling around and a bit of olde dialogue. Honey got to swan around singing as the maiden, Jo was St George and belted people with her sword, and Flossie was the dragon. Vaisey was the wandering minstrel and Monty was the narrator. I didn’t have anything to say because I was to be the horse.

Actually, to tell the truth it was spiffing.

We even improvised bits and I pretended to be Black Beauty, which made Vaisey laugh a lot. I seem to have lost a bit of my self-consciousness. I said that to the girls and Flossie said, “That’s because you have no pride left.”

She’s not wrong.

At the end of the day, Monty said, “Now then, girls, I have a marvellous surprise, I thought we would pay a visit to The Blind Pig on Friday. And show them our little entertainment.”

Oh no.

Crumbs.

Crikey.

And also, bejesus.

In Bob’s Dude-mobile on the way to The Blind Pig, I said to Vaisey, “You should be the little horse. Tell Monty, tell him, that you always are the horse. Remind him of your Black Beauty.”

She said, “I can’t now, it’s too late. I’m the wandering minstrel and you don’t want to sing, do you?”

I am someone who has got forty-five per cent for their talents and I am having to go