Withering Tights - By Louise Rennison Page 0,58

about how to ‘be’ Heathcliff

And to not feel sorry for myself because it is unattractive in a girl with my knees.

The Dobbins were leaving the house as I got there, taking sandwiches for the skipping participants. Dibdobs gave me a big hug as she left.

She said, “Oooooohhhhhhhhhh.”

And the twins hugged my knees and went, “Ooooohhh, sjuuuge.”

They are wearing beanie hats. Which I think is a bit cruel of Dibdobs.

Beanie hats on pudding-headed boys.

I went up to my room to think about the Wuthering Heights thing.

And to make notes in my performance art notebook.

I spent about an hour on it.

It says: Breeches and a moustache.

I thought I would pop along to see the owlets again. It would take my mind off the Heathcliff thing. I was going to make damn sure Connie wasn’t anywhere around, though. And by the way, where was the owl dad, when he was needed?

Probably off abroad, like my dad. Messing about with his mates saying, “Ooooooh, look there’s a bog-eyed mouse, you can’t get those in Yorkshire.”

When I carefully went into the dark barn the owlets must have sensed I was there because they started cheeping and peeping. I went over to the nest. Oooooohhh, they are cute and fluffy. Still blindy, though. They were opening and closing their beaks, but I didn’t have any owl snacks for them. Ruby might know what they like.

I said softly, really close to their ears…Do they have ears?

Anyway, I said near to where ears would be if they had them, “It’s me, big Tallulah. And you are little Tallulah and little Ruby. I am not as furry as you but my eyes are quite big. And when you can open yours, that is what you will see. I love you little owls.”

I stayed for a while, chirping with them. I did touch their little heads but then I thought that Connie might be able to track me down by my smell. And that made me think it was spooky and dark in the barn, so I thought I would go.

As I came out of the barn, I saw Cain with his arm around Beverley.

Cain, AGAIN.

I am haunted by him.

Shouldn’t he have a job, tupping sheep or whatever they do on the moors? Striding about with a big black surly dog, like him.

Oh, actually, he has got a dog.

A big black surly dog. Growly and black. It came bounding up to me and leapt up, and put both its huge paws on my chest. Ow.

Cain said, “Oy, dog. Get down. Mind your manners with the young miss. Nivver just jump up on a lady, you must always give her face a quick lick first.”

The dog got down and went behind Cain.

And he and Beverley laughed.

Oh, great balls of fire, I hoped she wasn’t with Cain when I had been doing the corkers rubbing. She was looking at me, like she didn’t like me.

He was looking at me as well. He’s got incredibly long black eyelashes, like a girl’s.

He does a lot of looking.

Up and down he looked.

It was making me nervous, so I said, “What’s the dog called?”

And he said, “Dog.”

Typical.

Thank Angel Gabriel and all his cohort, because Ruby came skipping along with Matilda. My two little pals.

Cain’s dog looked at Matilda.

Blimey, there was probably going to be dog fight now. Dog growled. And Matilda lay on her back and put her legs in the air. She was doing ‘hooray’.

Cain laughed and said, “Bloody women.”

Cain is just like Heathcliff.

Then he said, “Come on, Dog.” And he started walking off.

Beverley said, “Aren’t tha gonna walk me back fust?”

And he said, “Does it look like it?”

Ruby tutted and went into the barn, to say goodnight to Tallulah and Ruby.

Beverley looked a bit sad and I didn’t know what to say.

When Ruby came back, Beverley said to her, “He’s a right pig, that Cain.”

Ruby said, “I know, why don’t tha know?”

And she said, “I dunt know, I just think that if he got right sort of girl, he’d happen be happy. See thee at skipping.” And she went off ahead of us.

On our way back, Rubes and I popped to the skipathon on the village green. I should have told the girls to come, it was hilarious. I was a bit worried that the Hinchcliffs might be there, but Rubes said they don’t join in with village stuff.

Back in my bed, I’ve written this in my performance art notebook:

They are the dark outsiders. Up on the moors.

The Wuthering moors.

Planning their dark deeds.

In their