A Midsummer Tights Dream. Louise Rennison
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again, her maybe boyfriend.
She said, “He gave me his plectrum to remind me of him.”
I said, “That’s plucky of him.”
And they all laughed. Which is nice. I felt all warmy. Even my knees. Rubes came back with the nourishing snacks – cheese and onion crisps, salt and vinegar crisps, two pickled eggs and some pork scratchings. It was like being in heaven.
Flossie said, “This is my plan for the term – I am going to become a superstar and have three or four boyfriends. I’ve grown my fringe especially.”
Jo was chomping through two packets of crisps at the same time, but managed to say, “I’ve had loads of letters and phone calls from Phil!! Loads. Every day. He told me about his campaign to let people know that he’s not all bad and that he has a serious side.”
We looked at her.
I said, “But he doesn’t have a serious side.”
Jo got a bit defensive. “He has, actually, he’s joining in with the police to help them… with the out-of-control yoof.”
I said, “He IS the out-of-control yoof.”
Flossie said, “Help the police? What, like an informer?”
Jo went red. “No, it’s a campaign. Make a policeman your friend. It’s to let the police know that teenage boys are people too.”
I said, “But that’s a lie, isn’t it? My brother isn’t a person.”
Flossie said, “I’m not being rude or anything, but what could Phil help the police with?”
Jo said, “Phil’s good at loads of things.”
We looked at her.
Jo said going even redder, “Well, he’s really excellent at… erm… kissing.”
I said, “That’s not what policemen like, is it though? They don’t like being kissed by teenage boys.”
Flossie said, “If he’s going around kissing policemen, he’s a dead man.”
As we chomped away, thinking about kissing policemen, three very big girls I had never seen before came lumbering up. They looked at us like we were snot girls, then they sat on the wall at the other side of The Blind Pig courtyard and started chewing gum.
Ruby said quietly, “Oh, bloody hell, it’s the other Bottomley sisters, Chastity, Diligence and Ecclesiastica.”
I started to laugh.
“Ecclesiastica? Does she get called Eccles for short?”
Ruby said, “No. Dun’t start, they’re bible names and they don’t think it’s funny. The Bottomleys dun’t think owt is funny, except fighting. In between bus driving, their mam does cage fighting in Leeds.”
Chas, Dil and Eccles, as I called them (quietly in my brain), were looking at us and then they lit up fags.
I whispered out of the corner of my mouth, “Are they going to get their pipes out next?”
One of them shouted across, “What are you stuck-up madams looking at?”
Oh dear.
Ruby said, “That’s Ecclesiastica, you’re lucky she’s in a good mood.”
Mr Barraclough came out of The Blind Pig and said to Ruby, “Rubes, say night-night to the thespians, it’s school tomorrow.”
The Bottomley sisters started laughing and going, “Oooooohhh, it’s SCHOOL t’morra. Say night-night.”
Mr Barraclough glanced at the Bottomley sisters and said, “Hello, ladies.” Then he turned to go off into the pub.
Ecclesiastica drew on her fag and said, “Ay up, grandad.”
Ruby sat down and said, “Oh, well, that’s done it.”
There was a bit of a quiet moment, then Mr Barraclough turned around and said to Ecclesiastica, “Is my wall comfortable enough for your enormous arse, dear? Or is it time you took it somewhere else?” And the other two sisters sniggered. Eccles went a sort of dull red colour but she didn’t move, she just kept looking at Mr Barraclough.
He said, “Well, I’ve tried to be nice, but I can see I will have to go the whole hog.”
Ruby said, “Dad. Not the…”
He looked at her sorrowfully. “I’m as sorry as you are, Ruby, but it has to be done.”
Ted went into the pub and came back a moment later with his Viking helmet on and a photograph. He came and showed it to us. It was the picture of him with a gun standing on a pile of pies. Underneath it said, Ted Barraclough, champion pie eater. 22 steak and kidney, 4 pork.
Then he walked across and showed it to the Bottomley sisters, and said to them, “Have some respect, girls. Thy father only ate ten pies and then had to go and have a bit of a lie down, so bog off somewhere else.”
The Bottomley sisters looked at him and then they got up and sloped off.
Ted went back into the pub singing, “I am the king of hell fire!!! PIES, I’m gonna teach you to burn. PIES, I’m gonna teach you to learn!!”
I went to bed happy after seeing the Tree Sisters. But I gave my nose a good scrub in case any of Cain’s molecules had got into it. And besides, I am sleeping on Alex’s letter and don’t want to besmirch it.
I woke up early the next day because it was like sleeping in a zoo.
Birds had been tweeting and carrying on in the trees outside my window practically since I’d gone to bed. How can anyone sleep in the country? I think some of the birds have got secret mouth organs. And drums. Like a really bad band rehearsing. A band of birds singing with no tune. Like those people in bygone days, who wore black polo-necks and played jazz that had no tune. Beatniks they were called. I think my dad was one. Hey, perhaps the birds are… beakniks!!!
Not Beatniks but BEAK-niks.
I must write that down in my notebook because one day it may be comedy gold.
Especially if I do a ‘Bird Opera’.
Which I might. Following on from the triumph of my bicycle ballet.
I could call it, “Feather!”
Or maybe “Saturday Night Feather!”
“We Will Flock You!”
“Grouse!”
“Pheasant of the Opera.”
Right, I am going to officially start my daily jottings in my performing arts notebook. I wonder if it’s safe to hide it under my pillow? Then I could keep Alex’s letter in the back of it.
I need a name for my secret notebook.
What shall I call it?
What does the book suggest? I looked at the cover. Plums, dark…
Dark, fruit… unanswered questions… questions that need answering.
Something like…
The Darkly Demanding Damson Diary.
That’s me, that is.
It’s going to be my spontaneous stream of consciousness. Here goes…
I’ll start a new page after the Labradad entry. I may need to add drawings, and so on, of the Labradad. So I’ll start a new blank page and begin. Right, I’m just going to go mad and improvise. I’m going to let myself go and not censor myself at all. Let my pen flow over the pages.
Oh, hang on, I’ll just get a pen that has a thicker point.
Hmmmm,