It must be something to do with the harsh weather conditions but I have woken up with Northern grit. I may wear a short-sleeved T-shirt today. I wrote in my Darkly Demanding Damson Diary:

 

Even though all the fundraising plans are mad at least we’re doing something. We’re fighting back. We’re fighting for our slippers.

All right I can’t sing or act or dance or – well anything – but maybe I can do an owl-based performance. Yes, yes, I can train Lullah and Ruby to do something. A ‘guess how much poo an owlet can poo in ten minutes’ competition.

Or I could put different hats or wigs on them as famous historical figures.

The hats would have to be little. A little pirate’s hat or a Cleopatra wig. Dibdobs could knit them.

Or Matilda could tap dance on a tin tray. I could make the tappy noises with castanets. That should make a few quid before she fell off the tray.

More ideas later.

 

I’m going to pop down to see the owlets after school for inspiration, and I’ll call for my fun-size mate Ruby. Connie the mother owl will be out night hunting. I hope. I definitely don’t want a repeat of what happened when Alex came with me to see them, and Connie swooped down unexpectedly from the barn roof. And I leapt onto Alex’s back. Like a mad turtle shell.

Hang on a minute. Actually, perhaps I do want a repeat incident of that.

Me on his back. Mmmmmmm Alex.

Me and Alex. The turtle and his shell.

And anyway, when he next sees me, he will find me greatly changed. Changed in a way that makes him think, ‘Yum yum’. Rather than, ‘Crikey, I’ve got a shell on my back’.

I’m going to write down what might happen when we next meet.

I will be sitting on a tree felled by lightning. Wearing my new winter shorts with new three-quarter over-the-knee socks, reading a book of poetry.

It is by me.

Reading aloud my latest poem.

 

On nights like these, I am like a ripe fruit, ready to be plucked.

A peach, a perfect proud peach, a polished purple plum,

A naughty nectarine, a darkly demanding damson… a fat fig.

 

No, no, not a fat fig. A tall tangerine? Hmmmm.

I am lost to the world. Unaware I am being observed.

My long, black, silky hair tumbles softly, flicked by the prevailing North wind.

I don’t know but Alex watches from the trees, in his frilly shirt and breeches. Then a rude, coarse, red-faced man huffs into view.

It is Ted Barraclough. He says to me in his coarse voice, “This bloody wind is from Russia, the Russkies do it on purpose to spoil my curry nights on Fridays. They know that folk won’t turn out when there’s a cold wind blowing. And stop flicking your hair about, you daft lad.”

But I think he talks rubbish.

I don’t think Ted Barraclough even knows which direction Russia is in.

Crude, coarse Ted leaves and it is then that I notice Alex crouching in the undergrowth.

I am struck dumb by the sudden surging of old familiar feelings.

I know he is at his fine, fancy theatre college, but I see he is still wearing the breeches I know so well.

His flouncy white shirt open to the waist.

He runs to me and takes me in his arms. I close my eyes, it is too much, I am melting, I am melting, and he says softly, “Hello. We is here, wiv our bumbums out.”

 

I opened the bedroom door.

There they were, the mad twins, naked from the waist down.

Looking at me.

Oh goodie.

 

I can’t believe that Honey is actually leaving. Because of all the Dother Hall business, I haven’t really thought about it properly. The Hollywood people are sending a car to pick her up and take her to the airport today!

How can you kiss the back of someone’s leg and then they just leave? I suppose people might call it calf love. (That’s one for my diary.)

I’ve written her a goodbye letter. With a proper ink pen and some paper that Harold made. It’s got pressed flowers embedded in it so it looks special. It says:

 

Dear Honey

I am so sad you’re going away to the City of the Angels or Los Angeles as some people call it who have no art and theatre in their veins. It will suit you to live in the City of Angels because of your golden hair and your honey-ness.

Anyway, I just wanted to say I will never forget you, and perhaps when I do my world famous Irish dancing tour, I will get to visit you in your luxury beach apartment. Because I just know you are going to the tippy top of the toppermost. You were always going to be a star, but also you are one of the nicest girls I have ever met.

And a true pal.

Goodbye Honey,

I promise I will keep up all you taught me about my inner glorwee and be proud of my knees.

P.S. And thank you for the snogging-the-back-of-the-legs lessons.

I have learned a lot. Now I just need some boys to practise on.

I remember what you said about not being too darty tongued.

And I am going to do that hypnotic eyes thing that you do.

I’ve tried it out in my head and it works a treat on me. I’d follow me anywhere.

Lots and lots and lots of love

Tallulah

Your friend.

P.P.S. There are blotches where my tears have dropped on to the paper. It isn’t snot.

 

I struggled up the lane towards Dother Hall in a near gale-force wind with the rain lashing down. It’s pointless having an umbrella, you might as well hold a piece of jelly in front of you, it’s turned inside out about 58 times. Brrr and also grrrr. Just when you think the weather can’t get any more Northern it does. It surprises me that people here haven’t got webbed feet. In fact, I am pretty sure the Bottomley sisters have.

The weather matches my mood.

 

In assembly Sidone was dressed in black velvet and a veil.

She said, “The day has come, my girls, when one of our brightest stars goes to shine in another universe. Today Honey leaves us for Hollywood and sometimes only music really says what we can’t say. So her friends have put together a song for her. Vaisey, Jo, Flossie and Tallulah…”

She beckoned us to the stage. This was our chance to show the school what Honey meant to us.

Flossie started on her own in her deep voice, slowly.

Honey, Honey,

Oh, Honey, Honey

Then Vaisey joined in with her lovely sweet voice.

You are our lovely girl

And we can’t help loving you

Then Jo joined in.

We can’t believe the loveliness of little you

We just can’t believe you’re true

And as the tempo built, it was my turn. I gave it my all, banging on the tambourine as the girls sang.

Oh Honey, HONEY

SWEET LITTLE HONEY

YOU ARE OUR LOVELY GIRL

and we can’t help loving yoooooooooooooooooou

Honey oooh, Honey, OOOH HONEY HONEY!!!

As a finale, I flung the tambourine high in the air.

Sadly I missed it on the way back down and it struck Dr Lightowler a glancing blow to the head.

Afterwards as we trooped out everyone was applauding and quite a few people were crying. But as I passed Dr Lightowler she said, “You complete and utter idiot.”

 

I gave my little letter to Honey and we hugged. I didn’t even mind our corkers touching, who cares if I’m a lezzie. Whatever that is.

Honey said, “I’ll wead it on the plane, Lullah.”

Vaisey was sniffling and said, “Let’s go to our special tree and have a last dance together.”

We tramped through the damp woods, feeling damp and sad.

I said, “I bet it was like this when Em Brontë died.”

Flossie said, “You certainly know how to make things go with a swing, don’t you, Lullah?”

Jo put her arms around us and said, “It’s only Hollywood, that’s just 400 miles as the crow flies.”

Honey said, “Yeth, but I am going by jumbo jet.”

And we all cried.

When we reached our special tree, Honey said, “Come on girlth, letth show the twee all our glorwee for one last time!!”

And we went mad. Jo was shaking her bum at the tree yelling, “Look at this beauty!”

I was throwing my knees up at the tree yelling, “I’m not a nobbly knee-ed fool, I’m a green-eyed minx! Kiss the knees, kiss the knees!!”

As Charlie walked into the clearing.

Oh no.

Oh yes.

I stopped mid-knee waggle.

Honey smiled at him with her melty smile. “Hello, Chawie, you came to thay goodbye.”

He smiled back at her and gave her a hug. “I was on my way to Dother Hall to give you – well… Me and the lads made you a souvenir to take with you, to remind you of us.”

And he handed her a wooden sausage and said, “We made you this in woodwork, it has a teak finish.”

Honey said, “I’ll weally tweasure it.”

He was on the dash but as he passed me, he said softly, “Tallulah, I really need to talk to you, I’ve been trying to get to the village but I’m on curfew.” And he went off.

The Tree Sisters went, “Ooooooh, Charlie!”

 

The car came to pick Honey up at lunchtime and the whole of Dother Hall was outside to see her off. Monty had gone through a box of Kleenex. Honey had her boots and short skirt on and she had put her hair up. She really did look like a star.

As we stood outside with her luggage, a sleek black limo swept up the driveway. The driver got out and said, “Good afternoon, Madam,” to Honey, and put her luggage in the boot.

And the girls went “Oooooohhh”. They were all so impressed. I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t like Honey.

Even Bob gave her a hug and said, “Rock on – see you Stateside when I get back to gigging.” Whatever that means.

When it was time for her to go, the four of us clung together. All of the Tree Sisters, crying and hugging. Like there was no tomorrow. Which there isn’t for our little gang. We’ve promised to write to each other. But it was really really sad.

As she got into the back seat, Honey said, “Ooooh this ith howwible. I am so sad. Tallulah, pleathe do me your little Irish dance to cheer me up.”

I wasn’t in the mood and my eyes were all swollen from crying and so I said, “I don’t think I want—”

Flossie blew her nose and said in her Southern accent, “Yes, goddam it, Lullah-Mae, let’s give Miss Honey a good ole traditional Texan send-off. One, two, three, four, and hiddly diddly…”

Jo gave me a socking big biff on the arm to encourage me.

And while Vaisey, Flossie and Jo sang that little-known Irish folk song, ‘Hiddly Diddly Diddly’, I did my best throwing-my-legs-around jigging ever. My legs had a life of their own. I was just bobbling around on top of them.

I kept it up until the car was out of sight.

Then I panted to the others, “Nothing could feel worse than this, losing one of your first proper chums.”

And I burst into tears.

 

As we trooped off to French, Dr Lightowler tapped me on the shoulder.

“You don’t mind making a fool of yourself in public do you, Tallulah Casey? How very interesting. Perhaps there is something you can offer Dother Hall.”

Holy moly, what a miserable day. We read through A Midsummer Night’s Dream in French I don’t know why. Monty said it would add a certain je ne sais quoi to our understanding. But it’s hard to read properly when you are snuffling.

Monty had his hankie out and sighed, “Honey would have been so right for Titania. That lovely golden hair, that sweet voice we will never hear again.” And he started blubbing.

That set us all off howling.

 

As I was moping home, Dr Lightowler appeared at her office door. Had she been looking through the keyhole? Now what? She beckoned me in with one of her thin bony fingers. Was she going to peck me to death?

I went into her nest – I mean, room – and she fixed me with those unblinking eyes. Sort of poo-coloured eyes.

“Tut tut… so many girls looooonnnnng to come here to learn the art of theeeeaatre, but it is you who are allowed to come here. With your silly legs.”

I looked down at my silly legs.

“I have been thinking about you, and I have an excellent way for you to show how very… very… funny you are.”

I said politely, “Well, you know I don’t think I would go as far as to say that I was, you know, very funny, but well, Ms Fox did say that I was a comedy genius and…”

Dr Lightowler said, “Did she indeed? Well, that is good. I too have got a very, very strong sense of humour.”

Crumbs.

“Yes, and I have a very funny idea for you, for when we visit The Blind Pig.”

And she started laughing.

 

I left the room in a daze. Bottom. She is casting me as Bottom. A thick donkey called Bottom.

Wait till Ted Barraclough and the rough lads from The Blind Pig find out about this.

Wait till the Bottomley sisters find out.

Oh my god, wait till Dream Boy finds out.

This is truly, truly the worst day of my life.

And I am counting when Cain Hinchcliff caught me rubbing my corkers to make them grow.

And the licking the hailstone off my nose.

 

I went to The Blind Pig to tell Ruby all about it. Ted Barraclough popped up from behind the bar.

“Ay up, young man, have you been playing football today?”

I said, “No, we… er, we don’t play football.”

He doesn’t give up easily. “Would you like an apple? Can I take the opportunity to say how very very much I am looking forward to you coming to my humble abode again to prat around like twits in tights.”

Before he could go on I said, “Er, is Ruby in yet?”

He said, “No she’s out in the back field with Alex.”

Alex?

Oh joy! Perhaps every cloud did indeed have a silver lining. Alex was here!!

Mr Darcy come to save me.

I walked quickly round the back of the pub. My heart was racing. I couldn’t believe he was here. I’d read my letter from him every day and night for a fortnight.

I took a deep breath and walked slowly up the track at the back. Oh oh oh. There he was! Mr Darcy, standing with his back to me with Ruby. He wasn’t wearing breeches. I don’t mean he was naked from the waist down. He was wearing jeans, looking towards Grimbottom.

Ruby saw me first and called out, “Lullah!!!”

Then Alex turned round. He smiled his lovely smile. Oh Mr Darcy, Mr Darcy, can I just run my hands through your chestnutty hair…

I didn’t say that bit out loud.

He said, “Hey, Lullah!! How are you, my little Green Eyes?”

Green Eyes, he called me his little Green Eyes!

Take that, Dr Lightowler, he didn’t call me Bottom, he called me Green Eyes.

He looks further than my knees, unlike some people. There is indeed a silver lining to every black cloud.

When I reached him he gave me a hug. Mmmmmm, nice hugging. I remembered to do hypnotic eyes. Blinking and staring at the same time. I bet he is thinking, she is indeed a darkly damson, a plum ripe for plucking a…

He chucked me under my chin and said, “Aaaah, you look lovely, Lullah, so lovely. You must tell me your news about Dither Hall. But first of all come and meet Candice, she’s at college with me.”

He stopped hugging me.

Why was he making me meet one of his mates from college?

What was this mate in the field for?

Maybe she’d come to collect mushrooms because she liked them, and as she was a mate of his, he’d said…

Then a girl with long blonde hair appeared from the field. She had ordinary length legs. He kissed her on the lips.

Every cloud does not have a silver lining. It has another even darker, cloudier lining.