Once again, back in my squirrel room. Alone with my slippers. They are not golden slippers. They are squirrel-cum-hamster slippers.

It’s so dark and miserable outside. And inside come to that.

I wonder what Cousin Georgia would do now? About Alex. She told me that she dyed a piece of her hair blonde when she really liked a Sex-God-type boy who was older than her. But she used toilet cleaner because her mum wouldn’t give her money to get real hair dye. And then the Sex God came round to see her and the blonde streak worked because the Sex God kissed her. But then the Sex God ran his hand through her hair and the blonde streak snapped off. In his hand. Like a little hamster.

And he was a bit surprised, but he thought it was funny. And he liked her and snogged her even more because of her quirkiness.

Maybe that is the thing to do, be more quirky. So that Alex will see that I am not just some silly little girl, I am the girl for him.

I don’t think I will do the blonde streak thing though.

That might be a quirk too far.

Should I wear a cloak?

Hmmm.

Perhaps not. I don’t want him to think I’m a lunatic just a bit interesting.

I need to emphasise my good bits.

He likes my eyes.

Maybe I should wear eye make-up.

I’m going to try it.

I went and got my make-up bag. I put black eyeliner on the top of my lids. Hmmmm, quite nice. It does make your eyes stand out. It’s a bit crooked though so I look slightly surprised in one eye.

I’ll even it up.

The lines are quite thick but that might be good.

Honey said you had to use a softer shade on the bottom lid.

So maybe a softy, blurry dark purple line underneath my eye and then joining the black line at the corner.

Like so.

Yes. That is good.

I look about ten years older, I think.

I wonder if my corkers are still on the move. I could do some measuring and…

There was the sound of shouting from outside my window.

It was a girl’s voice. Maybe Beverley Bottomley. Out there. Shouting at me. Tracking me down. When she’s finished shouting, she’s going to climb up the drainpipe to get me.

She’s going to climb up and make me eat my slippers.

No, I mustn’t be silly, she would never be able to get up the drainpipe. Her arms are strong enough, it’s just that there isn’t a drainpipe.

What’s going on?

I pulled back the curtain a little bit and peeked out.

I should have known. Where there’s shouting, there’s Cain. He was leaning against a tree with his boot up against the trunk. And shouting in front of him was Beverley. He’d got his collar up and was patting his dog.

If I just quietly open my window a crack, I will be able to hear what she is saying.

What I hope she’s saying is, “If you don’t get out of town, my mum is going to shoot you.”

I slowly and quietly inched the window open.

Then I could hear properly, Beverley was crying and her voice was all squeaky. “You… you… treat me like nowt.”

Cain snapped, “Beverley, I told thee, I just want a laff, I don’t want a bloody moaning lass following me abaht. It’s depressing.”

Beverly was snuffling. “You said tha luvved me.”

Cain laughed. “I did nowt of the kind. Tha said thee loved me and I said, well, don’t.”

Beverley gulped. “Oh yer bad, you led me on.”

Cain laughed again. “I led thee on? Tha came trailing after me.”

Beverley said, “I want to kill you. You’re bad and mean.”

She went over to him and banged her fists on his chest. He just stood there.

Then he said, “Beverley, why dun’t tha go home, to tha mum and dad. There’s nowt doing here.”

Beverley screamed and ran off into the woods.

Bloody hell.

Cain stayed leaning against the tree. Looking down at his boots.

Then without looking up, he said, “So what dust tha think, lanky lass? What do they want? Lasses? Eh? Whativver it is I can’t give it to them.”

I didn’t say anything. How could he know I was there?

Cain said, “Well, are you going to give me your wise advice? Tell me what you’ve learned at big school.”

Ooooh, he was so up himself.

I stood up and opened the window some more.

“I did happen to overhear you as I was writing my… diary.”

He looked up and leered. “Is that what tha call it ‘writing in your diary’, like when you had them reight big socks on your hands and you were…”

Oh, how dare he!!!! How dare he??????

He really was an animal.

Alex would never say anything like that.

Cain was kicking at the tree.

I said to him, “At least I don’t spend my whole life making people unhappy and… and… making them leap into rivers.”

Cain looked up at me again.

I looked back down at him.

He said, “You should wesh your face, you look like a bloody panda.”

Oh, typical.

I said, “Are you capable of ever being nice?”

And I was just about to slam the window down on him when he said, “I am being nice, you daft mare. What I’m saying is, tha dun’t need owt on your face. You’ve got a reight naice wild pretty face.”

I blinked.

Was he being nice?

I would certainly write this down for posterity in my Darkly Demanding Damson Diary. ‘The Black Rusty Crow was very nearly not entirely horrible’.

He was kicking at leaves. Then he said, “I know tha thinks I’m a bad un, and mebbe I am, but I’ve got reasons for not trusting wimmen. Anyway I can’t do owt to please ’em. What they want I can’t give em. I’m a bad lot and that’s the end of it.”

He did seem truly upset for once.

I tried to think of something to say.

“Well, you’re nice to the owlets, sort of. And your dog.”

Cain laughed.

“Oh, well, there we are then, the solution. I’ll go out with one of the owlets – or me dog.”

The idea was so mad that we both started laughing.

He looks completely different when he laughs.

How strange.

Then he said, “Well, I’d best be off, it’s way past your bedtime.”

Oh yes, he had to spoil it.

I said, “I’m not going to go to bed tonight actually. I often stay up all night if I like. I may be part owl.”

Why had I said that?

What did I mean?

He said, “Ooooooo, you bloody rebel. See thee, nobbly knees. Twit twooo.”