sausages were local he almost had to go and have a lie down, he was so thrilled. I like the Dobbins already, but I don’t know what to do with them. I’m not the dibdobdib jolly sort of person, I’m more the dark nobbly sort of person. But I did smiling and nodding a lot. Maybe they think that I am a bit shy?
That’s good.
Shy is good.
I am going to be quite shy.
I will become known for my shyness.
And my quirky use of language, like saying ‘oh, goodie’ or ‘yum yum’. Or ‘Yarooo!’ Although I don’t want to overdo it and make people think I’m a bit simple.
The Dobbins don’t have Sky.
They don’t have any TV.
Dobbo said they made their own fun.
I made the mistake of saying, “What sort of thing?”
And she was off.
“Oh, gosh, where to start??? We do everything, don’t we, Harold?”
Harold stopped looking at some sort of nut through a microscope and said, “Yes, it’s almost too busy in the country. We look at maps, we go and look at the river flowing. Or watch the clouds. You name it, we go look at it. Then of course there’s the Guides and the Young Christians. You should join, Tallulah!”
Dibdobs said, “Oh, yes, you should. We’re weaving a rope. Making it long enough to reach right across the village and seeing how many people we can get skipping.”
I said, “Gosh.”
So, here I am in a squirrel room near a place called Grimbottom.
I put all my books on the shelves. I am reading Wuthering Heights again. It’s a set book for the course. And my secret letter from Georgia is under my pillow. For luck.
I was beginning to feel really sorry for myself and lonely when Dibdobs knocked on my door. She has brought me a mug of hot milk and, yarooo!, some slippers shaped like squirrels to make me ‘feel at home’.
So she clearly thinks I live in a hole in a tree.
She said to me, “I hope you like them, Harold made them at his sewing class.”
I said, “Oh, yes, they’re, well, they’re very unusual…and spiffing.”
Spiffing? Where did that come from? I am even surprising myself with my quirky use of language.
Then the psycho twins silently appeared in their jim-jams and stood at the door doing more looking. I hope and pray their snails are not ‘seepin’ in my room. They were still staring as Dibdobs closed the door.
I didn’t have anything else to do, so after she had gone I tried my slippers on. You put your big toe into the snout and the ears stick out attractively at the sides. The tails nestle up the backs of your legs. Perhaps I should wear them to college for my first day, as a quirky fashion statement.
The zany, free world of a performer.
Hmmmmm. I could wear my false moustache AND the squirrel slippers on Monday. I could. If I wanted to make the girls laugh and the boys ignore me. The one thing I know about boys so far is that they don’t like ‘fun’ dressing in girls. I tried a cowboy hat on in Topshop and Connor practically wet himself.
I wonder what sort of boys will be at the college? Yeeha! A whole summer of boys. Painting, sculpting, dancing, leaping – leaping like gazelles pretending to be chasing birds. And of course, boys. It’s embarrassing not having ever been involved with, well, rumpty tumpty.
Not ever having had anyone, besides my hamster, actually kiss me on the mouth.
I’m going to take my slippers off and have them in bed for company. Toe-side up, because I don’t want to startle myself if I wake up in the night – and see a couple of tails.
I am feeling nervous about Monday. What if I am so rubbish at everything that I am asked to leave?
If I am asked to leave, I can never go home again. I would have to run away to sea.
Where is the sea?
Am I up or down?
I was lying on my bed waggling my slippers around, preparing to tuck them up in bed with me, when I heard laughter from somewhere outside, nearly below my window, and a sort of shuffling and rustling.
A girl’s voice grumpily said, “Oy Cain, stop it. Are we officially going out or what?”
Then a boy’s voice, quite deep and with a really strong accent, said, “There’s no need to be such a mardy bum. I’m off, see you around.”
The girl said, “When?”
And the boy’s voice said, “I don’t know, tha’s getting on me nerves, I dint realise tha’ were such a quakebottom. Why don’t tha just hang around with the usual garyboys?”
A quakebottom?
Someone had got a trembling bottom?
I must see this.
I got off the bed and crawled to look through the window. It was very dark out there and I couldn’t see much.
I heard the girl say, “Oy Cain, wait for me!”
Then there was a sudden loud fluttering of wings and flash of white and a horrible screech like something had been killed. And illuminated in the moonlight, I saw an eerie snowy barn owl fly up into a tree near my window. It settled on the branch facing me and I could see a mouse. Dangling out of its beak.
The owl looked at me and blinked really slowly. Then it shut its eyes completely. The mouse started disappearing, bit by bit. The owl was swallowing the mouse whole. Head first. And having a little snooze at the same time.
Crikey.
In my study notes it says:
“How any human being could have attempted to write Wuthering Heights without committing suicide before finishing two chapters is a mystery. It is a mixture of vulgar depravity and unnatural horrors.”
Gosh. I am going to write that in my performance art notebook.
I’ve been awake since sunriseBut the sun hasn’t risen
How can it be foggy in July?
Maybe it’s not fog, it’s the mists coming in from the moors. Oooohhhhhh. The moors, the mysterious dark moors of Wuthering Heights. Out of the mist an enormous dog will come lolloping along with fangs and lit up eyes. Followed by a brutishly handsome boy. Heathcliff. His master. And the dog’s master will hurl aside the Dobbins’ protests and come charging up the
