A Midsummer Tights Dream. Louise Rennison

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      The next day I woke up to the pitter-pattering of light hail on my window. It’s nine o’clock but still so dark it could be night-time. I got out of my snuggly squirrel bed and had a look out of the window. Brrrr. This is the life, minus 50 degrees. There is a slight frost on the window. On the inside. When I rubbed it away I could see that even the sheep are huddling together for warmth.

      And they are practically walking jumpers.

      I don’t know what to wear. Something cosy but glam. Thick tights and my new short green wool skirt, black top and new leather over-the-knee boots?

      And a hat so that the hail can’t take all the bouncy bounce out of my hair.

      I don’t want the Tree Sisters to think I have let myself down.

      When I was fully togged up, I went downstairs into the kitchen.

      Even though it is Antarctic conditions, the Dobbins have left a note to say they have gone out on their Earth Sky walk with the young Christian table tennis team. They were sorry I was missing it. Well, they are on their own there!

      I had a crumpet and some honey and milky coffee. The honey is local of course. Harold is obsessed with local produce. I bet he knows the bees by name. And has made them little winter cloaks like his. And is paying their tuition fees to Bee Academy. So they can better themselves and get out of the worker bee trap.

      Oooooh, I am so excited my legs are wiggling around for no reason. They are uncontrollable. They might calm down when I shove them in my boots.

      It feels great to have proper friends and to be on the brink of being a showbiz legend. Or, well, being on the course.

      I know it’s childish but I wanted to dance and sing with pleasure. I only wish I could do either.

      I feel soooo lucky to be here.

      Anything goes in the crazy world of the-atre dahling. I might be discovered and asked to be Maria in The Sound Of Music in the West End. That would make Alex know I was proper girlfriend material, and not some little girl with nobbly knees.

      I can imagine myself in the Swiss Alps actually. In a big flouncy dress dancing with goats. “The hills are alive with the sound of music… lalalala… with songs they have sung for a thousand years…”

      I got bundled up in my coat and hat and left the house. I had to walk slightly bent because there was a mini gale blasting across the moors and fields. But at least it had stopped hailing.

      The sheep were still huddled together against the wind.

      Looking at me.

      I shouted to the sheep. “I love you, my little woolly friends.”

      They didn’t like it. They didn’t want to be my friends. They wanted to be my unfriends. They shuffled off as a group and tried to get in the hedge. And looked at me from there.

      They are very cross-eyed.

      Maybe it is so they can see round corners?

      That would be handy if there were wolves creeping up behind you.

      Hang on, your eyes should go outwards to do that, not inwards so that you just see your own looming nose. How useful would that be?

      Anyway, I can’t be bothered about the animal kingdom, I am too busy being in a good mood. I’m going to do run-run-leap to The Sound of Music to keep me warm. Run, run, leap… “The hills are alive with the sound of…”

      Oh great balls of fire. Leaning against the gate of the churchyard, like a great dark crow, was him. The Dark Force of Heckmondwhite. The Black Hearted Prince himself. Cain.

      Cain Hinchcliff.

      He was dressed all in black, a long black coat and black boots. He had his collar turned up against the wind. His hair is longer than when I last saw him. And it looks even blacker. He saw me, so I stopped leaping and started pretending that my boots were falling down. A half-smile crossed his face. Not a nice beamy smile, a dark twisty smile. He pushed his hair back and looked me right in the eyes. His eyes are so black you can’t tell what he is thinking. I know what I am thinking, I am thinking, “Oh, banana skins and bejesus, he’s seen me leaping, and talking to sheep.”

      Cain licked his lips like a hungry wolf and said, “Well, well, well… it’s the young Southern lass back.”

      Then he ran his eyes up and down my body and said, “Tha’s grown a bit.”

      Oh, how bloody well dare he?! How could he see through my coat? Maybe he had x-ray vision. What colour pants had I got on? Oh stop it, of course he couldn’t see through my coat and see my pants. He was just being him. Rude and crude and horrible.

      If I had my handbag I would hit him with it. I only had my hat or my mittens and that didn’t seem nearly violent enough.

      He was like an animal in trousers.

      As the wind plucked at his hair and whipped it round his face, I remembered the last time I had seen him. It was in the barn and he was poking the owlets with a little stick.

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