At this rate it might be the last gig I go to before I have to go back to Ireland. And my old life as a lanky fool.

Still, it had stopped raining. I can’t worry about every little thing.

About why Dr. Lightowler hates me and why she would put a Dumbo head on me.

Or about whether Dother Hall is going to stay open.

Or what Charlie means by “stuff.”

Or whether my corkers have grown overnight.

Hang on, I can worry about that, I’m going to measure.

Oh yes!!!!! Thirty inches and a third. Yippeeee … hang on a minute. It’s three days since I last measured so that means they are growing a third of an inch every three days. If they keep growing like this, I’ll have to be airlifted out of bed.

And how do they know to grow evenly?

Perhaps they don’t.

Maybe I should measure each one separately. I don’t want one being eight extra inches and one being only four inches.

I wish I had never started this now.

But, hey, I am here in Brontë country. This is not the place for having weak knees. This is the place for big, red sturdy knees. I don’t remember anything in Jane Eyre about her worrying about her corkers. In fact, I don’t think she even mentioned them. She was probably as worried as I am, but she didn’t mention it. Too many other things to worry about, like starvation and her husband imprisoning his first wife in the attic and then setting fire to himself.

I can learn something from Em, Chazza, and Anne. I will display Northern grit.

I washed and blow-dried my hair and made it va-va-voom. I feel better already.

As I was doing some practice swishing, Dibdobs shouted up the stairs, “See you later, Tallulah! We’re going to look for more volunteer knitters.”

And the door slammed.

I went down to the kitchen. Through the side window, I could see Dibdobs and the lunatic twins talking to people on the green. I saw Mrs. Wombwell hiding behind the church wall when she saw the Dobbinses approaching. I knew how she felt.

I wonder who will go to The Jones’s gig? I’m only going because Vaisey wants to see Jack so much. And Jo wants us Tree Sisters to give her moral support while she waits for Phil’s phone call. I am a very good pal actually because I have no reason to go. And in fact I would rather not go. I haven’t seen Cain since the nose-licking thing and I don’t want to.

I wonder if any of the Woolfe boys will go? Will Charlie be there?

I was having a lie down on my squirrel bed while my face mask (homemade, egg white and curry powder … well, I thought it might give my skin a bit of a tanned glow, it was quite orange colored) took hold and worked its magic. I was planning how icy and cool I was going to be if Charlie did turn up. And wanted to “talk.”