DEAD GOOD (15 page)

‘Davey’s in hospital. He fell off a climbing frame and your mum and dad are at each other’s throats.’

My sweet bubble of hope bursts all over my face and I feel like crying.

‘Don’t worry, it’s only a fractured wrist, you can’t do anything. They’ve left you a note. Seriously….they’ll probably be back home when you get in… hey…’

I feel an arm slowly wrap itself around my shoulders and I realise I’m crying. For a second I can hardly believe that I can truly feel Leo’s arm around me and I look up, only to find through my mist of tears that it’s actually Amber who’s pulling me into her arms, her own eyes welling up in sympathy.

‘Hey, hey…don’t worry, babes, we’ll work something out,’ she soothes, rocking me and rubbing my back.

eighteen

When I got back, the house was as quiet as one of those stupid silent black and white films. You know - the ones where everyone moves really jerkily and they put on exaggerated expressions to make up for the fact that they can’t speak. Almost unbearably uncomfortable. And I… let me just repeat that, shall I? I even made dinner. I know. That’s how bad it’s got.

Now we’re eating it in that horrible, echoey silence.

Of course I had some help. With the making of dinner I mean. From Nonna would you believe. Oh, and Leo for a bit of translation. Oh, and I managed to find a cookery book which had a vaguely similar recipe in that I leaned up on the worktop just in case mum got suspicious about how the hell I managed to make something that tastes this good.

They were still at the hospital when I got home from school. And true enough, like Leo said, there was a note for me on the kitchen table. I’m guessing Leo must’ve told his Nan what had happened. Sorry, I mean his Nonna, because she was kind of waiting for me, smiling and trying not to appear too ghostly and frightening I think. Bless her, she even tried to hold my hand and give me the double-kiss thing that Italians do. I couldn’t help feeling just a little bit embarrassed for her too. Bless. (Again). She’s such a sweet thing. And a whiz in the kitchen.

I never realised exactly how simple a basic red pasta sauce is. And how totally not scary it is cooking it. In fact the longer you leave the sauce to simmer – “simmer”, see? That’s a cooking term don’tya know. The longer you leave the sauce to simmer, the richer it gets and the thicker it goes. In fact “to make a sauce thicker” is actually called a reduction in cooking terminology. No, it is. I’ve read about it now. And heard it first hand from this woman who knows.

Anyway, back to the silent film.

God, I’m a brilliant cook, this is scrummy.

So, Davey has what’s called a “greenstick fracture” which sounds more like something a tree would have if you bent a branch. Which, actually, now I come to think about it, is probably quite a good description. Because his bones are still growing and aren’t as hard as a proper fully-grown human’s, if he lands weirdly (which apparently he did), the bone that would normally break in an older person just kind of bends and cracks a bit. It doesn’t break properly. It sounds horrible and I can totally get why he keeps crying and going all red in the face and mum keeps spooning Calpol down his throat. And the great massive plaster cast they’ve put on him goes all the way round his thumb and his pudgy little fingers and right up just a little bit before his elbow. It’s so heavy they’ve given him a sling too which he’s already managed to get messed up somehow. Poor Davey. I feel sorry for him.

It hasn’t put him off his food, though. I can’t think of anything that could, to be honest. He loves eating.

‘Maddie, this is just lovely,’ Mum says, pushing her bowl back. I can still see a few bits of pasta hanging around the bottom of it but I don’t want to accuse her of lying. She’s probably had a very stressful day and to start demanding why she doesn’t like my attempt at pasta would probably push her over the edge. I’ve learnt when to keep my mouth shut.

‘Thanks,’ I say proudly as I watch dad polish off the last of his and reach for mum’s bowl. That’s where Davey gets his appetite from.

‘This is great. You’ll have to break your arm more often, son!’ Dad jokes and Davey looks confused. He turns his head from dad, to mum, to me and then back to mum again whereupon his bottom lip begins to quiver, moisten and then he starts wailing really loudly, like a Police siren, pulling at his sling and going completely red in the face again. I notice he’s finished his food though.

I start to clear our plates and bowls away feeling thoroughly pleased with my culinary attempts. And I seriously hope that this goes some way to easing the tension that Leo indicated was hanging around earlier on this afternoon. Although apart from them telling me what happened to Davey and praising my cooking they haven’t spoken a word to each other since they came home. Now, though, thanks to Davey, the silent movie has just turned into a real screamer.

Later on I am so engrossed in my search on the internet for “intelligent spirits” that I don’t notice at first the occasional noise that seems to be coming from upstairs. It’s probably Davey getting all stroppy about his bloody sling again. He’s only had it on five minutes and already he wants it off. I could understand it if it was his right arm but it’s not. He scribbles and eats and does pretty much everything with his right arm so losing the use of his left for a while shouldn’t be much of a bother. It should be fine. All he’s got to do surely is wait for it to heal? What will it be six weeks, tops? This temporary inconvenience shouldn’t make a huge difference to his general lifestyle and it’s not as if he has housework or proper homework or a job to do in the meantime that will suffer, is it? I hear another bang. This time slightly louder.

Dad goes to the foot of the stairs. ‘Hey!’ he shouts up. ‘What’s going on?’

‘It’s okay. It’s nothing,’ I hear mum call back.

Thank goodness mum has the patience of a saint. She seems to be able to let Davey’s wails just wash right over her head and doesn’t get all upset about it. She said it was different when I was his age. Because she was new to being a parent and with me being a girl I suppose, she used to get quite panicky when I screamed and cried – because, yes, it must be genetic - I cried when I was little. A lot actually - allegedly. Especially if I didn’t get my own way with something. But she reckons it gets better with the second baby. You’ve been through it once, so I guess it prepares you for the next one. I don’t think there’ll be any more though, not after Davey. Ewww… I still can’t get my head round my parents actually doing it. With each other. Ewww, gross or what?

Well, they certainly won’t be feeling romantic anytime soon if dad’s work situation doesn’t improve that’s for sure. Great method of contraception, unemployment.

And it seems to be happening the exact same way it happened the last time. Drawers, doors, cupboards, windows, taps whooshing, lights fizzing – the whole thing – all over again. Like watching a re-run of a film you’ve only just seen. And one you didn’t particularly like first time round, either.

Just like before, it all starts in the kitchen. The drawers banging. Mum and Dad pad warily through to the doorway and just stand, leaning on the frame, watching everything happening. I tread softy and go to stand behind them. None of us speaks. We just watch. And when the screaming starts Mum just puts her hands over her ears and screws her eyes up tightly like she just wants it all to go away and leave us alone.

I turn to her and wrap my arms round her waist. It’s my turn to comfort her this time. Now I sort of know what’s happening, why it’s happening and that it’s not really happening to us, it kind of feels easier to get through; to bear. But my heart twists for poor Leo and Mia and their grandparents, because this must be the worst kind of torture imaginable – death on a continuous loop.

Groundhog Death.

nineteen

We don’t get a lot of sleep. Which state of extreme tiredness is confirmed by Amber’s greeting as she pulls her door shut behind us the following morning.

‘Bloody hell Mads you look like shit!’

I nod lamely and we walk. And then I tell her about the repeat performance last night and I think she may have trouble swallowing pretty soon because her mouth’s been stuck on the “Oh” in O.M.G now for about twenty minutes.

‘Oooh, Mads!’ she manages to say finally as we reach the lockers. ‘So what’re your mum and dad like this morning then?’

‘They’re not telling the police, fire or ambulance services – again - that’s for sure,’ I tell her. ‘In fact who the hell are you supposed to tell when something like this happens?’

Amber’s face is deadly solemn. ‘A priest?’ she tries. ‘Maybe? I don’t know. What do they do in films?’

‘They all go mental and end up leaving and then the credits roll. I don’t think we’ve got the luxury of being able to sell the house. And anyway we’ve only just bloody well moved there!’ I sigh. ‘Besides, who the hell’s going to want to buy a haunted house? What do you put on the house details? Ensuite burning corpses? Hot and cold running dead people?’ I try to smile but it doesn’t quite work. Amber, though, looks as though she’d be the first to put an offer in on such a house.

‘Have you seen Leo,’ she asks, dragging out her PE kit and stuffing it into her Spangly carry-all. ‘I mean apart from when he was lying on your bedroom floor all burnt and stuff… eeeww. He might be able to tell you what, or at least why it all happened?’

I shrug dully and grab some books. I don’t even check to make sure they’re the ones I need. ‘Nope. Haven’t seen him. So much for an Intelligent Spirit, eh?’ I smile as the bell sounds, ‘see you on the hill, yeah?’

Amber gives my arm a little squeeze before she turns to go and the next thing I know I’m just about to walk through Leo. I do a not-too-obvious sidestep and crinkle my nose up at his tall frame. He’s smiling. Not grinning. Just a smile. A kind of apologetic smile I think. Bloody too right.

‘I didn’t tell you before,’ he says – by way of an apology I’m sure. ‘I thought it might freak you out – and anyway I wasn’t certain it would happen again. I mean it has happened before – but I thought that because you’re still there, that it might have… I don’t know…’ he falters and then leans into the wall behind me, pushing back his floppy fringe with one hand and holding his other up in frustration. ‘I’m sorry. I did mention they have happened before.’

‘Yes.’ I nod the once. ‘You did.’

‘Were you…I mean are you – I mean did you…’

‘Look,’ I say to him as quietly as possible, turning back to open my locker so that I can at least hide my mouth from any observers. ‘It was horrible, okay? It was scary, it was mad – all over again! What do you want me to say?’

He clearly doesn’t know what to say so I continue.

‘Thankfully Davey slept right through it. Calpol and your sister helped I think. And mum and dad were still shaky this morning…’

‘Did you tell them anything… about me? The fire?’

‘Oh yeah, what…so like having their house turn itself into some kind of mental freak show twice in one week isn’t enough? I should also tell them that I’m in constant contact with a dead person?!’ I am suddenly aware that my voice is rising so I take my mobile out of my pocket and hold it to my ear to pretend I’m at least shouting to a living person on the other end.

My voice wavers. ‘I am not about to jeopardise my own sanity and that of my parents for something that is so way out of my control that I shouldn’t even have to be enduring this hellish nightmare in the first place let alone confess to trying to help ghosts move on!’ I hiss through very gritted teeth. ‘I’m knackered. My mother’s confused. My father’s already trying to cope with un-employment – he doesn’t need to add the un-dead to his list of problems!’

Leo looks very upset. And now that I’ve managed to get this off my chest I have this overwhelming realisation that it’s not his fault and I shouldn’t be shouting at him.