Dead Gorgeous (9 page)

‘I see you’ve finished all your food – again. Creep!’ Raye hissed.

‘What’s your problem?’ asked Nova. ‘Not enough fibre in your diet?’

‘Crawly creeper!’ Raye mustered as much venom as she could to inject into her words.

‘I think you mean creepy crawler! You’re such a pleasure to be around – really,’ said Nova. ‘I’m so proud you’re my sister.’

‘Bog off!’

‘You first,’ said Nova.

‘That’s quite enough of that,’ Mum snapped.

Nova and Raye glared at each other. Jude and Jake shared a grin. Meal times were such fun, with everyone arguing and saying rude things.

‘I’ll help you to serve the dinner later, Mum,’ said Raye, reluctant to tear the full force of her filthy look away from her sister.

‘Catch me, someone,’ said Mum, swooning. ‘I’m fainting!’

‘You’re always going on about me helping around the hotel more and when I do volunteer, you just mock me,’ Raye fumed.

‘You need a sense of humour transplant,’ Nova muttered so she could be heard.

‘And who was talking to you?’ said Raye.

‘Sorry, Raye.’ Mum straightened up. ‘You’re quite right. I shouldn’t have made fun of you. Thanks for volunteering.

‘She just wants to be with whatshisface – Andrew,’ said Jake.

‘Are you going to snog him?’ asked Jude in all seriousness.

After one last razor-sharp look which scythed around the table, Raye flounced out of the room. Mum shook her head and handed a can of ginger beer over to Nova.

‘I can’t wait to be a teenager.’ Jude grinned at his brother.

‘Me too!’ agreed Jake.

‘Just drink your milk, you two!’ said Mum, placing a full glass before each of the twins.

Nova drank as much of her ginger beer in one go as she could, until her stomach was full to the point of being bloated. She sat back and stared at her empty plate. Totally empty. Only a little
tomato sauce from the beans showed there’d been anything on it. Nova rubbed her stomach. The gas from the ginger beer was making her feel really uncomfortable. It couldn’t be a good
idea to gulp it down so fast. The effect was always the same. Nova sighed and stood up. Standing across the table from her was Liam.

She jumped. ‘How long have you been standing there?’ she asked.

‘We’re not standing. We’re still sitting,’ Jude frowned.

‘She’s not talking to us,’ Jake whispered in Jude’s ear.

‘I was talking to . . . Never mind.’ No way was Nova going to try and explain herself again. She turned back to Liam. ‘How long have you been here?’

‘Long enough,’ Liam replied. ‘I need your help.’

‘To do what?’

‘You’ve got to help me get my – get Mr Jackman out of here.’

‘Out of the hotel?’ asked Nova.

‘Yes.’

‘Why? What’s he done?’

‘Nova, who’re you talking to?’ Mum asked.

‘No one. Myself.’ Nova headed for the kitchen door. She’d have to watch it. If she started talking to Liam when her family were around, they’d all think she was barking
mad. Well . . . even more barking mad than usual.

‘Er, oh no you don’t,’ Mum called Nova back. ‘It’s your turn to help me load up the dishwasher.’

‘But, Mum, I’ve got other things to do.’

‘Tough!’ said Mum, without a single shred of sympathy. ‘It’s your turn. Get on with it.’

‘But, Mum . . .’

‘Nova . . .’

Nova turned back to Liam with a regretful shrug, but he was gone.

‘When’re you going to leave?’

Mr Jackman sat at the small wooden table, its surface scratched and scarred, and continued to write. He didn’t even raise his head.

‘I want you to leave . . .’

Mr Jackman raised his head, a frown creeping across his face, but all too soon he carried on with his writing.

‘D’you hear me? You’re not wanted here. Why don’t you go?’ Liam shouted from the middle of the room. ‘You made my life a misery when I was alive and now
I’m dead, you’re still doing it!’

Liam glared at the man before him in total frustration. He tried to force himself to focus so that he could materialize, but all the old feelings kept bubbling up inside him. It was so hard,
deliberately appearing in front of people. It always seemed to happen by accident, when he lost his temper or experienced some other emotion equally potent. Except with Nova. Why did she see him so
easily when no one else could? And now, unless he faded out and thought himself somewhere else entirely, Nova could see him whether he wanted her to or not. Liam sighed. What was the reason? There
had to be a reason. Maybe she was more sensitive to his presence? Or maybe she just wanted to see him more than anyone else in the hotel.
Needed
to see him. Needed his help –just as he
needed her help at this moment. Tentatively, he moved closer. What was this man doing? What was it that had him so engrossed?

Liam walked over to stand to one side of the man and began to read over his shoulder. Horrified, he shook his head, unable to believe what he was reading – but it was there in black and
white. He looked at the man beside him, hoping against hope that he’d misread the letter. Maybe he’d misunderstood what was written? But the sombre expression on the man’s face
told Liam that he’d done no such thing.

‘Oh God!’ Liam exclaimed.

He needed to find help – fast. And there wasn’t much time.

I moved swiftly through the hotel grounds, looking around all the time to make sure there was no one else there. Luckily the slab that marked out the entrance to the tunnel
didn’t have too much debris over it. Just an old, discarded wheelbarrow, recently dumped. Shifting it to one side, I moved the slab covering the entrance. I sat down at the edge of the now
uncovered hole, then twisted my body round to grab hold of the rope ladder which led down to the tunnels below. Moving down a couple of rungs, I leaned against the ladder and the dirt wall beyond
that, until I was steady enough to pull the slab back into place. Even partially hollowed out, it was heavy, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

I was careful to make sure the slab was back in place before I headed down the ladder. I didn’t want anyone to find the entrance. I was the one who’d gone to the trouble of
replacing the rotten, knotted rope which used to hang at the entrance. I’d made the ladder I was now standing on, buying several metres of rope and twisting and plaiting them into shape in my
every spare moment until it was ready. So why should I give up this place?

The tunnels were warm and dry, just as I remembered them. But I’d barely taken three steps before my thoughts returned once again to Josh. I’d told him all about the tunnels, but
until now I’d refused to show them to him. But why not? If I was going to show them to anyone in the world it would be him. After all, he is my brother and I care about him. Who am I trying
to kid? I love him. There! I admit it! And strangely enough, I don’t feel silly or soppy or even embarrassed. In fact, for some strange reason, it makes me feel . . . OK! Not just OK about my
brother, but in a strange way, OK about myself as well.

So what was Josh doing now? Wondering where I was? What was I worried about? The fact that Josh might be anxious about me, or the fact that he might not be? I smiled wryly as I thought about
my younger brother. He had a lot to answer for! I shone my torch around. The dim, yellow torchlight was soon swallowed whole by the darkness. Ahead, behind, it made no difference. I could see no
further than a metre in any direction. The torch was a whip, cracking silently to keep the gloom and shadows at bay. But I’d only been walking for about ten or fifteen minutes when it began
to flicker. I turned the torch upwards to stare into its fading light. How could the batteries be dying? I’d changed them less than a fortnight ago. I shone it on the ground, looking for a
patch of ground that was even. About a metre ahead of me was the perfect bed – ground that was even and solid. I lay down, taking off my jacket so I could use it as a pillow. Switching off
the torch to save the batteries, I made myself comfortable and within moments I surprised myself by falling fast asleep.

I woke with a start and with that groggy feeling you get from too much sleep rather than not enough. I could hear a faint rumbling sound but I couldn’t tell which direction it was
coming from. It must’ve been the noise that woke me up, faint as it was. Usually the tunnels were eerily silent. I stood up, wiping the sleep out of my eyes. The tunnels were still pitch
black but I instinctively knew it was now morning. I glanced down at my watch, forgetting I couldn’t see a thing. I felt around for my torch, then shone the light down on it. Ten-thirty.
I’d been asleep for ages. I must’ve been more tired than I thought. That probably explained why I’d been so ratty to my brother. Never mind. I’d make it up to him. I always
did.

And maybe it was time to make up with Dad too?

To be honest, I was tired of fighting with him. Time to call a truce – if Dad would meet me halfway. He had to be just as sick of our quarrels as I was. When I was a lot younger,
we’d go to the beach or the local museum, or play football, or just sit huddled up on the sofa watching the telly. Yes, he was my dad, but it was more than that. We were good mates. Until Mum
died. He fell to pieces and our family fell apart. And stupidly I’d thought I could put everyone and everything back together. Sitting there in the torchlit gloom, I saw more clearly than I
ever had before. When Mum died, and Dad fell apart, I’d tried to take over his role. But I couldn’t. I shouldn’t have even tried. I needed help – Dad’s help. I took a
deep breath and let it out slowly, one fight, one quarrel, one bad thought, one frustration at a time. Time to let go. Time to go home. Time to start again.

I gathered up my jacket, switched on my torch and turned, heading back for the tunnel entrance. The torchlight was dim, but it’d last until I was out of the tunnels. After a couple of
minutes I stopped abruptly. What was that noise? I stopped breathing, moving my head forward to listen into the silence. A faint cracking sound . . . What was it? And a rumble, like some kind of
machinery, or thunder. What was going on?

Get a grip, I told myself. My imagination was starting to play tricks on me. Funny that! Mr Sugarman, my English teacher, was always whining at me for not having enough imagination.

‘Liam, switch on your imagination when you write!’

‘Liam, this poem lacks imagination. Don’t you daydream? Can’t you think above and beyond and outside your little box?’

Outside my little box! Patronizing twit! What did that mean, for heaven’s sake? I had enough problems coping with my dad and Josh and everyday stuff without drifting along with my head
in the clouds.

Without warning the torch went out and I was plunged into darkness. I shook the torch vigorously. Nothing. It was so dark, I couldn’t even see the torch in my hand, let alone anything
else. I looked around, careful not to move my feet, only my head. The darkness was an impenetrable, overpowering force, swallowing me up, eyes first. A darkness rich and thick enough to drink. I
took a cautious step forward. I’d be OK as long as I didn’t panic. I’d been in these tunnels a dozen times or more – so what was there to panic about? One foot in front of
the other. Face forward. Keep going. No problem. I took another step – and another. See! This was easy. No string, no twine, no thread, no nothing. I didn’t need it. Usually I only used
twine if I was exploring a new part of the tunnels, but when I stormed out of the house, I didn’t even know where I was going until I found myself at the hotel. I’d been in the tunnels
before and I could find my way through the familiar bits with my eyes shut.

So as long as I didn’t get lost . . . but I wouldn’t. And if I did, I’d just call out until someone heard me, so I wasn’t in danger. OK, I shouldn’t have been in
the tunnels in the first place but I could argue about that afterwards. The quarrel I’d had with Dad last night had been a scorcher – by both our standards. But if I could want to go
home and face Dad, then I could face anything.

I started walking again, my hands out in front of me. I had to be only seconds away from the exit. I’d feel the rope ladder and be out before I could string five thoughts together. No
problem. I shook my torch and tried switching it on and off again. Nothing. Then I dropped it.

‘Hell!’ The word exploded into the darkness around me.

I squatted down to fumble around in the dirt for my torch. I swept my hand across the dirt in ever-increasing arcs. My hand swept over something small and furry – and moving. Instantly,
I drew back my hand, wiping it on my jeans. I couldn’t help the shudder that ricocheted through me. I didn’t even want to know what that was. My feet swivelled on the dry earth as I
felt around again. Stupid Josh must’ve been playing with my torch and drained the batteries. My lips thinned into a angry frown. ‘Just wait till I get hold of you, Josh,’ I
muttered.

At last I found the torch. I had to really stretch out to get it. It must’ve rolled away from me. But as I straightened up, I realized instinctively that I wasn’t facing in
exactly the same direction. My feet had moved slightly to the right. So all I had to do was move them a quarter turn to the left. Too much or too little? I couldn’t be that off track. Just
keep going. Whatever happens, just keep going.

I wanted to go home. I wasn’t afraid, but these tunnels were like a maze, with tunnels off more tunnels, and I didn’t want to get lost in the darkness. I carried on walking. I was
OK. Just walk in a straight line back to the tunnel entrance. See! Easy!

Crack!

I stopped in my tracks and looked straight up. What was that?

Cra-a-ck! What felt like dry rain fell over my face. I leapt back and wiped the dirt and dust from out of my eyes. There was that sound again. And then panic grabbed me. And all I wanted to
do was run. Move. Get out of there – as fast as I could. I started running. But before I could take more than three strides, the cracking sound turned into a deafening roar and the rain of
dust and dirt was just the start of something far worse. I hit the ground, trying to protect my head with my arms as the world fell on top of me and all I knew was darkness and the sound of
thunder. And then the world changed from pitch black to a cold, ice white which blinded me and froze every part of my body until I shattered into a million pieces.