Ghosts on Board (4 page)

It took the fire brigade most of an hour to get Victor out and they kept asking him how he got in.

‘Oh dear chaps, it was easy. I just walked through.'

‘Pull the other one,' said the giant fireman with the huge bolt cutters.

But Victor didn't have a better explanation.

‘Why exactly couldn't I get him out?' asks Jacob, jamming a gobstopper in his mouth.

‘Because the sparks next to the dust could have done untold damage – you might have blown yourself up,' says Eric.

I know I shouldn't, but my heart leaps just a little at the idea of a giant underground firework display with Jacob as the central attraction.

‘Well,' says Eric. ‘Let's see what Victor has in mind, now that he's out and about.'

‘Yes, he seems like someone with a few ideas,' says Jacob.

‘I don't know,' I say. ‘There's something fishy about him. And I can't work out how he did get in there. The keys are well hidden.'

‘He's not as fishy as that disembodied voice,' says Eric.

‘The girl?' I say. ‘Well, Victor could be a ventriloquist – good at throwing his voice – or perhaps she was a recording of some sort?'

‘Hmmm,' says Eric. ‘Why would anyone bother to lock themselves in, and then have a recording of a voice outside in the corridor? I mean think about it, Tom. It's not logical. I agree, there's a lot that's unanswered about him, but if he can possibly help with the bird sanctuary, then I'm prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt.'

We're walking back to Grandma's now. Although I'm really doubtful about Victor, Eric's hopes have been raised by him, and I don't like to dash them flat before we've tried every avenue. Personally I'd have left him behind bars, but Eric's usually right about things.

I study Victor as we walk through the village. He looks utterly mad. His clothes are grey and battered, as if someone's been rubbing them with a stone for a hundred years, and he's got sprouty bits of beard and red starey eyes and he's weirdly grey and bloodless. There's this smell of damp wood around him, and mushrooms – a slight whiff of decaying sheds that reminds me of dustbins. I suppose I agreed to take him home sort of hoping that Grandma might turn up.

As we walk back through the village, he keeps on glancing around, checking over his shoulder and then grinning at Jacob like Jacob is some sort of god.

Jacob loves it. ‘Why are we bringing him to your house, Model Village?' he says. ‘We should've taken him back to mine – we could have played
Sharks v Cup Cakes
on the games box.' He punches the air. ‘Awesome.' He turns to Victor. ‘Where do you come from, Victor?'

Victor picks a flower and sniffs it, as if he's never seen one before. ‘Oh, such fragrance,' he says, ignoring the question.

We walk past a van parked outside the town hall offices.
Whizzo Fairground Projects
it says on the side.

‘That's the third one I've noticed today,' says Eric. He sighs.

‘What is Whizzy Fairground Projects?' asks Victor, leaping back as a man bounces over the cobbles on a motorbike. ‘Good gracious, what a racket!'

‘Whizzo are the people who want to build the theme park, on Snot Face's precious bird reserve,' says Jacob, racing around with his arms outstretched. ‘By the time we've finished with them, it'll have roller coasters and death rides and death-defying drops – you know the sort of thing. It'll be mega awesome.'

‘Oh?' says Victor, raising an eyebrow. ‘Awesome, what an interesting word – how  …  excellent.'

He stops for a minute and stares at his hand. He flexes his fingers as if he's never seen them before. ‘Is awesome  …  powerful? I mean, would one bow down before awesome?'

Jacob does an inelegant cartwheel. ‘Totally. Awesome is like this!' Jacob sends out a bolt of fire that annihilates the village noticeboard.

‘Oh yes, that is awesome,' says Victor.

And I wonder just what's going on inside his head.

Back at Grandma's, Victor checks under the kitchen table, looking for something.

‘Is that other person – Flora Rose, the invisible girl – with us?' I ask.

Victor looks towards me, a flicker of panic crossing his face. ‘I'm not entirely sure. I seem to have lost my ability to see her. Flora Rose, are you there, dear one?'

I hear a tiny gasp, but no one actually speaks and then the kitchen door swings a little and I get the feeling that someone has left the room.

I lean forward to whisper to Eric. ‘She's either invisible or she's  … ' And I think of my conversation with Grandma. ‘A ghost?'

‘Both are, of course, impossible,' says Eric, under his breath. ‘And yet  … ' Eric raises his voice. ‘So Victor, what's your idea about the birds?'

‘Ah – dear boy – well  … ' He examines the jam jar on the table. ‘Was hoping to get the lie of the land, as t'were. I feel, as a newcomer to your fine town, that I don't know the full details, so to speak.'

Eric narrows his eyes. ‘Do you want to come and see the bird reserve?'

‘No, no. I can totally imagine it – birds, seabirds. I've seen quite a few in my time. Lots in fact. You could draw a map of it – that would give me the general notion.'

‘Oh, have you lived by the sea?' I ask.

‘You might say that,' he says, eyeing Grandma's cooling blackcurrant scones. ‘I say, can one help one's self?'

‘Sure,' says Jacob. ‘I always do. So Victor, tell us about yourself. Are you from round here? Are you really old?' he asks, popping one of the scones into his mouth and showering me with crumbs.

Victor stares intently at the TV. ‘I was born at 21 Twissel Street, Tooting Bec, a long time ago, dear boy, an absurdly long time.' He holds his hands out towards the screen. I wonder if he's expecting to warm them. ‘Does this have a large lantern inside?' Although he has a smile on his face he doesn't look terribly happy. I'm not sure if he's really fascinated by the telly or avoiding any difficult questions.

‘No, it uses electricity. So where
are
you from – recently – not where you were born?' asks Eric. ‘Are you a traveller of some sort?'

‘Ow!' Something buzzes in my ear, not quite like a fly, more like Chinese whispers. ‘Did you hear that?' I say, swiping at the air.

‘No, um, not precisely a traveller, more a person that has  …  come and gone.' Victor smiles cheerily as if he's come up with something brilliant and pokes one of the buttons on the TV. ‘This light really is quite fantastic. I'd love one of these.'

‘It's not a light, it's a television. Haven't you seen one before?' says Jacob. ‘Everyone's got a telly but this one's really old-fashioned – no one has big tellies like that any more.'

‘How fascinating!' says Victor. ‘So do those people live inside that object? Are they your prisoners?' He turns to Jacob. ‘Did you put them there with your  …  extraordinary ability?'

Jacob's not listening. He's got one of Grandma's scones embedded in his bubble gum and is trying to separate them. I glance across at Eric. He scratches his chin and pulls up his socks. I glare at him, trying to catch his attention, but he's staring at the tabletop.

‘I mean, Jacob, are you the only one who can  … ' Victor waves his arms in an expansive manner, presumably trying to convey sparks. ‘Or can you all  …  make fiery things?'

‘Wouldn't you like another scone?' I say, helplessly, kicking out at Jacob, just stopping him from saying anything else.

‘Scone?' says Jacob. ‘I've already got one in my mouth. What are you on about Tom?'

‘I  … ' I stare from Eric to Jacob to Victor, desperately trying to think of a way of telling Jacob to keep quiet without telling Victor what I'm telling Jacob to be quiet about. All I come up with is, ‘Um.'

And then Grandma comes in.

‘More paint,' she says, bowling into the kitchen through the back door, crashing and cranging bin lids and flinging wellington boots across the porch. ‘I've done six placards, but I need some red pa—'

She stops dead, staring at us one by one and fixing on Victor. ‘What's going on – and WHO ARE YOU?'

He leaps to his feet, bows deeply and a wide smile sweeps over his face. ‘Dear lady, Victor Isabella De Macoy at your service.'

‘Don't you dear lady me! What are you doing in my kitchen?'

Victor isn't remotely worried by Grandma – in fact he seems livelier now that she's appeared, as if she might be some kind of adversary. ‘These charming young urchins invited me in. They rescued me from the castle in fact, and brought me here for' – he waves at the scones – ‘sustenance. Are these your superior bakes?'

‘Rescued?' says Grandma, dropping her paintbrush in the kitchen sink.

‘Yes,' I say. ‘Victor was INSIDE the cell at the end of the dungeons.'

Grandma takes off her rubber gloves and turns to face him. ‘Were you indeed? And how did you get in there?'

Victor shrugs. He does a very good innocent face. ‘I don't know. I just walked in – it didn't seem to be an inconvenience.'

‘He's going to help us with the theme-park-versus-bird-park problem,' says Jacob.

‘Is he indeed?' Grandma strolls over and circles around him, sniffing and poking. She stops behind his back and sniffs really strongly. ‘Graveyards,' she says. ‘I smell graveyards.'

Victor wriggles his shoulders and laughs. He doesn't actually say anything.

‘Well, you can't stay here,' she says. ‘We haven't the room.'

‘He can stay at mine,' says Jacob, flicking a spark towards Grandma. ‘My mum and dad won't mind.'

‘If you say so, dear,' says Grandma, staring into all the corners of the room. ‘I have a feeling there are a couple more here like you  …  Anyway, Mr Victor, just so you know, this village is not what you think. Not a sleepy seaside little isthmus, more a cauldron of hidden talent.'

She turns back to the sink, pries the lid off a tin of paint and walks back to the garden door. ‘Remember Tom, remember what I said earlier – and take care.'

She goes out of the door and I watch her back as she disappears off to the tool shed.

‘What does she mean?' Eric asks. ‘About what I said earlier?'

‘Dunno, not much,' I say, remembering her words.
Ghosts can be unpredictable
.

‘Oh!' Eric cries, jumping away from the table. ‘Sugar – how did that get there?' He reaches for a damp cloth and clears it off the tabletop. ‘How surprising.'

Something that could be a snarl crosses Victor's face before he replaces it with the charming smile and renews his interest in the television.

‘So,' says Tilly, sitting on the kitchen table. ‘I was rearranging my bedroom, my new, gorgeously-redecorated-no-old-pieces-of-Grandma's-furniture bedroom. Sorting out my Woodland Friends and punishing the ones who wouldn't stand up properly. When something came in.'

She widens her eyes and looks around us as if we should all fall down in amazement.

‘And?' I say.

Tilly screws up her face. She's irritated. I'm obviously not sufficiently impressed.

‘It was an invisible person.'

No one even gasps.

‘Whaaat?' She stares at us all. ‘I mean, how many invisible people have you ever met?'

‘Not very many,' says Eric. ‘How do you know it wasn't the wind or something?'

‘Because it spoke,' says Tilly, nodding her head. ‘It was a girl and it spoke to me, just me.'

‘Flora Rose?' says Victor, moving slightly sideways. ‘Are you here?'

‘How did you know?' says Tilly, disappointed. ‘She appeared in my bedroom.'

‘We came together,' says a girl's voice straight out of the middle of nothing. This time, everyone does gasp. I mean, it's startling when a voice comes out of nowhere. It's disturbing. ‘I asked her for a mirror – I told her I was a ghost and she told me about everyone's powers.'

‘Powers?' says Victor.

‘A ghost!' says Jacob.

‘And,' Tilly says, helping herself to a family-size packet of crisps, ‘did you know there are
three
ghosts here? Yes.' Tilly is obviously enjoying her moment of importance. ‘My friend, Flora Rose –'

‘The voice,' interrupts Eric.

Tilly glares at him. ‘Yes, the voice. And she says there's another one, Billy, who we can't see and we can't hear because he hasn't learned to throw his voice like Flora Rose can but who could be standing right next to you.' Everyone jumps, including Tilly. ‘And that he,' she points at Victor, ‘is a ghost too – except, he's been changed in the castle dungeon, somehow.'

‘Me? A ghost? How preposterous!' Victor laughs and turns beetroot. ‘I'm just a traveller, an innocent traveller.'

I look across at Victor. It would explain his greyness and how he got inside the bars. And it would explain his age – the fact that he looks Victorian, or even older. And it would explain Grandma – she must have guessed
.

‘There's also a cat,' says Tilly. ‘Called Jim or something?'

‘Shipwreck James,' says Flora Rose. ‘He's Victor's cat. Horrible creature, aren't you?' Flora Rose's voice goes silly, and although I can't see her I imagine she's doing that cootchy-coo thing that people do to babies. Something on the floor makes a laid-back yowling sound. ‘Tiddly tiddles. Yes, I'd like to eat sardines too  … '

If you pretend it's on the radio, it's OK. If you imagine it's a ghostly girl talking to a ghostly cat in your grandma's kitchen, it's less OK.

‘So the thing is,' Tilly's talking again, ‘I want to go – and Tom, you can take me.' Her lower lip is jutting out so far that she could balance a whole box of chocolates on it.

‘Where?' I ask, wondering what she's been talking about.

‘Mystery Smoke Island, stupid,' she says. ‘It's where they come from.' She waves her finger in the air.

We all turn and stare at Victor.

‘Is this true?' I say. ‘Are you really a ghost?'

‘Piffle! Stuff and nonsense! Don't believe a word of it,' he says, shaking his head.

There's a long silence.

‘Victor,' says Flora Rose.

‘Oh – all right. Yes, I suppose I am. I was. And I lived on the island with her, and him.' He waves his hands in the air. ‘Wherever they may be.'

His words echo round the kitchen. I stand, blinking, trying to think what he said and what that means.

‘And I want to go there,' says Tilly, folding her arms.

‘Why, my sweet, would you want to go there?' asks Victor. ‘It's dark and dismal, and  … ' – his face falls – ‘ …  gloomy. Although  … ' He gazes out of the window as if something has occurred to him.

‘Because it's spoooooooooooooky,' says Tilly. ‘I've never been anywhere full of ghosts, and I want to go and, Tom, as an older brother, my protector, you should want to come with me. In fact,' – she jabs me with her finger – ‘if you don't come, I'll go anyway, and I'll probably die there and you'll wish you'd come because you'll be haunted by eternal guilt.' She smiles. ‘I'll make a raft and go there all by myself – and drown all by myself, forlorn and lost on the wild stormy seas.'

I'm thinking of ghosts, but Tilly won't let me admit it. She always says these things in public, so I have to answer her. ‘I don't even know where Mystery Smoke Island is!'

‘I do,' says Jacob. ‘I can take you on my Speedmaster 2000 if you like. It's down by the lighthouse. Yip yip!' He races around in a circle making engine noises and swinging an imaginary wheel. ‘We're going to a haunting!'

‘Really?' Tilly looks at Jacob. ‘Does it go fast?'

‘Mega fast,' says Jacob.

‘And can you steer it?' asks Tilly, doubtfully.

Jacob doesn't exactly answer.

‘And – you see, Tom,' says Tilly, looking back at me, ‘I was hoping you and your swotty friend might come along too,' she says, pointing at Eric. ‘If he can stop staring at the sugar.'

I turn around to see Eric examining the tabletop, his forehead creased into lines. ‘I cleaned this up a minute ago. What's going on? There's a D and possibly  … '

‘It's Billy,' says Flora Rose's voice from the middle of the room. ‘He's writing something.'

Eric pulls his arm back as if he's been electrocuted. ‘Where is he? What does he want to say?'

‘Oh la, la, la – silly Billy – let's not worry about that,' says Victor, loudly, sweeping his arm through the sugar. ‘Let's get outside in the fresh air. I've an idea.'

‘What is it? Have you thought of a solution?' asks Eric. ‘Can we save the bird reserve?'

‘Dear boy, these things take time. The best plans cannot be hurried. My mind needs to mull and mingle and process the ideas. I think I could take a productive look at the existing bird salvation, wherever it is. And I'll come along to Mystery Smoke Island – it might aid my thinking process. And while we do that, you can tell me all about the lovely things you can all do, or Flora Rose can, if she knows on which side her bread is buttered,' he says, glaring into space.

‘None of this sounds like a good idea,' I say, but slightly too late as I watch Victor, Tilly and Jacob stomp out of the front door.

‘Flora Rose?' says Eric. ‘Are you there?'

But there's no answer, not even the creak of a door or the yowl of a cat, and wherever the invisible Billy is, apparently he's not playing with the sugar any more.