Shiverton Hall (9 page)

Amber frowned. ‘How can you be at Shiverton Hall and not believe in ghosts?’

‘It’s people you ought to be scared of,’ Arthur said quietly. ‘They’re much more dangerous.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that.’

‘Well, if I see a ghost I’ll let you know.’

Amber smiled. ‘Deal.’

They continued to search on the ground, and Arthur found his fingers edging closer to Amber’s. As though sensing Arthur’s nerves, Amber shifted a little towards him and smiled beatifically.

‘Do you miss home?’ she asked. Her breath on his face smelled like violets.

‘Not right now,’ Arthur replied.

‘Don’t you miss your friends?’

Arthur really didn’t want to think about his old school; the memory of it creeping towards him, threatening to ruin the moment.

‘I hated my last school,’ he said, hoping to put an end to it.

‘Why?’ Amber asked.

‘Something happened to me there,’ Arthur said hoarsely, fighting the impulsive desire to tell Amber everything.

‘What happened?’ Amber asked, taking Arthur’s hand. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

All of the things he had managed to blot out over the past few weeks came roaring back to him like a freezing blast of wind through a reluctantly opened door. He struggled to breathe, panic clogging up his throat.

‘Arthur,’ Amber said. ‘Are you OK?’

Arthur stood up suddenly, yanking his hand from Amber’s, angry with himself for losing it in front of her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered.

Amber smiled sympathetically. ‘Please don’t be sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s my fault. I didn’t mean to pry – I shouldn’t have asked.’

‘Forget about it,’ Arthur said, calming down a little. ‘I’m just exhausted after football.’

‘Of course,’ Amber replied. ‘But, Arthur, if you ever need to talk about anything, you know you can always talk to me. I like you a lot.’

The dread that Arthur had felt slipped away. ‘You like me?’ he asked, dazed.

Amber blushed. ‘I’d better go. The bell’s about to ring.’

Arthur watched her go, all anxiety forgotten, completely smitten.

George was so jealous that he could barely speak: Amber Crighton actually
liked
one of his friends. Arthur had edited out the part of the story where he had nearly suffered a panic attack. Later, in the dining hall, George just couldn’t resist telling Penny and Jake.

‘Amber?’ Penny said, trying to sound light-hearted. ‘She’s very pretty.’

‘I think you’re prettier,’ Jake said quietly.

George hooted with laughter so Penny threw a bread roll at him.

After the excitement of a potential romance between Arthur and the prettiest girl in the school had subsided, the friends discussed the trip to Grimstone the following day. The lower-school students were allowed to visit the small town once a term, and Arthur and his friends had all organised their passes for the same Saturday. The Shiverton students saved up their pocket money so that they could spend it on hot chocolate piled with whipped cream and marshmallows, and sweets from one of Grimstone’s many sweet shops. Arthur was looking forward to the trip; as much as he had enjoyed Shiverton so far, he was beginning to feel a little cabin-feverish.

The next day they all waited outside for the minibus, dressed in their own clothes. Arthur noticed with surprise that Penny looked rather lovely in a green jumper and jeans instead of the usual humbug-striped skirt. George looked absurd in a pair of extremely tight red trousers that he thought made him look like a rock star but that everyone else thought made him look like his mum. They piled into the bus and cheered as the ancient motor rumbled towards the town.

Grimstone had won many awards over the years for its picturesque appearance, and on this particularly crisp, sunny autumn day it was putting on a splendid show. Arthur had only ever seen places like Grimstone in the period dramas his mother forced him to watch on television, and consequently half-expected a man in a top hat to gallop past on a stallion or a bonneted woman to swoon in the street. In reality, the quaint, meandering streets were filled with tourists wearing bumbags and taking photographs of ‘ye olde’ tea rooms.

George wanted to try his luck in the pub, but the others managed to dissuade him. Instead, they hit Aunt Bessie’s Sweet Shop to stock up on tuck.

Aunt Bessie wasn’t remotely like the plump, jolly lady depicted on the shop’s painted sign. Thin and wiry, with frazzled, bleached hair and a brown cigarillo permanently in her hand, Aunt Bessie loathed children and could not remotely recollect why she had opened a sweet shop in the first place. She glared at Arthur and his friends as they walked in, coughing from the acrid smoke.

‘No time-wasters in here!’ Aunt Bessie barked.

She grudgingly took their orders, shaking some lemon bonbons and space dust on to her ancient set of scales, with a gimlet eye looking out for shoplifters. When Arthur asked her for some fizzy-cola bottles, she studied him with interest, the small cigar hanging off her dry lower lip.

‘I know you, don’t I?’ she sneered.

‘I . . . I don’t think so,’ Arthur replied.

‘I’ve seen you somewhere.’ She stubbed out the remains of her stinking cigarillo and leaned forward so that she could peer at him properly.

Arthur shrugged her off and brushed his fringe over his face.

‘You was in the papers!’ she said triumphantly.

‘No,’ Arthur said quietly.

‘Yes, you was,’ she continued. ‘You was that boy in London, wasn’t you?’

‘I don’t want anything, actually,’ Arthur said, his mouth dry, backing out of the shop. ‘I don’t need any sweets.’

His friends looked at him in surprise.

‘Let’s go,’ Arthur said firmly.

The group didn’t move, unsure of what was happening.

‘I said, let’s go!’ Arthur barked, making Jake jump.

Penny looked at Aunt Bessie and her cruel smile as she chewed open-mouthed on a pink shrimp.

‘OK, come on, guys,’ Penny said, sensing something brewing and leading George and Jake away from the counter.

‘You watch out for that one,’ Aunt Bessie sang after them, nodding at Arthur. ‘Careful how you go.’

The bell tinkled as the door slammed behind them. Arthur was covered in a sheen of sweat.

‘What was all that about?’ George said. ‘How could she possibly know you?’

‘She’s bonkers,’ Penny said quickly. ‘She probably thinks Arthur is a celebrity or something.’

Arthur smiled at Penny gratefully.

‘Let’s go get a pizza,’ George said, his mind already wandering towards the prospect of food.

‘Good plan,’ said Jake.

George and Jake walked on ahead, discussing the merits of pizza versus pasta.

‘Do you want to talk about what just happened?’ Penny whispered to Arthur. He looked as though he hadn’t fully recovered.

‘She just made a mistake, that’s all,’ Arthur mumbled back.

‘You haven’t been in the papers, have you, Arthur?’ Penny asked.

‘She just mistook me for someone else,’ he snapped. ‘Like you said, she’s bonkers.’

Penny knew better than to press the matter, but she didn’t like to see Arthur so distressed.

‘I might skip the pizza actually,’ she said, stopping. ‘I’m going to pick some stuff up from the pharmacy. I’ll meet you back at the bus.’

Arthur was relieved that this would put an end to Penny’s questions, and he waved her off absent-mindedly, conscious that his hands were still shaking.

Once the boys were out of sight, Penny retraced her way to Aunt Bessie’s Sweet Shop. There were more students in there, getting the full furious treatment from Bessie, so Penny pretended to look at some out-of-season Easter eggs. When the other customers had gone she approached Aunt Bessie gingerly.

‘You again?’ Aunt Bessie coughed. ‘We’re out of flying saucers.’

‘I don’t want any flying saucers,’ Penny said. ‘I want to know where you recognised my friend from.’

‘Do you now? You’re not going to buy anything from me then?’ Aunt Bessie tutted.

‘Fine,’ Penny said irritably. ‘I’ll have some cinder toffee.’

Aunt Bessie reached for the jar slowly. ‘Now, let me see . . .’ she said, scarcely containing her enjoyment. ‘He was in the paper all right, but what was it for?’

Penny waited, shaking her head.

‘I’m just trying to remember the details! Now, what was it?’ she murmured to herself. ‘A hammer? No. A rock? No. Ah, yes!’ Aunt Bessie cackled with satisfaction. ‘I remember the story. He was bullied very badly at this school. Regular beatings and all that. They even tried to drown him and then –’

The bell went as the shop was flooded with students again. Penny turned and fled.

‘Don’t you want to know the rest?’ Aunt Bessie called after her, but Penny was gone.

Penny ran down a side street into an empty pub car park and leaned against a wall to catch her breath. She ran over what Aunt Bessie had just said, her mind crowded with terrible, fragmented images. No wonder Arthur had never liked talking about his last school, she thought. The bullies had tried to drown him – and then what? Penny was horrified. Poor Arthur. She wanted to talk to him, but she knew he would be furious if he discovered she had returned to the sweet shop; she felt a little guilty that she had done so. She would just have to pretend she had never heard his story, and hope that one day he would trust her enough to tell her about it himself.

There was a creaking from the other side of the car park, and Penny looked up, paranoid that someone from school had seen her. But the noise was just a rusty, old swing set moving by the breeze. Penny pushed her hair back and took a deep breath, trying to compose herself before rejoining the boys. The creaking grew louder, and Penny glanced back at the swing.

Swinging back and forth was Lola Lollipop.

She was taller now, almost as tall as Penny, and her porcelain face was cracked and dirty. Her red hair had fallen out in clumps, exposing a pitted, china skull scattered with remaining tufts. One glass eye had fallen out, leaving an empty, black socket where a spider had spun a web. Lola’s porcelain legs scraped together underneath her tattered lace dress as she pushed herself on the swing. On her painted face was a frozen, malevolent smile.

Penny knew instinctively that she should run, but she felt as heavy and immobile as a doll herself, unable to even scream.

‘Hello,’ Lola rasped, her one grey eye fixed on Penny. ‘You’ve been a very bad friend.’

Lola creaked off the swing, her movements the unsteady, inhuman jitter of a puppet. She took a jerky step towards Penny.

‘Why did you leave me, Penny?’ The voice was mournful, desperate, with the grinding quality of a ceramic pestle and mortar.

Penny couldn’t answer, couldn’t move and could barely breathe. The sight of the broken marionette hobbling towards her made her feel faint with terror.

The temperature dropped to a biting chill as Lola twitched nearer and nearer. Soon she was close enough for Penny to see the fat spider sitting in her eye socket and close enough to see the sharpness of the china teeth.

Penny found her knees bending against her will, and her hands groping the ground. Unable to control what she was doing, her fingers closed around a sharp rock.

Lola’s eye glinted and her red smile widened.

Penny struggled against herself. She knew what Lola intended – the rock would split Penny’s skull in two with a single blow – but she could not stop her own arm as it moved towards her head.
Lola is making me do it.
She remembered when she’d spilled nail polish on her mother’s dress.
Lola made me do it.
When she’d traipsed mud into the house.
Lola made me, Mummy. Lola made me.

Lola looked on with glassy approval, her moth-eaten dress fluttering in the wind.

Penny extended her arm, the pointed corner of the rock ready to strike her own temple, as Lola began to skip and dance with excitement, her patent shoes scuffling wildly against the concrete ground. Penny squeezed her eyes shut.

‘Are you all right?’

Penny opened her eyes to find a mustachioed man in an apron standing in front of her.

‘What are you doing back here?’ he asked. ‘Not smoking, I hope?’

Penny looked at the rock in her still-outstretched arm, then peered apprehensively behind the landlord.

Lola was nowhere to be seen.