The Swallow (25 page)

“You are certainly acting like a baby,” said my mother sharply. “A baby having a temper tantrum.”

WE LOST HER

Polly

“Polly!” whispered a voice out of the darkness.

I jumped and gave a little yelp.

Mark and Matthew materialized beside me.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered back. “You nearly scared me to death.”

“We don’t want you going near the Ghost Girl,” said Matthew, pulling at my sleeve.

“Come home,” said Mark, pulling at my other sleeve. “Come back to the attic where you’re safe.”

“Not this again,” I said, shaking them off. “What’s with you two? Rose is my friend. If you want to see a real Ghost Girl,” I said, pushing Mark in front of me, “look in there. Can you see her?”

“Who?” he said.

“Winnie.” I pointed to the one with the old-fashioned white collar. That had to be Winnie, no matter what the expression on her face. “She’s standing behind Rose’s mum. She looks just like Rose, but she’s a ghost. A real ghost.”

The boys stood in front of me, staring into the room.

“That’s the Ghost Girl,” breathed Mark. I could feel him beginning to tremble. “That’s the one we’ve been seeing, the one in the window. The one that’s after you, Polly.”

“The one that wants to steal your soul,” said Matthew.

“Well, that’s Winnie, not Rose. Rose is my friend, and she’s the one you’ve been seeing and calling the Ghost Girl. She’s over there, in front of the fire.” I pointed my finger.

“Two Ghost Girls?” said Matthew. “There’s two of them? Twins?”

Suddenly the door behind Winnie started to open, and she ducked out of sight. A shadowy figure stood at the door, holding it open and saying something, then someone else walked into the room.

“What’s Mum doing there?” said Matthew.

Rose

Winnie smirked at me over my mother’s shoulder. She was enjoying this.

Before I could respond to my mother, the door opened and Kendrick stood there.

“Mrs. Lacey from next door wants a word,” she said, giving me a pointed look. As if she knew I was about to get into big trouble.

Polly’s mother walked in. She looked much as she had earlier that day—she was still wearing the red coat and her glasses
were slipping off her nose. But she looked upset, almost as if she had been crying.

“I’m so sorry to intrude,” she said, looking at my mother, “but something rather upsetting has come to my attention, and I think I should clear it up right now before it goes any further.”

My mother and father had both got to their feet as she came in.

“Is it about the library?” said my mother quickly. “I had a phone call today from Mrs. Gardner. Something about an overdue book, and some silliness with the children.”

Mrs. Lacey swallowed. “Yes, but it’s gone a bit beyond silly, I’m afraid. Can I speak to you alone, please?” she continued, deliberately not looking at me.

My mother pulled her businesswoman attitude round her like a cloak.

“If it’s something to do with my daughter, Mrs.—Mrs. Lacey, is it?”

Polly’s mother nodded.

“I think we should get it out in the open, and I’m sure Rose can help us straighten it out.”

“Well …” said Mrs. Lacey looking from my mother to me. “If you think it’s best.”

My mother nodded. Mrs. Lacey stood up a little straighter and continued.

“At first I thought it was some game the twins were playing with your daughter. I know they tease her. But I’ve spoken to them, and they swear they don’t know anything about the
book. They’re very mischievous but they don’t lie, as a rule. Somehow your daughter got that library book from inside our house. And that’s not all.”

Mrs. Lacey held up the striped shopping bag.

“This afternoon I found your daughter hiding this. It’s one of my shopping bags. I made them myself, so there’s no mistaking it. I’d like to know where she got it. And there have been other things. Missing food. Missing cake, missing cookies. Things being moved around. I’ve been accusing the twins, but now, with this book—well, I think somehow your daughter has been coming into my house and taking things.”

She looked at me, a little breathless. My parents’ mouths had dropped open.

“Are you accusing my daughter of stealing?” said my mother in her very quiet, you’re-about-to-be-fired-so-be-very-very-careful tone of voice.

“I don’t like to,” said Mrs. Lacey. “She seems a very … very … well … nice girl,” she said a bit uncertainly, glancing at my wild hair. “But I don’t know what other explanation there could possibly be. And as I’m sure you understand, the book is particularly upsetting, because it was one my daughter took out of the library, before she—”

Here Mrs. Lacey stopped and took a deep breath. She seemed to be struggling with tears.

“Before—before she died,” she went on with an effort. “And we’ve had a couple of notices from the library, but we’ve never been able to find it.”

I had been waiting to get a chance to speak and tell them to just ask Polly and she’d explain everything, but something started ringing in my ears and I couldn’t say a word. Everything in the room slowed and I felt like I was underwater. The grown-ups’ voices were coming from far, far away.

“Your daughter?” said my mother, her briskness falling away. “I’m very sorry, I didn’t know. You say the book was your daughter’s? You had a daughter who—died?”

Mrs. Lacey nodded dumbly, and her eyes overflowed again.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, putting out her arm to my mother, as if she were going to fall over. “This book business has brought it all back. You think you’re past the worst and then it just—it just—”

My mother was at her side in an instant, guiding her to the chair, sitting her down.

“Can I get you anything?” offered my father. “Some water?”

Mrs. Lacey shook her head and tried to smile through her tears. The smile made her look even more like Polly.

“No, I’ll be all right in a minute. It was all very sudden, you see. Last spring. The meningitis epidemic. We lost her. Polly. I thought you knew.”

COLD

Polly

Everyone was on their feet now and I couldn’t see their faces. Rose was hidden behind her dad. Winnie was nowhere to be seen. The twins and I stood rooted to the spot, as if we were watching a movie. There was a flurry, and people moved, and Mr. and Mrs. McPherson were bending over someone in the chair, and Rose was standing like a statue in front of the fire, her face white. She moved slowly past them and out the door, as if she were sleepwalking. Then the person in the chair got up. It was Mum, and she was clutching a handkerchief to her face, and Mrs. McPherson had her arm around her shoulder and was leading her from the room.

“Mum,” said Mark in a broken voice.

“See, now she’s upset again,” said Matthew. “It’s all your fault, Polly.”

“My fault? What did I do?”

“Nothing,” said Mark. “Shut up, Matt.”

“Well, it is her fault. If she hadn’t—Hey!” Mark pushed him over.

“If I hadn’t what?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Matt. “Let’s go home.”

For the first time, I realized I had come out without my coat. I was very, very cold.

Rose

The world spun around me. Everything was dropping away. I felt sick, like I was going to throw up. In a blur I saw my parents bending over Polly’s mum. Winnie stood on the far side of the room, watching me with a strange expression on her face.

I felt completely detached from all of them, as if they were on television and I could turn them all off by walking away. I felt more like a ghost than ever.

I walked past them all and out the door. Nobody saw me go.

The hall was dark, full of shadows. A haunted house, Polly said.

I picked up the box from the hall table and slowly walked up the stairs. Each stair could have been a mountain—it was hard to lift my feet, as if they were weighed down by bricks. I felt dizzy, as if the staircase and the walls and the furniture in the house and my parents and Mrs. Lacey had all been thrown up into the air and were spinning madly around. Nothing was solid, except my heavy feet and the thick pain in my throat, like I’d swallowed something too big and it was caught there, making it difficult to breathe.

I moved through my grandmother’s room, where the faint smell of roses whispered to me. The rug with the flowers seemed
to stretch on forever. I finally made it into the closet and climbed up the endless ladder to the attic. The house still spun around me, like a spinning top, with all the colors whirling together, around and around.

I put the box on the floor and pulled myself up into the old stuffed chair in the dark. I took a careful breath. Something fluttered in my throat.

Polly. Polly was the ghost, not me.

PART FIVE

THE SWALLOW

O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South
,

Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves
,

And tell her, tell her, what I tell to thee
.

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON,
“
O SWALLOW, SWALLOW
”

UNDERWATER

Polly

I looked back into the study. The glass was even more ripply now, and it was a lot harder to see in. But I could just make out Mr. McPherson, sitting in the chair, staring into the fire. He buried his face in his hands.

“Come back with us, Polly,” said Mark, tugging at my sleeve again.

I shook my head. I felt as if I were deep underwater, and everything was thick and slow. I didn’t want to move or think. I just wanted to keep watching what was happening in that study, like I was watching a show on TV and needed to know how it turned out.

Winnie appeared again, behind Mr. McPherson. She stretched out her hand and softly stroked his hair. It looked like she was saying something, but I couldn’t hear. He didn’t move for a minute. Then he raised his head.

He was crying. I’d never seen a man cry before. His face was collapsed on itself. He rubbed his eyes like a little boy.

Winnie knelt by his side and stroked his arm, looking up into his face and speaking to him.

It was obvious that he didn’t see her. But somehow, I felt he knew she was there. It made me feel good. Rose must have given him the message, and now they could say good-bye.