The Swallow (29 page)

“No. She is very sensitive—and certainly unusual—but I don’t think there’s anything really wrong with her. She needs to spend less time by herself.” (The man.)

“We’ll just have to get some things organized for her,” said the woman firmly.

“Hmmm,” said the man.

Then I heard someone singing softly. A song about a swallow.

Rose

I finished the song and waited. Nothing.

I sighed and pulled the lilac shawl closer around my shoulders. It was Sunday afternoon and I was sitting in the chair in the attic, just as I was the first day I met Polly. I thought maybe the song would bring her back.

I hummed the chorus again. It was a sad tune, but so pretty, even if the girl did die at the end. Like Polly.

Then I heard something next door. A voice.

“Rose? Is that you?”

THE GHOST IN THE ATTIC

Polly

“Yes,” she said. “Polly? Wait right there, I’m coming over.”

I leaned my head against the wall. I was so tired, and I still had the drifty feeling, like nothing was quite real. But I could feel my blankets were all tucked up around me, and it was good to be back in my own little nest in the attic. I could hear Rose scrambling down the passage, bumping her head and her elbows and griping about the slivers. I smiled.

She came through the door, swooping her flashlight around the attic and then finally settling it on me.

“Polly!” she said in a strange, kind of intense voice, and then she just stared at me.

“Hi, Rose!” I said. “How come you’re looking at me all weird, like you’ve never seen me before?”

She seemed to pull herself together and came over and sat beside me.

“No reason,” she muttered. “I just didn’t know if you’d be here today or not.”

She was clutching a pale purple shawl around her.

“What a pretty shawl!” I said. “When did you get that?”

“Oh, um, my great-grandmother made it for me.”

“I didn’t know you had a great-grandmother. When did she make it? How come I’ve never seen it before?”

“Never mind, Polly. We have to talk.”

“Okay. Except I’m kind of sleepy today for some reason. Susie must have kept me awake last night …”

Rose just sat there, still and quiet.

“I saw Winnie with your dad,” I said, yawning. “I guess you gave him the message, huh? When was that? I can’t remember. I’m all mixed up.”

“Uh … Friday night. Day before yesterday.”

“I’m glad you told him, Rose. Now Winnie can go … and find her swallow.” I yawned again. “But why was my mother in your house? Why was she crying?”

Rose

She didn’t know. She really didn’t know. A wild hope gripped my heart, and I thought I could play along with her. Like the twins. Keep her there forever, pretending she was alive, and she would never know the difference.

I gathered my courage and looked into her face for the first time. She smiled back at me, the same old Polly. But something had changed. Her eyes were clouded, like she wasn’t quite awake, and her skin was pale and seemed almost transparent. She was fading. No matter what I did, I was losing her.

“Rose,” she said. “What’s wrong? Are you crying too? Why is everybody crying?”

I brushed my tears away and took a deep breath.

“I have to tell you something, Polly,” I said. “Something difficult.”

“About my mother? Is she sick or something?”

“No, not about her. About you.” Polly was looking worried now. “Remember all those times you thought I was a ghost?”

“I don’t think so anymore, Rose, honest. I was sort of playing, anyway. You’re not still mad, are you?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m not mad. But you were on to something.”

“I was?”

I took her hands in mine. They were very, very cold.

“There is a ghost in your attic. And it’s not me.”

She looked at me, eyes wide.

“Who is it, Rose?” she whispered.

PRETENDING

Polly

Rose looked so frightened and so sad, telling me about this other ghost. Her hands were shaking in mine.

“Don’t be scared, Rose,” I said. “If it’s another entity I’m sure you can handle it. You were so brave with Winnie, and—”

“No, it’s not another entity, Polly,” she said, and then she sort of gulped like she couldn’t get the next part out.

“Then who is it?” I asked, looking around the attic. “There’s nobody here, just us.”

“Yes,” she said. “Just us. You and me. And it’s not me.”

I stared at her.

“What do you mean?”

She swallowed. “I’m sorry, Polly. You got sick, it was bad. It was meningitis, and I had it too. It’s horrible. All kinds of kids died in the city last year. You didn’t come back from the hospital.”

“But I did come back. I’m here. What are you talking about? Are you trying to scare me?” I had a strange, fluttering feeling in my stomach.

She shook her head. “No, Polly, I’m not. I have to tell you. You see, you’ve just been hanging around, not realizing—not
realizing that you are … a ghost … and pretending—pretending—”

“I’m not pretending!” I shouted at her, dropping her hands. “I talk to my parents every day. I go to school. I eat chocolate cake. I’m not a ghost! Why are you doing this?”

“Think, Polly. When was the last time you talked to your mother?”

“Yesterday. I came home with the twins from the library, and she told them they had to get ready for Cubs and—”

“That wasn’t yesterday. That was Friday, the day before yesterday. Did she talk to you? What did she say?”

“Well, no, she didn’t say much, but—”

“Polly, you’ve got to understand this. You died. You weren’t ready to die, so you stayed around, but nobody can see you. Nobody but me and the twins. Think. Has anyone else said anything to you this week? Anything?”

The fluttering in my stomach was turning into something heavy, like I was going to throw up, and I was getting very cold. I tried to think. I remembered listening to people, but I couldn’t remember anyone speaking to me.

“Wait a minute. Susie spoke to me. She called me ‘Olly,’ and I didn’t even know she could talk.”

“That’s because she’s just learned how to talk. Six months ago, when you died, she was just a baby.”

“But she saw me!”

“Lots of babies see ghosts, Polly. Look, your mother told us last night. She came over because of the library book, because
she thought I stole it, and then she broke down and told us you died, and how much she missed you, and she was heartbroken. Polly, she does love you, and your dad too, and now they are so unhappy and they’d give anything to have you back.”

“Really?” I said. “But I don’t understand. I don’t feel dead.”

“Don’t you?” said Rose, looking at me very intently. “Don’t you, Polly?”

Rose

“I do remember … being sick,” said Polly slowly. “It all came back to me the other day, when I was waiting for you, watching by the window. I don’t know why I forgot all that. I had such a bad headache, and everything hurt, and then it was all white for a long time, and then …”

She had been telling me this with a strange, distracted look on her face, like she was somewhere else, but then she stopped and focused on me.

“And then I came home and everything was the same, Rose, everything was just like normal, and the twins were bugging me, and Susie was taking over my room, and I went to school and came home and did my homework, and I heard you singing in the attic, and all that stuff happened with Winnie. How could I be dead, Rose? Wouldn’t I know that I was dead?”

“No,” I said, taking her hand again. If anything, it was even colder now. “You weren’t ready to be dead, Polly, so you stayed, and you found me, and I could see you, because I can
see ghosts. And you came to me for help, like all the other ghosts do, only I didn’t know you were a ghost. You fooled me as well as yourself, and I didn’t know until your mother told me. And I don’t want to lose you, Polly, and I don’t want you to believe you’re a ghost, I want you to stay and be my friend. But it’s not going to happen. You have to go where you belong. You have to say good-bye and you have to go. Like Winnie. You’re not meant to be here anymore.”

I was crying my head off now, and Polly put her arms around me and hugged me. I could feel her heart beating against mine, but she was so cold, and she felt like she was made of brittle bones, like a bird’s skeleton.

“It’s okay,” she said, patting me on the back. “It’s okay, Rose, don’t cry.”

THE GIFT

Polly

Rose looked at me through her tears.

“I’m sorry, Polly,” she gasped. “I’m so sorry.”

“I just don’t understand,” I said slowly. “It seems impossible. I do feel a bit weird, like I’m getting the flu or something. And I can’t remember things. But dead? How can this be dead?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, Polly. I don’t understand either. You always seemed more alive than anybody to me. But it’s true. I heard your mother say it, and the twins told me as well. I think … I think once you understand it, you’ll be able to go.”

“Go?” I cried. “Go? Go where? I don’t want to go, Rose, I want to stay. I want to stay here with you and my family. I don’t want to be dead. It’s horrible, it’s not fair, I can’t do it, Rose, you’ve got to make it stop.” I clutched at her shawl and she shook her head again.

“I can’t make it stop, Polly. It’s going to happen; it’s happening already. Look at your hands.”

I looked down at my hands on her shawl and they didn’t look right. They were white and I could almost see through them.

“No,” I cried, “I can’t just fade away into nothing. I won’t! I refuse!” I jumped to my feet and stumbled over to the trapdoor.

“Where are you going?” Rose called out.

“I’m going to find my mother,” I said, lowering myself through the door. “She’ll make it stop.”

I flung myself down the ladder from the loft and burst into my room. My mother was there, getting Susie up from her nap.

“Mum!” I said. “Mum.”

She didn’t turn around. She just kept talking to Susie, who was standing up in her crib, hanging on to the rail.

“Olly,” said Susie, looking at me and smiling. “Olly.”

“Oh, Susie,” sighed my mother. “Why have you suddenly started saying that? Did the twins teach you to say Polly’s name?”

“Mum!” I yelled, coming up behind her and tugging on her sweater. “Mum, can’t you hear me?”

She gave a little shrug, as if she had an itch on her back, and lifted Susie out of the crib. “Come on, let’s change your diaper,” she said and laid her on my bed.

“Oh, Mum, how many times have I told you, I hate it when you change her diaper in here. It makes my room so smelly …”

But she didn’t hear me. She kept right on changing Susie.

I circled round to look at her.

“Mum!” I yelled. “Can’t you see me?”

“Olly,” said Susie.

My mother didn’t even blink. She looked tired, and sadder than I’d ever seen her look.

“Polly’s gone,” she said to Susie. “She’s gone.” And then she sat down on the bed and started to cry.

I hated it when my mother cried. She hardly ever cried in front of us, but when she did it always felt as if the world was coming to an end.