Authors: Andrew Norriss
Downstairs, Mrs Meredith was becoming increasingly alarmed. Mrs Campion had been talking about her daughter for nearly forty minutes now, and the more she said, the more fearful Mrs Meredith became for the safety of her son.
‘She’s not a violent person by nature,’ Mrs Campion was saying. ‘She’s more … high spirited. She grew up surrounded by boys, you see. I mean, for a long time, she thought she
was
one. Like those geese that are brought up by ducks, you know? But now she’s older it’s all got more difficult. The boys don’t want her around because she’s a girl, and the girls don’t want her because, well, she’s not very girly.’
Mrs Meredith could only agree. There had been nothing remotely girly about Andi.
‘The trouble is, although she looks tough on the outside, she’s really quite sensitive. You say the wrong word and she flies off the handle, and she just doesn’t know her own strength.’ Mrs Campion sighed. ‘That’s why the last school asked her to leave.’
‘They did?’ said Mrs Meredith.
‘Personally, I thought they got the whole thing way out of proportion,’ Mrs Campion sipped at her coffee. ‘I mean children break bones all the time, don’t they? I thought expelling her for what was basically an accident was way over the top. But by then of course the other parents had organised this petition …’
‘Ah …’ Mrs Meredith tried to look sympathetic but a large part of her simply wanted to run upstairs and make sure Francis was still in one piece.
‘And since she left, she’s found it very difficult to settle. We’ve tried to get her into several schools, but this is the first one that would take her – and now she says she doesn’t want to go!’ Mrs Campion stared moodily into
her cup. ‘As if I didn’t have enough on my plate already, with Peter spending nine months of the year in Kuwait, and a father with Alzheimer’s … When you said the other day you had a boy the same age, I thought that’s perfect! If they can get to know each other, make friends, maybe … maybe …’
She stopped, and Mrs Meredith noticed to her astonishment that a huge tear was trickling down the woman’s cheek.
‘Sorry about this. Making a complete idiot of myself as usual.’ Mrs Campion’s voice was no longer booming. ‘It’s just there’s nothing worse is there, as a parent, than seeing your child miserable. Not knowing what to do about it.’ She took out a tissue and blew her nose. ‘I thought if she had someone to take her into school, show her around, look after her … and your Francis sounds like such a
nice
boy.’
‘He is,’ said Mrs Meredith. ‘He’s very nice. But to be honest, I’m not sure he’s the sort of person to help someone like Andi.’
‘No? Well, I suppose it was always a long shot. I hope
you don’t mind my trying. You try anything when you’re as desperate as I am.’ Mrs Campion looked at her watch and stood up. ‘It might be a good idea to call them down now. I don’t want to alarm you but it’s best not to leave Thuglette alone with strangers for too long. You never know what might set her off.’
Together the two women went out to the hall and Mrs Meredith called up to her son that it was time for Andi to go.
Francis’s face appeared over the banister.
‘Already?’ He looked rather disappointed.
‘Why do we have to go now?’ Andi’s face had appeared beside Francis. ‘We’ve only just got here.’
‘We have to be at Grandad’s by twelve,’ said Mrs Campion, briskly. ‘And you know how upset he gets if we’re late.’
‘Can I come back tomorrow?’ asked Andi.
Mrs Campion looked startled. ‘Well, I … That would depend on Francis.’
‘It’s OK with me.’ Francis looked at Andi. ‘Tomorrow’s fine.’
‘Or you could come to my house. I’ve got this great room on the top floor. Really private.’
‘OK.’ Francis nodded. ‘Sounds good.’
Mrs Meredith could hardly believe her ears. She wondered briefly if Andi was somehow forcing him to agree to the meeting, but Francis didn’t look as if he was being forced. He looked as if it was something he wanted to do.
‘About nine?’ Andi was starting down the stairs. ‘Is that too early?’
‘No. Nine’s fine.’
‘Great.’ Andi smiled. ‘See you tomorrow then!’
‘I can’t believe it,’ Mrs Campion spoke in a hoarse whisper. ‘He’s got her eating out of his hand. How did he do it?’
Mrs Meredith had no idea. As she followed her guests to the door she was still trying to work out what had astonished her most. The fact that her son should be setting up a meeting with someone as bizarre as Andi, or Andi’s smile as she said goodbye.
She looked quite different when she smiled.
Almost like a girl.
The next morning, at nine o’clock, Andi answered the front door before Francis had even rung the bell, and watched admiringly as Jessica floated into the hall.
‘Is that how you normally move?’ she asked.
‘I suppose it is,’ said Jessica, ‘unless I materialise, of course.’
‘Materialise?’
‘That’s when I think myself somewhere.’ To illustrate, Jessica disappeared, and then reappeared on the other side of the hall.
‘Oh, that is
so
unbelievable!’ Andi clapped her hands in delight. ‘And you can go anywhere like that?’
Jessica was explaining that she could usually only materialise to places she could see, or that were already familiar, when Mrs Campion’s voice called from the back of the house.
‘Was that someone at the door, Thug?’
‘It’s all right!’ Andi called back. ‘It’s Francis!’ She took his arm. ‘Come on, we’ll go up to my room.’
She led Francis towards the stairs but then stopped to watch, open-mouthed, as Jessica’s body moved effortlessly up and through the ceiling above.
‘I expect this is nothing to you,’ she said to Francis. ‘You’ve seen it all before, right?’
Francis agreed that he had often seen Jessica float through ceilings. ‘You get used to it,’ he said.
‘You might.’ Andi gazed admiringly at Jessica’s feet as they disappeared. ‘I don’t think I will.’
Andi’s room on the top floor was the same size as the one at the top of Francis’s house, but mostly furnished with sports equipment. There was a rack of weights, a rowing machine, a basketball hoop on one wall, a treadmill and,
under the skylight, an enormous punch-bag swung gently from a hook in the ceiling.
The three of them stayed up there all morning and, for most of that time, Andi questioned Jessica on what it was like being a ghost. She wanted to know if Jessica minded being dead? What did it feel like? Did she ever eat, or get hungry? What did she see when she moved through walls? Had she met any other dead people and would she be frightened if she did? Did she think she’d be a ghost for ever, and what else might happen to her if she didn’t?
In the course of a couple of hours, she found out more things about Jessica’s life – both before and after she had died – than Francis had discovered in a fortnight. He knew that Jessica’s mother had died of a brain tumour two years before, and that she had gone to live with her grandmother, but she had never told him that her grandmother had died as well, the following year, and that Jessica had then been taken in by her aunt Jo and uncle George. The two deaths, coming so closely together, Francis thought, must have been a difficult time.
Andi was particularly interested to hear that Francis
was able to ‘feel’ Jessica’s hands when she touched him, and instantly wanted to experiment with it herself. She sat cross legged on the floor and waited while Jessica thrust her hands into her shoulders.
‘That is
so
spooky!’ she exclaimed, as she felt the warmth of Jessica’s hands moving inside her back. Then she got her to push her arms right through and out the front, so that it looked like the monster from
Alien
was bursting out of her stomach.
But the question that Andi kept coming back to, the one that seemed to intrigue her the most, was how Jessica had died.
‘You really can’t remember anything about it?’ she asked for the fourth time that morning. ‘Nothing? Nothing at all?’
‘Nothing,’ said Jessica. ‘Like I told you. It’s all a blank.’
‘Have you tried to find out?’
‘How can I?’ said Jessica. ‘I’m a ghost.’
Andi thought for a moment.
‘We could find out for you, couldn’t we?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘All we have to do is phone up your aunt and uncle.’ Andi pulled a mobile from her pocket. ‘What’s their number?’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ said Francis.
‘Why not?’
‘Well …’ Francis chose his words carefully. ‘I think if someone in my family had died and I got a phone call from a complete stranger asking how it had happened, I’d be … well, I’d be upset for a start, and I probably wouldn’t tell them.’
‘OK …’ Andi put down the phone. ‘So let’s think of something else.’
But they were still trying to find a simple method of discovering how Jessica had died when Mrs Campion came in to ask what they wanted for lunch.
Downstairs in the kitchen, while Andi had gone to the bathroom, Mrs Campion asked Francis if he was busy that afternoon. ‘Only if you’re not,’ she said, ‘I promised to take Thuglette ice skating, and thought maybe you’d like to come too.’
Jessica thought ice skating was a wonderful idea, and Francis found himself agreeing.
‘Splendid!’ Mrs Campion beamed, then lowered her voice and added, ‘Have you managed to have a word with her yet? About school?’
‘School?’ said Francis.
‘She’s supposed to be starting tomorrow,’ said Mrs Campion, ‘but, as I told your mother, she’s been putting up a certain amount of resistance.’
‘Oh,’ said Francis. ‘I see.’
‘Anything you could say to encourage her, you know, help her get back in the swing …’ Mrs Campion looked appealingly at Francis. ‘… would be
very
much appreciated.’
Sitting down to lunch, Francis wondered how he was supposed to go about persuading someone like Andi to go to school. He wasn’t even sure that he wanted to, and decided that, if Andi asked him about it, he would happily tell her anything she wanted to know, but if she didn’t, he was not going to bring up the subject himself.
The ice skating was more fun than Francis had expected. Andi was an experienced skater and hit the ice like a rocket, hurtling round the rink at the sort of speed that made mothers with small children move anxiously out of her way. Jessica, although she had never skated before, moved with a similar ease because, as a ghost, her skates didn’t actually touch the ice. Francis, at first, found it difficult to stand upright, let alone move in any specific direction, and spent a lot of time clinging to the walls at the side of the rink until Andi explained the basic movements to him. By the end of an hour, however, he was getting around on his own, hardly falling over at all and rather enjoying himself.
Andi and Jessica were brilliant together. Jessica had dressed herself in a costume she had copied from a poster she had seen on the way in, and she not only skated, but did the most dramatic spins and turns before landing gracefully on one foot. She and Andi worked out a whole routine together and it was a shame, as Jessica said, that Francis was the only one who could see it. At four o’clock, when the session ended and a breathless Andi was taking off her skates, she asked what he thought they should do next.
‘I’d better get home now,’ said Francis. ‘I’ve got some work I have to finish for school.’
‘Right …’ Andi’s smile faded. ‘I’m supposed to be going to school tomorrow as well.’
‘Your mum told me,’ said Francis. ‘I think I’m meant to be telling you it’s a good idea.’
‘And is it?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Francis frowned. ‘It’s mostly OK. I suppose.’
Andi grunted.
‘What was your last school like?’ asked Jessica. ‘We heard you didn’t like it at all.’
‘It was a boarding school.’
‘Was that bad?’
Andi grimaced. ‘No, it was great. As long as you were tall and pretty. If you were short and ugly and looked a complete idiot in school uniform, it was hell.’ She looked across at Francis. ‘Is that how it works at your place?’
As she spoke, Francis had a sudden picture of two of the girls in his class – Denise Ritchie and Angela Wyman. They were tall and pretty and, for reasons he had never really understood, they seemed to have the power to decide who was worth talking to and who should be ignored. As one of the people they ignored, he had never liked either of them much.
‘I suppose it is,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think you’d have to worry. Haven’t you got a black belt in judo or something?’
‘Karate,’ said Andi, moodily, ‘but being able to hit people doesn’t make you friends with anyone, does it? It just means you spend most of the day on your own.’
‘You wouldn’t be on your own at Francis’s school,’ said Jessica. ‘You’d have us.’ She looked across at Francis. ‘Wouldn’t she?’
‘Well …’ Francis hesitated. ‘If she wanted …’
‘Oh, thanks,’ said Andi. ‘That’s a really reassuring vote of enthusiasm.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Francis blushed slightly. ‘It’s just … if you did come to our school, you might not want to hang around with me anyway. I don’t fit in very well, you see. I’m different.’
‘Different?’ Andi frowned ‘How?’
There was a long pause.
‘I’d forgotten about that,’ said Jessica. ‘You’d better show her.’
When they got back to Alma Road, Francis led Andi up the stairs to his room on the top floor. He watched, as her eyes took in the sewing machine, the drawings on the wall, and the shelves of dolls.
‘Francis made that,’ said Jessica, pointing at Betty, the dummy, now dressed in a completed off-white cotton shirt. ‘And he made all these as well.’ She floated over to the dolls. ‘They’re a sort of history of fashion in the last fifty years.’
Andi followed her across and picked up one of the dolls, a figure dressed mostly in studded red leather.
‘You made this?’ she asked.
Francis nodded.
‘He did all the drawings too.’ Jessica gestured to the pictures on the wall. ‘They’re all his own designs. He’s brilliant!’
‘This is what makes you different?’ said Andi, looking at Francis.
‘Well, it’s not the sort of hobby that makes you the class hero.’
‘Ha!’ Andi gave an odd laugh. ‘I have an uncle who works in the fashion industry. His whole house looks like this, and he earns a fortune.’ She put the doll back on the shelf. ‘This isn’t
different
. If you want to be different, try being a girl who looks so much like a boy that the teacher sends you to the wrong changing room.’
‘If you’re talking about being different,’ said Jessica, ‘both of you should try being dead and nobody talking to you for a year.’
Francis took a deep breath.
‘In that case,’ he said slowly, ‘maybe we should stick together tomorrow. The three of us.’
‘I’ll go for that,’ said Andi.
Sometime later that evening, Jessica suggested that if Andi was worried about how she looked in a school uniform, she should get Francis to help.
‘How do you mean?’ asked Andi.
‘Well, if any of it doesn’t fit properly,’ said Jessica, ‘you could get him to alter it. He’s good at that sort of thing.’
Andi looked doubtful.
‘You should let him try,’ said Jessica. ‘Really, you should.’
So Andi went home and returned a few minutes later with the uniform her mother had bought the previous week. She changed out of her jeans, put on the skirt and blazer and examined her reflection in the mirror. It was every bit as bad as she remembered. The skirt stuck out at the sides and the back, making her look even shorter and stumpier than she already was.
‘Yes …’ Francis studied her, critically. ‘It’s the skirt we
need to look at first.’ He walked round her several times, making marks on the grey material with a piece of chalk. ‘It sits all wrong. But if we re-jig the side seams … and the hemline of course … It shouldn’t be too difficult.’
A moment later, the skirt was laid out on the table under the skylight, he was unpicking the seams, and then cutting at the separate pieces with a pair of scissors.
Standing there in her underwear, Andi watched him, a little nervously.
‘You needn’t worry,’ Jessica stood beside her. ‘He knows what he’s doing.’
And it certainly seemed that he did. They watched as, with deft fingers, he pinned the pieces back together, threaded a reel of grey cotton on to the machine and set about sewing a new seam. In less than twenty minutes, he was handing the skirt back to her and telling her to try it on.
The result was extraordinary. It was still the same skirt, made of the same material and worn by the same person, but it no longer stuck out at the back, the length was perfect, and it looked … well, it looked like you’d expect a skirt to look.
‘Not bad,’ Francis murmured, ‘I’ll just run round the hemline and then we’ll see if we’ve got time to do something with the blazer.’
Mrs Campion couldn’t help thinking it had been a remarkably successful day. She had called round to number forty-seven to check that everything was still all right between her daughter and Francis, and then Mrs Meredith had shown her the pottery. The plates and bowls she had produced were lovely, really lovely, and it was extraordinary to think she had a problem selling them.
Mrs Campion had some experience of selling things. In the days before Andi was born, she had worked as the sales manager for an electrical company and the idea that the two women should team up had occurred to them both at almost the same time. Mrs Meredith would make her plates and bowls, and Mrs Campion would sell them. Of course, she would have to sort out this business of getting Andi back to school first, but if things continued to go well with Francis, maybe, in a week or two …
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the
front door opening and Mrs Campion went out into the hall to find Andi taking her key from the lock.
‘You’re wearing your school uniform!’ she said.
‘I’ve been showing it to Francis,’ said Andi. ‘To make sure I’d got it right for tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Mrs Campion could hardly believe her ears. ‘You’re going to school tomorrow?’
‘Francis says we need to leave about half eight.’ Andi was heading for the stairs. ‘So I need to be up by seven thirty. OK?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Mrs Campion tried to keep the astonishment from her voice. ‘I’ll give you a call!’
How on earth had Francis done it, she wondered? How on earth had he made her change her mind? More to the point, how had he turned her defiant and deeply resentful daughter into the bright and cheery girl that was climbing the stairs to her room, and all within the space of a day and a half?
It was a miracle. The whole thing was a miracle.