it.
‘Wait for me!’ shouted Wedge, running after his greedy mate.
Mister Lewis shook his head. ‘Oh dear,’ he whispered.
The screams came first, followed by a blurry cloud of bees that buzzed angrily over Wedge and Crunch – mostly Crunch, because Wedge had pulled his hoodie over his head. They turned and ran back towards us, flapping their hands and shouting at Mister Lewis for help as they passed.
‘But what about your bees, Mister Lewis?’ asked Shane. ‘Those guys will stamp them into the ground!’
‘Not at all, boy,’ said Mister Lewis. ‘My buzzing friends will come back to me when I get to our new dwelling place.’
‘Where?’ I asked. ‘The castle is out of bounds now, and there are no other places where a ghost could live.’
Mister Lewis stopped and tapped hisnose (gently, because bits fall off if he’s not careful). ‘Well,’ he began, ‘thanks to an old history of the town that I found on one of my nightly visits to the castle library, I think I have found the solution to my, eh, situation. I hope both of you, my two best friends – indeed, along with Big Ella, you are my only living friends – will help me. It’s not very far.’
‘Of course we will,’ we said together.
‘We’ll give you any help we can,’ I said.
‘Any help at all,’ added Shane, just to get in the last word.
CHAPTER THREE
WONKY TROLLEY
‘ W here did you get the trolley?’ asked Shane, as we walked towards the town.
‘I borrowed it,’ Mister Lewis chuckled.
‘You nicked it?’ I exclaimed. ‘If you’re caught—!’
‘Oh, I won’t be caught,’ he said. ‘But you boys make sure
you’re
not caught.’
‘Us?’ put in Shane. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you have offered to help,’ said Mister Lewis.
‘Why can’t you just go invisible and push the trolley?’ I asked.
‘How do you think that would look, Milo?’ Mister Lewis went on. ‘A full trolley steering its way through the town all by itself?’
Well, he had a point. There was no answer to that.
‘So will you help me, boys? We’re close to town and I have to go invisible in case old ladies faint or cars crash, or my nose wobbles or I accidentally waft off the ground, or—’
‘All right, Mister Lewis,’ I interrupted. ‘We’ll do it. But you’d better stick around.’
‘No worries,’ said Mister Lewis.
‘I wish I could go invisible too,’ Shane whispered. ‘Especially if someone squeals to Big Ella that I was up to no good with a supermarket trolley full of stuff.’
‘What about me?’ I hissed into Shane’s ear.
You see, my dad is a Garda. Imagine having to haul your own son before some judge with a face like broken granite. My dad says judges have to have granite faces before they can qualify to wear those woolly wigs made from sheep’s ringlets.
So Mister Lewis did go invisible, which made good sense: how would me and Shane explain why we were walking along the busy street with a waxy-faced man wearing a long, dusty old coat and crooked hat, wheeling a supermarket trolley full of junk? The only scare was when we took a short-cut past the old abandoned knickers factory. The wee-waw of a speeding Garda car caused me and Shane to duck, but luckily my dad wasn’t in it – the Garda car, I mean, not the knickers factory. When we’d left the town, Mister Lewis appeared again, sitting on top of the stuffin the trolley. He yawned and stretched his skinny arms.
‘Ah, that was a grand sleep. Thanks, lads.’
‘You mean we’ve been pushing you all the way?’ spluttered Shane. ‘Cheek!’
‘But I weigh nothing at all,’ laughed Mister Lewis as he wafted off the trolley.
‘Cool,’ Shane laughed. ‘I wish I could weigh nothing at all.’
‘And miss Big Ella’s awesome cakes and buns?’ I put in.
Shane patted his roundy tummy. ‘Hmm. Maybe not,’ he grinned.
CHAPTER FOUR
A VIEW FROM THE BRIDGE
B eyond the town, we stopped just before the bridge across the river.
‘Here we are,’
‘Wait for me!’ shouted Wedge, running after his greedy mate.
Mister Lewis shook his head. ‘Oh dear,’ he whispered.
The screams came first, followed by a blurry cloud of bees that buzzed angrily over Wedge and Crunch – mostly Crunch, because Wedge had pulled his hoodie over his head. They turned and ran back towards us, flapping their hands and shouting at Mister Lewis for help as they passed.
‘But what about your bees, Mister Lewis?’ asked Shane. ‘Those guys will stamp them into the ground!’
‘Not at all, boy,’ said Mister Lewis. ‘My buzzing friends will come back to me when I get to our new dwelling place.’
‘Where?’ I asked. ‘The castle is out of bounds now, and there are no other places where a ghost could live.’
Mister Lewis stopped and tapped hisnose (gently, because bits fall off if he’s not careful). ‘Well,’ he began, ‘thanks to an old history of the town that I found on one of my nightly visits to the castle library, I think I have found the solution to my, eh, situation. I hope both of you, my two best friends – indeed, along with Big Ella, you are my only living friends – will help me. It’s not very far.’
‘Of course we will,’ we said together.
‘We’ll give you any help we can,’ I said.
‘Any help at all,’ added Shane, just to get in the last word.
CHAPTER THREE
WONKY TROLLEY
‘ W here did you get the trolley?’ asked Shane, as we walked towards the town.
‘I borrowed it,’ Mister Lewis chuckled.
‘You nicked it?’ I exclaimed. ‘If you’re caught—!’
‘Oh, I won’t be caught,’ he said. ‘But you boys make sure
you’re
not caught.’
‘Us?’ put in Shane. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you have offered to help,’ said Mister Lewis.
‘Why can’t you just go invisible and push the trolley?’ I asked.
‘How do you think that would look, Milo?’ Mister Lewis went on. ‘A full trolley steering its way through the town all by itself?’
Well, he had a point. There was no answer to that.
‘So will you help me, boys? We’re close to town and I have to go invisible in case old ladies faint or cars crash, or my nose wobbles or I accidentally waft off the ground, or—’
‘All right, Mister Lewis,’ I interrupted. ‘We’ll do it. But you’d better stick around.’
‘No worries,’ said Mister Lewis.
‘I wish I could go invisible too,’ Shane whispered. ‘Especially if someone squeals to Big Ella that I was up to no good with a supermarket trolley full of stuff.’
‘What about me?’ I hissed into Shane’s ear.
You see, my dad is a Garda. Imagine having to haul your own son before some judge with a face like broken granite. My dad says judges have to have granite faces before they can qualify to wear those woolly wigs made from sheep’s ringlets.
So Mister Lewis did go invisible, which made good sense: how would me and Shane explain why we were walking along the busy street with a waxy-faced man wearing a long, dusty old coat and crooked hat, wheeling a supermarket trolley full of junk? The only scare was when we took a short-cut past the old abandoned knickers factory. The wee-waw of a speeding Garda car caused me and Shane to duck, but luckily my dad wasn’t in it – the Garda car, I mean, not the knickers factory. When we’d left the town, Mister Lewis appeared again, sitting on top of the stuffin the trolley. He yawned and stretched his skinny arms.
‘Ah, that was a grand sleep. Thanks, lads.’
‘You mean we’ve been pushing you all the way?’ spluttered Shane. ‘Cheek!’
‘But I weigh nothing at all,’ laughed Mister Lewis as he wafted off the trolley.
‘Cool,’ Shane laughed. ‘I wish I could weigh nothing at all.’
‘And miss Big Ella’s awesome cakes and buns?’ I put in.
Shane patted his roundy tummy. ‘Hmm. Maybe not,’ he grinned.
CHAPTER FOUR
A VIEW FROM THE BRIDGE
B eyond the town, we stopped just before the bridge across the river.
‘Here we are,’
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