scare me half to death! If I have a heart attack, it will totally be your fault.”
“I ask you not to go near water, but you don’t listen!” she says, sounding angry and desperate. “Why won’t you listen? I’m trying to keep you alive!”
“It’s only my big toe, for goodness’ sake,” I retort. “I don’t breathe through my toes. The rest of me is still up here in the fresh air. Stop stressing! You’re dead already, you might as well chill. It’s all over.”
“I’m not dead,” she says, in a shocked voice. “What are you on about?”
I can see her a little more clearly than last time. Today she is wearing jeans and a t-shirt. How often do ghosts change their clothes? Her eyes are dark and glistening with tears. Suddenly I feel guilty about being so grumpy with her. She seems so slight and vulnerable. And I shouldn’t have said that about it being all over for her. She clearly doesn’t realise she’s a ghost.
“Look, if you will stop haunting me, I promise that I will stay away from the water all week,” I say, more gently. “It’s a total pain, because this is my summer holiday, and I am on a little island surrounded by the sea on all sides, but if it keeps you happy and out of my hair, I will promise.”
She smiles as I say these words. She has a really lovely smile, which lights up her face. It has an actual glow, or perhaps that’s just the sun shining through her. She’s still almost transparent.
“Thank you, Lily,” she whispers. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how much that means to me.”
I suddenly feel desperately sorry for her. Poor little thing. Maybe she died in an epidemic of plague or an outbreak of cholera or typhus or something. Kids were always catching stuff like that in the olden days. They didn’t wear t-shirts and jeans though.
She slowly fades and leaves me standing, alone and barefoot on the deserted beach. I back away from the gently lapping waves. I have made her a promise, and I intend to keep it. Besides, the sea is absolutely freezing anyway. And if it means she will leave me alone, I can avoid the water this holiday. I slip my shoes back on, get on my bike and head into Millport to buy teabags, butter, bread and a pint of milk for Gran and me. I might even treat myself to a marshmallow ice cream from the Ritz café.
Chapter 10
Reasons why this is a mixed-up kind of day:
People keep getting my name wrong.
Aisha seems to enjoy almost getting herself killed.
She tells me some secrets… but I can’t tell her mine.
The next day the weather is overcast and dull, but at least it’s not raining – yet. After a big breakfast of toast, square sausages and scrambled eggs, I hang about the caravan with Gran, playing snap and gin rummy, but I can see she is impatient to get rid of me. Yesterday evening, after dinner, Gran went on a wee wander round the campsite and bumped into an elderly woman who is staying in a nearby caravan. The poor old dear has been talked into inviting Gran over for a cup of tea and a chat. By chat, my gran really means that she will talk and the other lady will listen: no interruptions, thank you.
I put on my new shorts, a t-shirt and Jenna’s pink cardigan. I clip my water lily charm onto the zip of my backpack.
“I’m going to pop into Millport, Gran. Do you want anything?” I ask.
“Just get me a Sunday Mail and some bacon,” says Gran. “I’ll get the other essentials at the campsite shop tomorrow.”
I head off to meet Aisha at the pier.
She isn’t there when I arrive and I swing out on my bike to cycle along Stuart Street. The town is Sunday-morning quiet,though I know it will get busier soon when the buses arrive from the ferry. Some of the shops are already open and I go into the newsagents to buy my gran’s newspaper. Gladys is standing at the counter, with her big smelly spaniel in tow, chatting to the owner about the weather.
“Oh hello, dear!” she says cheerily. “Agnes, this is Morag’s wee
“I ask you not to go near water, but you don’t listen!” she says, sounding angry and desperate. “Why won’t you listen? I’m trying to keep you alive!”
“It’s only my big toe, for goodness’ sake,” I retort. “I don’t breathe through my toes. The rest of me is still up here in the fresh air. Stop stressing! You’re dead already, you might as well chill. It’s all over.”
“I’m not dead,” she says, in a shocked voice. “What are you on about?”
I can see her a little more clearly than last time. Today she is wearing jeans and a t-shirt. How often do ghosts change their clothes? Her eyes are dark and glistening with tears. Suddenly I feel guilty about being so grumpy with her. She seems so slight and vulnerable. And I shouldn’t have said that about it being all over for her. She clearly doesn’t realise she’s a ghost.
“Look, if you will stop haunting me, I promise that I will stay away from the water all week,” I say, more gently. “It’s a total pain, because this is my summer holiday, and I am on a little island surrounded by the sea on all sides, but if it keeps you happy and out of my hair, I will promise.”
She smiles as I say these words. She has a really lovely smile, which lights up her face. It has an actual glow, or perhaps that’s just the sun shining through her. She’s still almost transparent.
“Thank you, Lily,” she whispers. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how much that means to me.”
I suddenly feel desperately sorry for her. Poor little thing. Maybe she died in an epidemic of plague or an outbreak of cholera or typhus or something. Kids were always catching stuff like that in the olden days. They didn’t wear t-shirts and jeans though.
She slowly fades and leaves me standing, alone and barefoot on the deserted beach. I back away from the gently lapping waves. I have made her a promise, and I intend to keep it. Besides, the sea is absolutely freezing anyway. And if it means she will leave me alone, I can avoid the water this holiday. I slip my shoes back on, get on my bike and head into Millport to buy teabags, butter, bread and a pint of milk for Gran and me. I might even treat myself to a marshmallow ice cream from the Ritz café.
Chapter 10
Reasons why this is a mixed-up kind of day:
People keep getting my name wrong.
Aisha seems to enjoy almost getting herself killed.
She tells me some secrets… but I can’t tell her mine.
The next day the weather is overcast and dull, but at least it’s not raining – yet. After a big breakfast of toast, square sausages and scrambled eggs, I hang about the caravan with Gran, playing snap and gin rummy, but I can see she is impatient to get rid of me. Yesterday evening, after dinner, Gran went on a wee wander round the campsite and bumped into an elderly woman who is staying in a nearby caravan. The poor old dear has been talked into inviting Gran over for a cup of tea and a chat. By chat, my gran really means that she will talk and the other lady will listen: no interruptions, thank you.
I put on my new shorts, a t-shirt and Jenna’s pink cardigan. I clip my water lily charm onto the zip of my backpack.
“I’m going to pop into Millport, Gran. Do you want anything?” I ask.
“Just get me a Sunday Mail and some bacon,” says Gran. “I’ll get the other essentials at the campsite shop tomorrow.”
I head off to meet Aisha at the pier.
She isn’t there when I arrive and I swing out on my bike to cycle along Stuart Street. The town is Sunday-morning quiet,though I know it will get busier soon when the buses arrive from the ferry. Some of the shops are already open and I go into the newsagents to buy my gran’s newspaper. Gladys is standing at the counter, with her big smelly spaniel in tow, chatting to the owner about the weather.
“Oh hello, dear!” she says cheerily. “Agnes, this is Morag’s wee
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