The Boy Who Lived With Ghosts: A Memoir (10 page)

I am going to have my own bedroom because I am the man of the house now that my dad has gone missing and is unlikely to ever be seen
again—especially while the police have him on a wanted list and those two nasty men who lent him money in the pub want to find him and break his arms. Mum is giving away all of Dad’s possessions and she has already given his bellows organ to the church because she is never going to listen to funeral music in the middle of the night again as long as she lives. She is, however, going to keep the piano because it was in fact not his but was given to Nana by a black man who owed her money. Mum will also keep Dad’s underpants.

I told Tommy that I am moving to another house and he hit me on the head with a brush pole. Fortunately I saw it coming and it only caught the side of my head and my left ear. Mum said he could have cut my whole ear off and then it would have to be sewn back on again or I would never be able to wear glasses. I did not think that was funny and I lost a lot of blood but it always looks worse than it really is when you cut your ear because your ear is full of blood and not much else. The only time I lost more blood was when I went head first off my plastic trolley bus because Margueretta was pushing me too fast. I told her to slow down—she didn’t slow down and it hit a bump and I flew off and landed on my mouth on the pavement. There was enough blood to cover a whole towel and two of my teeth came out and Margueretta said it was an accident, which it was not, but it was her word against mine.

The Irish are going to move our furniture for us. They’ve brought an enormous great dump truck round and Mum said it’s a blessing that it isn’t raining or our furniture would get wet as well as having cement dust all over it and the cement would set and then we wouldn’t be able to open the bloody dressing table drawers.

And the policeman came round one more time when we were packing, just to make sure we didn’t find the biscuit tin with the money. But all he found was some cat turds under the sofa from when Boots was alive. Mum said she thought that cat was blooming well house-trained and someone must have kicked those turds under the sofa because no cat could squat down in that tiny space.

“The past is the past, and we are starting a new life now,” Mum said.

“But how will Dad know where we are?” Emily asked.

“Don’t worry. He’ll know, right enough. He’s like a dog, your father. He’ll come home when he’s hungry.”

“My father is not like a dog!” shouted Margueretta.

“You’ll understand one of these days,” Mum replied. “Your father is your father, and that’s all I will say on the subject. It’s entirely his fault that we are in this God-awful mess.”

“I’m going to search for hidden treasure when we get to the new house!” I announced.

“Well, don’t get your hopes up,” Mum replied. “It’s a council prefab from just after the war.”

“Does it have a cellar?” Margueretta asked and looked over at me and smiled.

“Actually, no. It’s got a coal bunker by the back door. But no cellar. Why do you ask?” Mum replied.

“Oh, no reason.”

I will never be locked in the cellar again. Now I am really excited about our new house. I’m not sure what a coal bunker is, but it can’t be as bad as a dark cellar with that thing in the corner that goes drip, drip, drip. And I’m sure that the thing can’t follow us to our new house. It will stay behind in the old cellar and maybe kill someone who goes down there to take a look. They won’t find anything. But the thing will be in the corner, waiting.

Drip, drip, drip.

But even though I am glad the thing will not follow us to our new house, I have been crying a lot lately because I miss my dad. And because I kept crying for my dad, Mum gave me a robot. She got it from the Methodist Church jumble sale. It has scenes of alien planets on its chest, and they move from left to right while the lights flash. Its legs don’t work anymore but its arms swing up and down. I will keep my robot with me at all times, especially in the dark. At night, I will turn it on and frighten away anyone who comes near me. Ghosts are frightened of robots because you can’t scare a robot.

I expect Dad will be angry that Mum gave all of his clothes to The Irish, but at least he will still have his underpants. He needs to come home soon because it is very scary being the man of the house.

I have not told Tommy our new address. He has a box of matches, and he says he will burn down our new house with us still in it. He’s still jealous about the shed. And that bright red fire engine that went clang, clang, clang.

And I’m glad I never showed him my robot.

The Attic

The Garden City of the South, England
July 1965

25

M
y robot has run out of batteries. I have also taken it apart and I should have known that I could not get it back together again. I cannot expect to get another robot. So I am therefore hiding under the blanket because there is always something to hide from in the night.

I am not in my new bedroom because Mum found some small creatures making their way across my bed when I was down on my knees, trying to say my prayers. She caught them in a matchbox and I will have to sleep here on the sofa in the front room until the man comes round with the special poison to kill the other creatures that are still running loose.

I don’t like this new house. The toilet is just as scary as our old one but now it’s right next door to my bedroom and I have to run past it when the door is open otherwise I will see that green rubber handle that’s swinging and twitching on the end of a rusty chain. And then I will see a dead man hanging there with his eyes bulging out like my big green marbles. I know it’s just my imagination because that thing is still back in our old cellar where it will stay forever, I’m sure.

But the worst thing is that door on the ceiling above my bed. I don’t know how my mum can say there’s nothing in the attic when she hasn’t even been up there to have a look. And it’s easy for her to say I should ignore any stories my big sister is telling me about an evil murderer who has left a child up in the attic. It starved to death and now it’s trying to get out through that door. Mum told me not to stare at the attic door or it will give me nightmares.

Then there’s that madwoman next door called Joan. She came round with a pot of tea this afternoon because Mum has lost the kettle.

“Ooo-er! Don’t mind me. There are some things you should know about this place. I’m not sure where to start really. Let’s see if there’s another cup in the pot,” Joan said.

“What is it? What should I know?” Mum replied.

“There were twelve of them. And they were filthy. They left in the night. At least that’s what we think because we didn’t see them go, and we haven’t seen them since.”

“Twelve? All in this house?”

“Gypsies. Should never have been given a real house. They don’t know how to treat it unless it’s got wheels and a horse at the front. When the men from the council came to open up the place after they had gone, I don’t mind telling you—it was terrible.”

“What was it?”

“Well. They let me in to take a look, and the place was full of rotting food and dead things and flies and the smell…well, I had to hold my housecoat up to my nose. And do you know what they found in the scullery?”

“What?” Mum said, moving closer, and dragging on her cigarette.

“It was dead, poor thing!”

“What was dead?’

“A cat. A dead cat, for the love of God!”

“A dead cat?”

“You heard right. A dead cat. It was flat and hard like it had been dead for weeks.”

“How did it die?”

“No one will ever know. The men from the council said those gypsies probably left it in there, poor thing. It took them weeks, cleaning this house out and repainting it. And wallpapering every room. Those roses on that paper are quite nice though, aren’t they? A beautiful red.”

“That explains it!”

“Ooo-er! What’s that?”

“The man from the rent office implied that I brought those lice with me.”

“Lice?”

“Yes, lice! I found them in his bedroom. I’m not having it, Joan. They’re sending a fumigator round tomorrow to deal with it. It’s an infestation.”

“Ooo-er! I don’t like the sound of that, but it’s no surprise really, is it? So they’re sending a man round? Where’s your husband, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Och. It’s a long story.”

“Ooo-er! Is there a short version?” Joan laughed.

“He went out for a packet of Woodbines and never came back.”

“And left you with three kids?”

“And left me with three kids.”

“They’re all the same. Men. Well, Fred isn’t. He’s my husband, but lazy? I should say he’s lazy. He painted my kitchen, and he didn’t even clean off the cobwebs first. He just painted right over them. It’s a shame about that one,” Joan said, nodding at me.

“What about him?”

“Well. A boy needs a father. There are more things you need to know. The woman opposite has four children and no husband. Those children run around naked and poop in their front garden. The man living next door to her says he drilled a peephole right through the bedroom wall. It wasn’t difficult. The walls are paper-thin. Anyway, he spies on her to see what she’s up to and lets us all know. Do you know she sleeps completely naked! Imagine that! I could never sleep with no clothes on. It’s not healthy. Ooo-er!”

“Go on,” Mum suggested, lighting another cigarette.

“He says she lets the children play on her bare bosom! Imagine that! What else? Oh, yes, behind us is a German woman. Her husband is a bus driver. She met him when he was stationed as part of the Frontier Control Service on the German border with Belgium. Ooo-er, do you know something?”

“What?”

“She undresses some nights with the light on and no curtains. I’m always telling Fred to stop watching her. Ooo-er, it’s not right, is it? He should not be watching her.”

“Why is she undressing in the window, for God’s sake? Doesn’t she have any curtains?”

“Oh, she has curtains right enough. But the Germans are like that. No shame.”

“I suppose.”

“And just up the road are the Dumbys. Old Man Dumby is deaf so don’t bother talking to him. Although he does say he can lip-read. He keeps rabbits, but he had too many so he tried to gas them, but we have all been converted to natural gas. It’s not poisonous, you know. So don’t go putting your head in the oven if you want to kill yourself because it won’t work!” Joan laughed. “Anyway, he held them underwater until they drowned. We all went to watch. Their little mouths were wide open as they tried to get air, poor things. And their eyes bulged out of their sockets. Ooo-er!”

“He drowned them?”

“Yes. And if you see someone on the back of a Vespa scooter with a big bum, excuse me, hanging over the back—that would be me. And I do have a problem with my housecoat on the Vespa. It catches the wind. Like a sail. Imagine that! And that can be dangerous because it makes the scooter very difficult for Fred to control.”

“That sounds really dangerous.”

Joan Housecoat is completely bonkers if you ask me. But at least she’s not spying on us.

26

B
eing nosy is not the same as spying but it is very similar. Mum should never have told Joan that we’ve lost the kettle. That’s just the excuse a nosy woman needs to keep coming round with a pot of tea and stick her nose into business that should not concern her, especially when she’s got nothing better to do. And especially when there’s a van outside our house from the council and a man with buckets and hoses is coming up the path.

“Are you the woman with the lice or the blocked drains?” the man asked.

“Blocked drains?” Mum replied.

“Lice or drains?”

“Ooo-er! She’s got lice!” Joan replied.

“Lice,” Mum replied.

“OK. Lice it is, then. Did they tell you I have to spray this brown liquid over the floors and halfway up the walls and you can’t stay in the house afterwards because it’s toxic?”

“No.”

“They never tell anyone. Don’t know why I bother asking. I’ll make a start then.”

“We don’t have anywhere else to go,” Mum said.

“No one does. You know this is going to make a mess of your lovely new wallpaper, don’t you? Those red roses will be brown by the time I’ve finished. It would be better if you had blocked drains.”

“Ooo-er! She doesn’t have blocked drains. She’s got lice!”

Mum told Joan to go home. Enough is enough and you have to be firm with a nosy person or before you know it they’ll know all your business and they’ll be telling everyone in the street.

I followed the man from room to room to watch him spray everything and he was right because there was a brown stain halfway up the walls when he finished. And he was having a cigarette with Mum when we heard the screaming.

“Aieeee! Aieeee!”

“What’s she screaming about?” he asked.

“What’s wrong, Joan?” Mum asked.

“Lice! Lice! They’re crawling all over my airing cupboard!”

“That happens. They’re running away from the poison. Quite intelligent really,” the man replied.

“Get rid of them!” Joan shouted.

“Not today, love. I’m down to do one case of lice and one case of blocked drains. That’s my lot for today. You’ll have to go to the office and see when they can fit you in.”

“But there’s lice in my airing cupboard!”

“Like I said, if you had blocked drains I could help you,” he replied and pulled out his notebook. “Look. Blocked drains and a case of lice. And I’ve already done this woman’s lice.”

“But I can’t sleep with lice!”

The man came back the next day to do Joan’s lice. I’m glad it’s the summer holidays and I don’t have to go to my new school yet or there would be a lot of explaining to do. Mum has put chamomile lotion on the bites on my face and body and that’s just to be expected because some of those lice don’t die the first time you spray them. But they will die eventually now that both houses have been sprayed and we are semi-detached.

My face is very white. Margueretta says I look like a ghost.