The Time of the Ghost (23 page)

Of course Monigan was not there. The old sodden doll that had stood for Monigan for over a year now was gone. There was no sign of it among the carpet and splintered wood or anywhere in the orchard. What had they done with it? Where had they taken her?

She sped indoors to find out. There was no one there. In the kitchen, flies were circling over three plates, hastily scraped and not quite empty. The back door was open. That had to mean that they had hurried outside, but she felt she had to make sure. She whirled through into the living room. Nothing. The cornflakes still lay there. Books, papers, and a map of North Hampshire had been tumbled out of a bookshelf on top of them. The painting of Fenella stared up at her from the seat of an armchair, and dust slanted in a gloomy bar of sunlight.

Cart! Imogen! Fenella!
she shouted, uselessly and soundlessly. The only sound was the buzzing of flies.

She was speeding to the stairs when something moved. A great brown heap of carpet raised a large furred face and then heaved itself up, groaning. Oliver stood staring at her, gently swinging his tail. He was whining, a small and troubled sound, through his massive nose.

She knew that sound. It was Oliver's unhappy noise. He meant they had all gone off and left him. She had heard it, often and often, if she came in quietly from school and Oliver still thought he was alone.

Oh, poor Oliver!
she said.

Oliver's ears pricked a little, and his whining died away.

He could hear her. He was the only one who could hear her. But would he, even so, do as she told him?
Good dog, Oliver
, she said.
Come along. Let's find them, then. Find them, boy!
She sped out of the room to the open back door and waited there.

To her relief, Oliver came shambling through after her. He stopped beside her in the doorway and stood with his head down, patient as a pit pony and almost as large, waiting to see where she would go next.

Find Cart
, she said.
Find them, boy. Go on.

Oliver did not move. She remembered, with exasperation, that Cart always said he was as thick as two short planks and had no sense of smell, anyway.
Well, I'm going, anyway!
she said, and went whirling out into the orchard again.

Oliver made his unhappy noise. He did not like going for walks, and he always resisted mightily if people tried to take him, but he hated being left alone in the holidays even more. He could see his last chance of company, peculiar as it was, drifting away from him among the trees. He heaved up a sigh and resigned himself to exercise. He plodded to the shed at the corner of the orchard. Hopefully he thrust his huge face round its open door. And sighed again. It was empty, except for the rusted remains of a very old tricycle.

That meant they had taken all the bicycles and gone somewhere, just as Fenella had said. It had clearly not been her idea, after all. But where had they gone? The Dream Landscape meant nothing to her, although the Back of Beyond did seem to bring a misty memory.
Come on, Oliver
, she said, and set off again.

Oliver went, too, with his face set in a blurred look of protest. Together they went round the side of the School, and round a farther corner, and arrived at the long shed where the boys' bicycles were kept. Dutifully Oliver plodded along the row of cycles until he came to the bright red one at the end. There, he sketchily raised a leg and peed on its red back wheel. Having done that, he sat down. He had done enough.

The ghost hovered up and down, nearly screaming.
Yes, I know the boys went, too. WHERE? Oliver, show me, please!
She had been cheated. She was sure of it. Monigan had kept her talking to Fenella to make sure that she came back too late to catch them all. Which meant it must be terribly important that she did.
Oliver—please!

Oliver saw he was being pestered. The only way to get some peace seemed to be to keep moving. Grudgingly he heaved up and set off. This time he went along the path round the kitchen garden and down the school drive to the big metal gates. There outside was the road. Oliver looked at it with distaste—it was hard on the feet—and stopped again.

Which way, Oliver?
To the right was the way to Chipping Milton, where they went to school. Country lanes turned off that to right and left and ran to a hundred remote places. If they had gone that way, she would need every bit of help Oliver could give. To the left was Audrey's farm, and the downs were beyond that.
Show me, Oliver.

With a long-suffering grunt, Oliver shambled out into the road and turned left.
Oliver, are you sure?
She was certain he was wrong.

To show he was sure, Oliver broke into that peculiar gait of his, which Imogen said was like a camel, that was the nearest he ever came to running. His front legs swung round and out, round and out, and his huge body swayed. Up the hill he went, and the ghost kept pace with him, until they came to the entrance to Audrey's farmyard. Oliver slowed to a loiter. This time he really had gone far enough. Somewhere behind a barn a sheepdog sensed he was there and burst out barking. The dog seemed the only living thing in the yard. It looked dead and empty in the gray light, as deserted as the rusty harrow propped up in a corner.

This can't be right, Oliver
, she said.
There's no one here.

The unseen dog heard her and barked frantically.

The noise fetched a lady out of the stable where Audrey's pony lived. She seemed a total stranger, youngish and darkish and pretty—but then she would if I'm Imogen, the ghost thought—but she was clearly Audrey's mother. She saw Oliver slouching in the gateway. She knew Oliver. Everybody did. Once you saw Oliver, you never forgot him.

“Hallo, Oliver, old boy,” she said, and she came over and rubbed Oliver's head. The ghost had to jerk back from the lively, energetic tingle of her. “Did they leave you behind, then?” said Audrey's mother. “It's no good looking here for them, old fellow. They've all gone off to the downs. They called for Audrey and Sally quarter of an hour ago. You'll never catch them now. You go home.”

Oliver sighed. The ghost darted on up the road.
This way, Oliver!

“Go on home, Oliver,” said Audrey's mother.

Oliver decided. Not even for company was he going any further. He had already had a huge walk—nearly a mile. He turned round and shambled home down the hill.

She was forced to go on alone. She had no idea of the way. There were at least three places where the road forked, and her only hope seemed to be to catch them before the first fork. In a panic she went faster and faster. That was one good thing about not having Oliver with her: She could go at an inhuman speed. The hedges whirled by. The whitish road hurtled under her. She was going as fast as a bicycle—faster—as fast as that car when she was thrown out. No. She had to slow down. She could not go as fast as that awful car. It brought it all back, and this time she saw it as it had happened to her, not as a spectator. The road rushed under her eyes. The door was pushed, and so was she, until the road came up at her face. She had to stop.

But there they all were, thank goodness! They made a big group of bicycles, with people standing astride them, just beside the first fork, where the signpost said
“MANGAN DOWN ONLY.”
All of them looked drab in the dull, ominous light. Fenella was brightest in her shrill green sack, and she looked a dismal little urchin. She was on a fifthhand kiddie cycle, which had long ago been repainted baby blue when it was Sally's turn for it. With her was a hot-faced Howard on a smart gray bike. Ned Jenkins was beside him on a much more battered cycle. It had
“FILBERT”
painted on its back mudguard. She wondered if he had asked Nutty before taking it—probably not.

Imogen was a little aside from them, looking irritable and frightened. A lot of Imogen's irritation must have been due to the fact that she had been forced to ride the second smallest bike, the one which would have fitted Fenella better. But nobody ever wanted to ride that one. Its chain kept coming off. Imogen had had to have it, though, because Sally had taken the one reasonable secondhand bike when she went to visit Audrey and was riding it now. And Cart was the only one who was big enough to ride the other remaining bike. It was a vast black one called the Atomic Heavy Bike—with good reason.

In fact, apart from Howard's, there were only two decent bicycles in the group. One was Audrey's. It was the kind with small thick wheels, which Himself had roared were far too expensive for children. The other was Julian Addiman's. The ghost looked at it, and at Julian Addiman, in dismay. She had no idea how he came to be there. But there he was, with his trousers in shining cycle clips, leaning on the handlebars of a gold-colored lightweight cycle, which had so many gears that the chain seemed to turn a dozen corners before it reached the back wheel. Julian Addiman, with a superior sarcastic smile, was listening to Sally, who was arguing, typically enough.

“But you haven't told me a thing!” Sally was saying. “I don't move a step further until you do.”

“You're not stepping, you're pedaling,” said Fenella.

“But I
have
told you!” Cart said angrily. She was bright red from the work needed to move the Atomic Heavy Bike. “We're going to Monigan's Place because we've had a ghost all the time you've been away.”

“I still don't see why you need me,” Sally argued. She seemed quite untroubled by the mention of Monigan, and Julian Addiman did not turn a hair either. “What has a ghost got to do with me?”

“It may be your ghost,” Howard called from the rear. “We saw it. It looks a bit like all of you. And it kept saying ‘Help' and ‘Monigan.'”

Even this did not trouble Sally. She tossed her fair hair. “You all have too much imagination. Or you invented it. You made up Monigan, after all.”

“We did not!” Imogen shouted indignantly.

“So we decided,” Cart said, in a patient way which usually maddened Sally, “that one of us must have got into Monigan's clutches in the future somehow and come back to now to tell us.”

“We thought it came back because there's something we can do,” Ned Jenkins added. “And now we're going to try and do it.”

Sally looked at Cart in exasperation and at Ned uncertainly. Julian Addiman laughed and pointed to the handlebars of the Atomic Heavy Bike. “Is that the ghost there?”

“No,” Cart said gruffly. The mildewy Monigan doll in its gray knitted dress was tied there with string.

“So,” said Ned, “shall we go?”

Sally still looked uncertain. She could not think of a dignified way to say either yes or no.

“Let's go, now we've started,” Audrey suggested. “It makes something to do. I'm bored.”

“And I'm dying to see a real live goddess,” laughed Julian Addiman.

“All right,” Sally said wearily.

“Don't sound so keen, will you?” Cart said. She stamped heavily on one pedal to get the Atomic Heavy Bike moving. As always, it stood on the spot, trembling. “Someone might think you meant it,” she added as she balanced. The bike moved at last, as if it had been designed for doing something else completely and was only moving as a by-product. Cart pedaled it, clanking, into the road marked
“MANGAN DOWN ONLY,”
leaving Sally glaring after her.

The rest pedaled after her. It was a fairly narrow road, winding uphill, and they made a crowded and toiling procession of it. It was understood by everyone that Cart was leading them, so nobody liked to pass her, despite the fact that the Atomic Heavy Bike had not been designed to move. Even so, Fenella and Imogen were left in the rear. The legs of both flashed round and round furiously. Both zigzagged from side to side. This was partly to help them get up the hill and partly because both bikes were so dreadful that it was impossible to ride them straight.

The ghost followed the procession, feeling deeply grateful. They were all being so kind, even Audrey and Sally—though she was not so sure about Julian Addiman.

Audrey was moving smoothly beside Sally, tick-tick, tick-tick. “It's a nice idea to rescue a ghost, isn't it?” she said.

“Very nice,” Sally said curtly. “If Cart hasn't made it up.”

“You will keep criticizing!” Audrey complained.

“So what?” said Sally.

It looked as if Sally and Audrey were not getting on together. Sally put on a spurt and caught Cart up. Julian Addiman was gently and easily pedaling beside Cart as Cart puffed and clanked in the lead. Cart was plainly finding his gentle superior cycling an irritation. “Why don't you go on in front?” she snapped as Sally came up. But Julian Addiman stayed, gently pedaling beside them both.

Sally gave Julian Addiman a look which meant that she, too, wished he was not there, but he took no notice of that either. Sally turned to Cart, and they exchanged a look of annoyance. “How's the Plan going?” Sally asked, in as near a whisper as one can manage while pedaling a middle-aged cycle uphill.

“Not at all,” Cart puffed. “Neither of them has noticed a thing.”

“Not even Fenella's knots!” said Sally.

“Nope,” puffed Cart. “Himself came and told us off, and he went through your name in the list as usual, and he still didn't notice you weren't there. And he looked straight through Fenella.”