Oswin's Project

by Fiona Law

  “There now, you see!” snorted Beryl victoriously. “I keep telling you, it’s that overactive imagination of yours.” She strode into the room, did a couple of pirouettes as she spoke and stopped to smile triumphantly at Gemma.

  Gemma bit her lip, and said quietly yet determinedly. “No. It was there! Sitting in Dad’s chair. You would have seen her too…”

  “Aha! ‘In Father’s chair!’ Don’t you see?” Beryl paused, with that maddening grin plastered on her face, waiting to see if Gemma would catch on to the psychological conclusion, but she stared back with a poker face, trying to hide her raging irritation at her older sister’s condescending smugness.

  Beryl puffed up and concluded in a professional voice, “The fact that the illusion occurred in Father’s chair, at a time when he should have been in it, indicates that you were obviously wishing he were home. Don’t you see? You poor little thing!” she crooned sympathetically, stepping forward to lay a caring hand on Gemma’s burning cheek.

  Gemma stiffened, staring fixedly at the wall speckled with school photos still in cardboard studio frames. “Fine! Whatever!”

  Beryl guided her out of the room into the hallway. “Let’s go and have a cup of tea!”

  She put the kettle on quickly and efficiently, talking all the time with grating kindness. “It’s your nervous disposition. It’s a pity you’re too young for something like Calmets. Holland and Barrett do loads of herbal stuff too. Perhaps we could just go and find something there without trying to bleed a prescription out of these NHS doctors.”

  Gemma stood with folded arms and said nothing.

  Beryl’s monologue was interrupted, however, when she slipped in some of Gemma’s coffee spill.

  Flailing her arms, she managed to stay upright. “Oh, me gawd! What was that? There’s something on the floor!”

  She bent down and peered, frowning at the floor, reached out and tentatively wiped her forefinger across the offending area.

  Gemma watched her. “Actually, that was me. I must have spilt some coffee when...”

  “Well, surely you know enough to wipe it up!”

  “Sorry!” Gemma rushed over to the sink to fetch a rag. “Sorry, but…”

  “No, that won’t be enough! You’ll need a cleaner to spray on it first. It looks like it’s setting on the floor already,” Beryl cut in, still bent over the coffee spill, and examining it as though it were a fungus from the moon.

  Gemma sighed and began rummaging in the cupboard under the taps.

  After watching her young sister for a moment, Beryl said, “Why don’t you make us a cup of tea, now that we’re here? You always make a good cuppa. Besides, I’ve got to get back to my work. Two of our lecturers gave us homework, plus we’ve got two tests. Two! And you know how close the exams are. I don’t know how I’m going to have it all done by Monday, honest to goodness I don’t. It’s so unfair! This form six college is so hard. Why did they have to change the system, just as I was getting there? Just wait until Oswin gets to that level then we’ll see how brilliant he really is. I’m sure he doesn’t get pushed this hard in his hoity-toity public…” and her voice trailed off as she disappeared upstairs.

  But it started up again, like a neighbor’s lawn mower on a Sunday morning, as she hung over the banister, driving her point home. “Just bring my tea up when it’s made, okay? Sorry, but I really can’t come down and sit with you! I know you’ve had a fright and all that, but I can’t spare the time. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to cope. All the other kids only have their exams to worry about, but I’ve got all these other responsibilities as well!”

  Gemma heard her saying how unfair life was, as she shut her bedroom door.

  “Well, I’ll try not to be too much bother,” she muttered and dropped to her hands and knees and rubbed the floor vigorously.

  Beryl’s overly gracious thanks, when Gemma brought her a cup of tea, irritated her even more. She stalked back into the kitchen, her face twisted with anger as she mouthed Beryl’s words, ‘Thank you, Darling. Ooh! that’s lovely. You really make the best tea, ever!’ She thumped about, pushing the kitchen chairs roughly into their positions around the table. She didn’t feel like having any tea herself and shoved her cup aside and stared, brooding, at the Shrek DVD. Why couldn’t he be real? He’d soon put Beryl right. Life with Shrek would be heavenly!

  Would Shrek even fancy her—provided Princess Fiona was out of the picture—would he go for her? None of the boys in school seemed to fancy her. They didn’t seem to even see her. She was far too ugly to turn heads at school.

  Not that that would bother Shrek, in fact it would be an advantage. Although, she was a bit skinny for his taste. But then, a couple of years living off doughnuts and custard creams would put that right! And the odd pimple that she’d get from such enjoyable binging wouldn’t be a problem. He’d prefer her to be spotty.

  Yes, indeed, Shrek was the perfect bloke, a girl could really let herself go and he’d just love her even more! Although, she wasn’t the right color for a ogre’s bride. He’d like her to be green.

  “And I’m not,” she sighed mournfully. “Oh, if only I were big boned and green!”

  Absently, she knelt down where the coffee had spilt and, forgetting that she’d already cleaned it, she squirted more cleaning liquid onto the floor, and began mopping it all over again, thinking how much better life would be if only she were overweight and green. Then she got to pondering, as she sprayed the floor some more, how she was going to look green for Rebecca Wilson’s party, which was a far more realistic issue at hand. A green Princess Fiona would be instantly recognizable, but dressed as the normal, daytime Princess Fiona, Gemma would look like any another medieval lady. Not even her perfectly colored red hair would give any clues to the other kids. They had probably forgotten the Shrek films. They’d end up snorting with laughter in her face. Or, worse still, giggling maliciously behind her back. No, her red hair was not going to be enough to pull it off—she had to go green for the party. But how?

  “Of course!” she cried out. “Yes, I know!”

  Chapter Four

  Why hadn’t she thought of it before?

  “Yes! Why not?”

  Rising up, forgetting the spray bottle and the new, wet patch on the floor, Gemma declared out loud, “I can actually go green!”

  Actors dyed their hair for certain roles and skin could be dyed too. Temporarily, of course, but it could be done. Just for fun. And it wouldn’t be dyed as such, merely painted. If she had enough money, that is. In order to get it just right for the party, she decided to try it out at home first, right there and then. That very day.

  Gemma danced upstairs to fetch her purse. Hoping rather than checking that she had enough money, she skipped back down, and was just reaching out to open the door when Oswin opened it from outside, almost crashing into her.

  “Oh, hello, Oswin!” she greeted him breathlessly. “I’m just going out!”

  “Alright Gem?” he smiled wearily, shutting the door. “Well, when you get back in, I’ve got something really important to show you.”

  “Okay!” She hung back. “Oh, by the way, I saw the ghost today.”

  Oswin spun round to face her again, his eyes aglow. “When? Where? Why didn’t you say so?”

  “In the sitting room,” Gemma flinched. “Er…about half an hour ago, I think. Maybe more.” She twirled a wisp of hair around her fingers.

  “Why didn’t you say?”

  “I did. Just now—as you came in.”

  “Right.” Oswin paced the tiny hall. “Yes, of course. Oh, Gemma, you’ll have to be more specific! I’ve got to have proper recordings to see if my ghost detector works. Here, hold this!” He dumped a pile of papers in her arms and raced up the stairs, two at a time, calling, “This is more than just another project!”

  Gemma
stared after him. Half of the papers slipped out of her arms and cascaded down to the floor. Hurriedly, she gathered them all together. There seemed to be some maps mixed in with some photocopies. She found them a space on the Welsh dresser.

  “Oswin, I’m sorry,” she said as he bounded down the stairs towards her. “They’re mixed up now!”

  He made no reply—only grinned proudly as he showed her what he had run up to fetch. He was brandishing a gadget which looked like a hair straightener with lines of LEDs where the plastic bristles should be, down the sides of the cylinder. Two short aerials protruded out of the tip. The handle was large and flat, to allow for a few buttons and dials, and an impressive little display unit.

  “Wow!” breathed Gemma, turning it round and gazing at it. “What is it?”

  “This little gadget,” Oswin crooned, “measures the magnetism in the atmosphere, picking up the magnetic fields…”

  “But what are the fairy lights for?”

  “LEDs. They’re a visual indicator of the velocity of…” He broke off, realizing that Gemma was glazing over. “They light up when a ghost is detected. And the antennas draw together, like a divining rod. Plus I’ve put in an audio indicator as well—that is, it makes a clicking sound too!”

  Gemma nodded, her eyes widening.

  “In this note book,” Oswin continued, passing her an exercise book, which she immediately pledged to cover in pretty paper for him, “I’ve recorded the readings I took yesterday and the day before. Now is the chance to see if the ghost’s appearance has altered the magnetic fields in the area!”

  “Oswin, you’re brilliant!”

  He blushed and ran his fingers through his hair. “So, take me to your ghost!”

  Gemma tiptoed through to the living room and showed him exactly where and how the ghost had sat.

  “In Griswold’s own chair?” he tut-tutted. “What a cheek!”

  Gemma giggled then fell silent, as she became aware of Oswin’s intense concentration.

  He ‘ah!-ed’ and frowned, and ‘um-ed’ as the ghost detector clicked softly, flashing its LEDs briefly before falling silent. The antenna didn’t move. Oswin handed her a pen and read out the results, and she printed them neatly in the book, comparing the new readings to the first ones. Her eyebrows arched briefly.

  “They’re a bit higher,” she observed cautiously. She looked to Oswin for confirmation and he peered at the notebook.

  “Mm, it does indicate a slight disturbance,” he said after a moment’s reflection, “but not anything to get excited over. Plus,” here he peered out of the window, “Plus, it looks like rain —a static build-up in the air, you know, may be a factor.”

  “Mm.” Gemma bit the top of the pen and stared sadly at the figures on the page, willing them to be what Oswin wanted, absently pointing her toes, one foot at a time; in, out…in, out. Her cousin scratched his head.

  “Do you know,” he said at last, brightening up, “I think we should take the weather into account—always. Put a column in to note the weather conditions at the time of the readings!”

  “Brilliant!” she squeaked.

  “Excuse me!” demanded Beryl, from the doorway. “But what are you two up to?”

  They whipped round, like infants caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Gemma glanced at Oswin, looking for a cue.

  He decided to come clean, and clearing his throat, he replied loftily, “Nothing. Just taking readings—to see if there are traces of…er…paranormal activity…or, in other words, the ghost,” he finished somewhat indistinctly.

  “I know the meaning of paranormal activity, thank you,” replied Beryl frostily and loudly. “But there’s nothing there.”

  “Ahem…precisely! So you’ve nothing to worry about!” Oswin clutched at Gemma’s bony arm, leaning close to her to whisper a quick message. “I should get there straight away next time. Call me on my mobile, no matter where or when, yeah?”

  She nodded in reply, holding the note book close to her chest, and stared hard at a place just left of Beryl’s knees.

  “What are you whispering about? And what’s that thing you’re holding, Oswin?” Beryl accused, taking her turn at haughtiness and managing it admirably. She eyed him suspiciously.

  “We’re just trying out my ghost detector. I invented it. Yes, my dear cousin, that’s right. I said, ‘Ghost Detector!’”

  “I’ve really got to go,” Gemma gushed frantically, sensing a bit of a Waterloo. “I was just on my way out, remember?”

  Oswin glanced at her, “Right. Remember, call any time!”

  “What is that thing?” Beryl repeated, advancing towards him, as Gemma slipped out of the room. “It’s not some sort of Vidal Sassoon gadget, is it?”

  Oswin glared up at her through his specs. “No! I’m highly patriotic and espionage is not my cup of tea! I’ve just told you, I made it myself—for the ghost!”

  “I know, I heard you!” Beryl snapped. She continued to close in on him, a hand outstretched. “It looks suspiciously like my missing hair straighteners to me—let me see that!”

  He dodged her. “It’s nothing of the sort! It’s a device to detect the possible presence…”

  “Then why won’t you give it to me?” Beryl strained to reach it.

  “You’d break it!” Oswin cried, jumping over the coffee table and making for the door. But Beryl pursued him relentlessly.

  Whilst their chase began in the living room, Gemma—at that very moment—bumped into Griswold just outside the front door.

  “Oh! Um…hello, Dad! Bye, Dad, I’ll be back soon!”

  “Hello,” he replied, red-faced in his effort to get to the telly in time for the game. He was a squat, balding man who wore a grey Celtic moustache. It made him look permanently grumpy. “What are you looking so guilty about? Hey?” he asked.

  “I’m trying to get to town before everything shuts,” Gemma fretted. “Um…Dad, would the stagecraft shop sell body paint? Or should I try the crafts and hobbies shop?”

  “Both, I should think,” he advised, frowning. “Now don’t be out long—be home for tea, you hear?”

  “Okay, Dad. Bye!” she called as she darted off down the road. “I’ve got to catch the bus!”

  He watched her go and shook his head, “Darn crazy at that age they are,” he muttered as he went indoors. Hearing excited voices in the kitchen, he peeled off his jacket and ambled wearily through.

  Beryl, meanwhile, had Oswin pinned to the fridge, but he still held the ghost detector out of her reach.

  “This is a genuine scientific project!” he declared with all the command he could muster. “If this device comes within the vicinity of a ghost it will…” But he had let his guard down and Beryl snatched the ghost detector with a triumphant cry.

  Oswin let out a loud, high pitched yell and made a grab for the ghost detector as Beryl thundered off with remarkable speed and grace. But Oswin was quick and lithe and had her in an instant—just as she did a banana slip on Gemma’s still-wet patch on the floor.

  As they hurtled to the floor, with Beryl landing heavily on poor Oswin, and as Griswold opened the kitchen door onto the scene of the affray, a dark, shapeless mass bounded from behind the clock. It streaked across the room in mid-air and vanished behind the fridge. This was enough to set Oswin’s device off. It shuddered into life in Beryl’s hand, its antennas flailing, as it rattled off a fire of clicks, like a rattlesnake magnified, as the LEDs flashed wildly. And Beryl roared rather than screamed.

  Oswin cried out hoarsely with the effort of prying the device from her hands, as though he were in great pain. He snatched the ghost detector from her and rolled up to a sitting position just as the display finished. His eyes were wide and focused and his breathing hard, as he stared in wonder at the magnificence of his creation in full action.

&nb
sp; “Did you see that?” he hiccuped, the chase—the battle-fury—all forgotten.

  Beryl, convinced she’d broken something in the struggle, groaned, and rocked on the floor.

  “Yes,” growled Griswold, from the doorway. The cleaning spray bottle lay leaking at his feet. His face was puce, his knuckles white and his moustache bristled. “Beryl, What are you doing attacking him with cattle prongs? We are not allowed to lay a hand on them kids nowadays! If there’s any bruising on the boy, his mother—the Welfare—will be onto me in a shot! I know it’s a disgrace the way youngsters carry on nowadays, but our hands are tied! You’ll be sent away by the Welfare, and how will I cope then? With no one to look after the little ones?”

  His face drained to grey as he slid into a chair, his breathing shallow.

  Oswin, unable to draw his attention from his device, and unaware that he had been categorized as a ‘little one,’ waved Griswold’s concerns aside. “These readings. Something’s happened! This is great! Did you see anything, Beryl?”

  Beryl, took a moment then hobbled towards Griswold. “It’s not how it looks, we were fighting…Aaah!” She cried out, leaving her sentence unfinished, as she slipped again in Gemma’s wet patch and landed once more in an undignified heap.

  “Owwee! The bleedin’ floor’s wet!” However, she knew this was no time to worry about her injuries. Griswold was still staring ahead with a dangerous look in his eye, “But Father,” she continued quickly, lying on the floor like a Roman lounging on a divan, “I was not punishing him. I was treating him as an equal. We were fighting over what to watch on telly. I wanted to catch the game, and Oswin wanted to see that stupid nature program.” She paused hopefully, to see if Father had picked up her emphasis on ‘the game’ and taken the bait. Oswin, remembering that he was outnumbered by non-believers, as it were, slid the detector behind his back. Griswold had the power to confiscate his Ghost Detector indefinitely.