by Heather Dyer
“Where’s Francis?” asked Aunt Carole.
“He’s not hungry,” said Alex.
“Not hungry?” This was a surprise. Aunt Carole had never known Francis not to be hungry before – and especially not when they were having macaroni cheese. “Is he feeling all right?”
“Yes,” said Alex, sitting down. “He’s fine.”
Aunt Carole regarded Alex doubtfully. “I think I’d better go and check.”
“No!” cried Alex, jumping up again. “You mustn’t!”
But Aunt Carole had already started up the stairs. Alex and Ibby looked at one another in alarm, then hurried after her.
Francis’s bedroom door was closed, and from within there came the faint hum of the metal detector. “Francis?” said Aunt Carole. “Are you all right?”
Immediately the metal detector stopped and they heard the thud of running feet, then the squeak of bedsprings. Then silence. Aunt Carole opened the door and went in. The curtains were drawn and there was a long sausage-shaped lump in Francis’s bed. “Francis?” she said. “What are you doing? It’s only six o’clock.”
From under the duvet there came a muffled reply.
“I can’t hear you,” said Aunt Carole. “Sit up.”
The sausage-shaped lump didn’t move.
“Francis!” said Aunt Carole sternly. “Sit up this minute, and let me look at you.”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“Because you can’t!”
“Oh – don’t make him, Aunt Carole!” cried Ibby. “He’s not … his usual self.”
Aunt Carole looked at Ibby in surprise. “Why? What’s the matter with him?”
Ibby hesitated. She was not a liar, and it would have been a relief to tell her aunt everything then – about the magic set and about how Francis had shrunk himself, and about how Alex had never meant to end up on the steeple. But before she could tell the truth, Alex said, “He’s sulking.”
“Sulking?” Aunt Carole looked confused. “Why is he sulking?”
Alex shrugged.
Aunt Carole addressed the lump sternly. “Is this true, Francis? Are you sulking?”
“No!” said Francis miserably.
“What’s the matter then?”
“Nothing!”
“Well!” said Aunt Carole, exasperated. “In that case, perhaps you’d better stay up here until you’re in a better mood. Come on, the rest of you – out!”
So out they all went.
As soon as the door had closed, however, Francis’s duvet was flung back. The indentation in the mattress lifted, and a moment later his bottom drawer yanked open and a bundle of sweaters lifted out and arranged themselves in the bed. Next, Francis’s football rose off the floor, crossed the room and nestled into the pillow. Then the duvet folded back over everything and tucked itself in. Finally, Francis’s footsteps retreated, the door opened and closed, and the room was still again.
Francis stood on the landing for a moment, listening. Downstairs, he could hear the clink of cutlery and the murmur of conversation. It wasn’t fair, he thought. Why should he have to stay in his room looking for the coin while everyone else was downstairs eating macaroni cheese? He got the blame for everything! Well – now he would show them. He would run away. Then they’d all be sorry.
Quietly, Francis tiptoed down the stairs and along the hall and peered round the kitchen door. Unexpectedly, Aunt Carole glanced up. Perhaps she had heard a tread on the stairs, or perhaps she felt Francis’s invisible eyes upon her. But although she seemed to look straight at him, her face didn’t change at all.
Francis stiffened. It was horrible being looked at like that by his own mother – it was as though she didn’t know him. Francis smothered a sob. Then he ran down the hall, opened the front door, and stepped outside.
CHAPTER 10
The Ferris Wheel Ghost
“BEFORE YOU KNOW IT YOU’LL BE PERFORMING PROFESSIONAL MAGIC TRICKS THAT WILL BAFFLE AUDIENCES OF ALL AGES.”
Had Aunt Carole been looking out of the kitchen window just then, she might have seen Francis’s bike pick itself up off the ground. She might have seen its pedals start turning, all by themselves. And she might even have heard the trill of its bell as it disappeared down the drive.
But she didn’t. None of them did.
As Francis pedalled further from the house, the tightness in his heart lifted and turned into excitement. He had never been out on his own in the evening before. A little way down the lane a Jack Russell shot out of a driveway, barking, and chased after the bike. But when the dog noticed that the bike was riderless, it stopped in the middle of the road with its head cocked and one ear up.
Francis laughed at its puzzled face, and pedalled on.
The lane was quiet. Francis could hear birds singing in the hedges, and sheep bleating in the fields. Then, carried on the wind came snatches of hurdy-gurdy music and the smell of popcorn, and as Francis turned the corner there it was, in the field opposite Billington’s Garage – the funfair!
When the others got back upstairs they found that the curtains were closed, the room was dim, and the lump in Francis’s bed still hadn’t moved.
“Well?” said Alex, prodding the lump. “Have you found it yet?”
The sausage-shaped lump made no reply.
“Come on, Francis,” said Ibby kindly. “We’ll help you look.”
The lump was silent.
“I don’t know why he’s being like this,” said Alex crossly. “He’s only got himself to blame.”
Ibby sighed. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for Francis. He hadn’t meant to lose the Disappearing Coin – and it must be horrible knowing that no one could see you. She sat on the edge of the bed and patted the lump’s back. “Don’t worry, Francis,” she said. “It’s bound to wear off eventually.”
But the lump remained unmoved.
“Ignore him,” said Alex. “We’ll find the coin ourselves.” So Ibby turned on the light and Alex switched on the metal detector, and they had just begun beeping systematically across the carpet when Aunt Carole came up and asked them what they were doing making all this noise while Francis was trying to sleep. So, much to Alex’s annoyance, they had to switch off the detector, put out the light, and leave the lump in silence.
“Good night, Francis,” whispered Ibby.
From the lump there was no reply.
Francis, meanwhile, was making the most of being invisible. First, he had walked straight past the ticket kiosk and gone into the fair without paying. Then he had climbed onto one of the horses on the merry-go-round and enjoyed three turns before another boy chose to ride the same horse, which meant that Francis had to jump off quickly. Next (since he hadn’t had any dinner) Francis wandered round the fairground tearing bits off people’s candyfloss and stealing licks from ice creams. (One little girl watched, speechless, as several bits of popcorn rose out of her container and disappeared in mid-air.) After that, Francis spent a satisfying half-hour in the haunted house, shouting “BOO!” into people’s ears, and by the time he emerged it was getting dark. The fairground rides were all lit up and flashing like Christmas trees. And there it was – the best ride of all – towering high above the fairground against a starry sky: the Ferris wheel.
Francis ducked under the barrier and scrambled into an empty carriage. He had only just put the bar down before the wheel began turning. Up, up, up he went, until he could see the whole fairground spread out below – and beyond, to the twinkling lights of distant towns. Then down, down, down again, back among the heady smells of popcorn and fried onions.
Every time the ride ended, Francis stayed put. And when the next passengers tried to climb into his carriage, he leaned on the bar so they couldn’t lift it up. Eventually the operators put a sign on his carriage that said: OUT OF ORDER.
Francis sighed happily. It was wonderful being invisible. He could ride the Ferris wheel all night. And think of all the other things he could do: he could follow Alex and his f
riends around without them even knowing he was there; he could creep downstairs and watch television with his mother when he was supposed to be in bed – and, best of all, he need never wash his face or brush his hair again!
It was while he was thinking these happy thoughts that Francis realized the Ferris wheel had stopped. One by one the carriages had emptied, and when Francis looked down he saw the last couple climbing out. People were making their way to the exit. The popcorn seller was packing up. Then the operators flicked a switch and all the lights on the Ferris wheel went out.
“Hey!” yelled Francis, rattling the bar.
But nobody heard him. His cries were drowned out by shouts of “Good night!” and “See you tomorrow!” Doors slammed and engines revved and vans bumped out through the gate. Sooner than you’d expect, the fairground was deserted, leaving only silent rides and a field littered with popcorn containers and empty wrappers. And above it all rose a plaintive wail: “I want to go home!”
It can get cold at the top of a Ferris wheel at night – and windy too – and you get just as cold when you’re invisible as you do when everyone can see you. Colder, even. The wind grew stronger and the frame of the Ferris wheel shuddered. Francis considered getting out and climbing down, but with one leg over the side of his carriage, the ground looked a long way away. He put his leg back in again. And then it began to rain. It came in gusts, flinging itself against the sides of the carriage like grit. Francis huddled in one corner of the seat with his cheek pressed against the wet vinyl and the raindrops mingling with his tears – and for the first time in his life, he knew what it was like to feel truly invisible.
But morning always comes. Finally, the rain stopped and the sky began to pale low down over the horizon. Gradually it got brighter and brighter. Cars started moving on distant roads, the first starling began to sing and then, like a fanfare, a blinding sun appeared. And Francis knew that the worst was over.
It was a jogger who raised the alarm. As she was passing the fairground gate she heard a faint cry: “Up here!” It sounded as though it was coming from the top of the Ferris wheel – and to confirm it, one of the uppermost carriages was rocking impatiently.
“Hold on!” she called through cupped hands. “Help is on the way!”
Soon the police arrived, and the fairground workers too, and they started the Ferris wheel turning. But it was most mysterious; when the uppermost carriages descended, they were seen to be unoccupied. No one could figure it out. The Ferris wheel operators were convinced it was a ghost.
Of course, what had really happened was that as soon as his carriage had come down, the invisible Francis had climbed stiffly out, hurried back to his bike, and cycled home. He found the front door locked and the house quiet, so he put a ladder up against the wall and climbed back in through his bedroom window. Then he changed into his pyjamas and fell, exhausted, into bed.
When Francis didn’t come down for breakfast his mother went upstairs and found him sound asleep. “Wake up, sleepy-head!” she said.
Francis sat up – and saw his mother smiling fondly at him, just as usual. “Mum?” he said. “Can you see me?”
“Silly sausage! Of course I can see you!” said Aunt Carole. “And what’s that all around your mouth? It looks like toothpaste.”
“It’s ice cream,” said Francis, tasting it.
Aunt Carole laughed. “Get dressed, silly,” she said. “I’ve got a special treat for you today. We’re going to the fair!”
CHAPTER 11
The Life Cycle
“AN IMPRESSIVE VISUAL EFFECT.”
They never did find the Disappearing Coin. They found plenty of other things: a pen lid, a doll’s arm, a missing piece from one of Francis’s jigsaws. But no coin. Alex was furious. He had been looking forward to sneaking invisibly into the nine-screen cinema in Greater Wittering and spending whole weekends in there, wandering from film to film and living on popcorn and fizzy drinks after everyone else had gone home.
“From now on,” he said. “I do the tricks alone.”
“That’s not fair!” protested Francis.
“Tough,” said Alex, and he took the magic set and marched back to his room. Francis hurried after him, protesting, and hammered on the door until Aunt Carole came upstairs and told him to leave his brother alone.
Alex remained in his room for the rest of the morning. From time to time Ibby and Francis went and put their ears to the door – but all was strangely quiet. Ibby thought that every now and again she heard a page turn, but Francis thought it sounded more like cards being shuffled.
“What are you doing in there?” he shouted.
There was no reply.
Alex emerged at lunchtime. He looked smug and secretive, but when Francis asked him what he had been doing, he just tapped the side of his nose in an irritating manner and said, “All in good time.”
Then, that afternoon, Aunt Carole went out. “I’m going to town to do the food shop,” she said. “Will you be all right on your own?”
They all assured her that they would.
“Oh! And I nearly forgot. I’m expecting a delivery today. Some geraniums. Ask the man to put them in the kitchen, would you, Alex?”
Alex said he would.
“Be good then, everyone,” said Aunt Carole. And out she went, slamming the door behind her.
The moment she had gone, Alex said, “Right!” and ran upstairs.
Ibby and Francis both jumped up and hurried after him. “You aren’t going to do anything silly, are you?” said Ibby.
Alex just grinned. He went straight to his room and put on the black top hat and satin cloak. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “Prepare to be astonished! Prepare to be amazed! Before your very eyes I will be transformed!”
“Transformed?” said Ibby anxiously. “Transformed into what?”
“Myself. But older.”
Francis looked perplexed. “Older?”
“Yes.” Alex opened the instruction booklet at a place marked with a leather bookmark. At the top of the page it said: The Life Cycle. Most of the page was taken up by a large circle broken at intervals by little illustrations. It looked a lot like the life cycle of the frog that you find in biology books at school – only here, instead of frog spawn and tadpoles, the pictures were of people. At the top of the circle was a baby with a nappy on. At the three o’clock position were a boy and a girl standing hand in hand with no clothes on. At the bottom of the circle were a man and a woman wearing fig leaves, and at the nine o’clock position was a bent old couple leaning on sticks.
“I’m here,” said Alex, pointing to the boy and the girl holding hands. “And when I do the trick, I advance one stage forward, to here.” And he pointed at the man and the woman wearing fig leaves.
“You want to grow up?” said Francis doubtfully.
Alex took the hand mirror out of the magic set. “It’s all done with mirrors,” he explained. “You’ve got to say the magic words while looking at the back of your head – that’s why they give you the hand mirror. Then when you look at your face again you see that you’ve moved into the next stage of the Life Cycle.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” said Ibby nervously. “What will Aunt Carole say? What if—”
But Alex had already marched past them, gone into the bathroom, and locked the door.
Once inside the bathroom, Alex turned his back to the sink and held up the hand mirror. If he positioned himself correctly, he could just about see the back of his head reflected in the mirror above the sink. Perfect! Alex couldn’t wait to be an adult. When you were an adult you didn’t have your little brother following you around, did you? And you didn’t have your mother telling you what to do either. When you were an adult you could go wherever you liked and do whatever you wanted. Perhaps he’d become a professional magician, like his Uncle Godfrey. Just think – he might become famous!
Alex considered his reflection thoughtfully. If he was going to be on television he had better s
marten himself up a little.
Outside, Ibby and Francis had their ears to the bathroom door. They heard the cabinet above the sink open and close. Then they heard the hiss of deodorant spray, and the scuff of someone brushing their hair.
“What are you doing?” called Francis.
There was no reply. Presently they heard muttering, and a little while later there was a hoarse yell and the sound of something clattering to the floor.
“Are you all right?” cried Ibby.
Next, they heard a tap running and water splashing in the sink, and what sounded like someone’s cheeks being slapped. A heady scent came wafting under the door.
“Let us in!” yelled Francis, rattling the handle.
“Good grief!” said an unexpectedly deep voice. “Can’t a fellow get a minute’s peace?” Then the bolt went back, the door flew open – and there stood a tall, slim, moustached man whom neither of them had ever seen before.
“Alex?” they said.
“Well?” said the man-who-had-been-Alex. “What do you think?”
There was an uncomfortable silence. The truth was, if it hadn’t been for the top hat and the satin cloak they would never have recognized him. His face was longer and thinner than it had been, and on his upper lip he wore a bristly little moustache. He was taller too. His sweatshirt exposed a wide expanse of midriff, and his jeans looked uncomfortably tight.
“Well?” said Alex, pushing up his sleeves.
Ibby hesitated. “You’re very …” She searched for the right words. “Very …”
“Old,” said Francis, awed.
The man-who-had-been-Alex frowned. “Old?” he said. “I’m not old! I’m in the prime of life!” And he made an irritated sound and marched back to his room. The others watched from the doorway as he pulled a flattened rucksack out from the bottom of his wardrobe, then began going round the room stuffing things into it.