Invisible!

by Robert Swindells

The nurse looked sympathetic. ‘Yes, it must take a lot of keeping up, a place like this. Weren’t the paintings insured?’

  ‘Oh no, dear. Far too expensive, insurance. They expect you to install all sorts of alarms and lights and whatnot which cost a fortune, and when you say you can’t afford it they refuse to insure.’

  The nurse shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Massingberd, really I am.’ She smiled. ‘If you’re sure there’s nothing more I can do for you, I’d best be on my way.’

  ‘Windows.’

  ‘Windows?’

  ‘Yes, windows. Or rather, their frames. They’re the most urgent problem. Rotten wood, you see.’

  ‘Ah – yes, I see. Well …’

  ‘Practically falling out, some of them. Rattle on windy nights. One good storm and – whoosh! – they’ll be gone. Then where shall we be?’

  ‘I … really don’t know, Miss Massingberd. I’ll see you tomorr …’

  ‘Man was up just a couple of days ago. Carpenter fellow from the village, what’s his name? Kipper. Kepler. Something like that. I’d called him to come and inspect the frames, you see. Prepare an estimate. Well, I expected there’d be money, from the paintings. Now …’ The old lady shrugged. ‘Nothing. Not a bean. Better if I’d sold the bally pictures years …’ She broke off and gazed at the nurse. ‘Don’t you have patients waiting, dear? Oughtn’t you to be on your round, or whatever it’s called?’

  Charlotte let out a long, careful sigh as the nurse picked up her bag and departed in an antiseptic waft. Thought she’d never go. She looked across at Rosie, who nodded towards the door and mouthed the word out. Miss Massingberd’s head was nodding. With visits from the police and the nurse she’d had a tiring morning, but if she’d known five invisible callers were tiptoeing past her chair, she’d have found it less easy to fall asleep.

  The five had put twenty metres between themselves and the conservatory when Carrie whistled.

  ‘Jeez, that was scary! You don’t feel invisible, do you?’

  Peter shook his head. ‘No, but you certainly feel bare.’ He giggled. ‘I kept expecting the old bird to look at me and say, Where are your clothes, young man?’

  Conrad nodded. ‘Me too. I couldn’t believe we could just stand there and they wouldn’t know.’

  ‘What about me?’ squealed Charlotte. ‘That nurse actually brushed me with her skirt as she went past. I nearly died.’

  Rosie smiled. ‘You all did fine. Much quieter than last time.’

  Peter scoffed. ‘We flipping well had to be didn’t we, with people two metres away.’

  ‘Millimetres,’ amended Charlotte.

  Rosie nodded. ‘That’s another thing. You’ve got to make sure nobody actually touches you, because that’s an even bigger give-away than hearing something.’

  Conrad looked back at the Manor. ‘Are we leaving already? We didn’t do much searching for clues.’

  Rosie shook her head. ‘We don’t have to leave. I thought you might have had enough, what with the scare and all. Who’s for staying?’

  ‘I’m all right,’ murmured Peter.

  ‘Me too.’ This from Charlotte.

  Carrie nodded. ‘We’re OK, Rosie. What shall we …’ She broke off at the sudden noise of a car engine.

  Rosie grinned. ‘Don’t panic, it’s only Florence Nightingale.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The nurse, you spack. Leaving.’

  ‘Oh. Oh yeah.’

  They stood on the overgrown lawn, listening. The engine noise receded till the wind in the grass was louder. Then they wandered back towards the house, giving the conservatory and its sleeping occupant a wide berth.

  They circled the Manor, combing neglected flower-beds and peering into shrubs, finding nothing. When they reached the south wall again, Rosie advanced alone to examine the freshly boarded window and the ground under it. Through the streaky panes she could see the back of Miss Massingberd’s chair and the top of the old lady’s head. Traces of a silvery powder on the window frame meant the police had dusted for fingerprints. There was nothing else.

  ‘Waste of time,’ growled Peter as the five picked their way towards the ice house.

  Rosie shrugged. ‘Good invisibility practice, if nothing else.’

  ‘Hope nobody’s swiped our stuff,’ murmured Charlotte.

  ‘Hey.’ Carrie’s eyes sparkled. ‘What if the thieves have hidden the paintings in the ice house?’

  Her twin scowled. ‘Why the heck would they do that, dipstick?’

  ‘I dunno. Too heavy to carry, perhaps. You know – come back later with a truck?’

  Rosie grinned. ‘Suppose they come back while we’re in there, just as we go visible?’

  ‘Oooh!’ Charlotte shivered. ‘Don’t say that, Rosie, for goodness’ sake. It’s going to take me all my time to go back into that place as it is.’

  The ice house lay silent under its canopy of trees. Their clothes were undisturbed. They dressed quickly, crowded into the half-light by the door. Truth was, they’d spooked themselves with talk of the thieves. They knew they had to circle once more in the inky blackness and nobody fancied it.

  Halfway round, a heavy hand fell on Conrad’s shoulder and a voice growled in his ear, Gotcha, you miserable young snooper. The boy’s scream nearly blew the roof off, and it was ten minutes before he was able to complete the circle on rubber legs. Rosie had got her revenge.

  Mummy Bear plucked the pegs from a pair of jeans, folded the garment over her arm and handed the pegs to Rosie, who dropped them in the bag. A sunny day and a light breeze had dried the washing beautifully. Now, at dusk, big moths looped round the fire Daddy Bear was tending a few metres away. He’d built it downwind of the line so smoke wouldn’t spoil the clean clothes. He’d cook dinner over the fire and later they’d sit round it till bedtime, talking.

  ‘So.’ Mummy Bear took down a jumper. ‘What did you do today, Rosie?’

  ‘Oh, I met some of the kids at Sizzlers.’ Rosie dropped pegs in the bag. ‘We went invisible and had a snoop round Inchlake Manor.’

  ‘You did? What for?’

  ‘I thought we might find a clue to who burgled the place.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Ah-ha.’ The line was empty. Her mother dumped the last of the clothes in the basket and straightened up. ‘You are being careful who you teach invisibility to, aren’t you, sweetheart? It’s a dangerous skill in the wrong hands, you know.’

  Rosie nodded. ‘I know, Mummy Bear. I wouldn’t give it to anybody who’d use it in bad ways.’

  Mummy Bear smiled. ‘I know you wouldn’t, Rosie. Come over to the fire and tell Daddy Bear and me all about these friends.’

  ‘Well, there are four of them,’ began Rosie, when they’d settled themselves. Daddy Bear leaned forward with a long spoon to stir the stewpot. ‘Two girls and two boys. The girls’ names are Carrie and Charlotte, and the boys are called Peter and Conrad. Carrie and Conrad are twins. Charlotte goes to a different school but she’s Carrie’s best friend. Peter saved me from a bully.’

  Daddy Bear smiled through fragrant steam. ‘It’s good you have friends, Rosie. I bet I can guess what you’re calling yourselves.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Inchlake Invisibles.’

  ‘How’d you know that?’

  He laughed. ‘It’s not that hard, sweetheart. Let’s see: so far this year we’ve had the Pilgrim Invisibles, the Appleby Invisibles and now the Inchlake Invisibles. Last year it was the Whitby Invisibles and the Kirk Yetholm Invisibles. Next year …’

  ‘Yeah, OK OK.’ Rosie lifted a hand. ‘I know I’m not big on originality, but what can you call a gang that makes itself invisible?’

  Her father chuckled, shaking his head. ‘It doesn’t matter, honeybunch. You make friends everywhere we drag you, and that’s what matters. Bring ’em over one evening and we’ll have a barbecue.’

  Rosie grinned. ‘Thanks, Daddy Bear, that’ll be really cool.
’

  Daddy Bear smiled. ‘Better do it before the end of the month or it won’t be just cool, it’ll be bitterly cold.’ He lifted the spoon and tasted the stew. ‘Mmmm. I reckon this is just about ready if you want to pass your plates.’

  ‘Rosemary Walk.’ Miss Blackburn plucked Rosie’s essay from the top of the pile and frowned at it. ‘I asked everybody to write a piece entitled My Family. I expected factual pieces.’ She looked at Rosie over the top of her half-moon glasses. ‘You may remember we talked last week about different sorts of writing. Fiction was one sort. What is fiction, Rosemary?’

  ‘Miss, it’s made-up stories with characters instead of real people.’

  ‘And factual writing?’

  ‘Miss, factual writing’s about real people and actual events, like history and that.’

  ‘Correct. So why did you give me a piece which mixes fact with fiction?’

  ‘I didn’t, miss. Everything’s true that I wrote.’

  ‘No, Rosemary, it is not.’ The teacher read from the top sheet. ‘I have no sisters or brothers. There’s just Mum and Dad and me. My dad’s name is Daddy Bear, my mum’s is Mummy Bear.’

  Some of the children sniggered. Miss Blackburn gazed at Rosie. ‘Daddy Bear is not a name, you silly girl, and neither is Mummy Bear. Since your surname is Walk, I assume your parents are Mr and Mrs Walk. If you don’t know their first names, Mr and Mrs Walk will be quite sufficient.’ She skated the essay across Rosie’s table. ‘Corrections in the margin, please, and no more fairy tales unless I ask for them.’

  As the teacher moved on, Rosie straightened the essay and rested her fists on it, blushing furiously.

  Carrie leaned towards her. ‘Never mind, Rosie. She’d have a cow if she knew what we call her.’

  Rosie smiled briefly. Miss Blackburn’s nickname was Blackbum. ‘I know, Carrie, but these are Mum and Dad’s names. Dad says you’ve got the right to be called anything you choose.’

  ‘Ah, but your dad’s not in old Blackbum’s class, is he?’

  ‘Wish he was. He’d sort her out, quick-sticks. Anyway, can you come to a barbecue Friday after school?’

  ‘A barbecue? Where?’

  ‘Our place. And will you ask Charlotte?’

  ‘I’ll have to ask my mum first. She’s not keen on me going in the woods in broad daylight, never mind after school. Can Conrad come, if we get permission?’

  ‘’Course. All the Inchlake Invisibles. Tell your mum you’ll be perfectly safe with my folks. I’ll mention it to Peter at break.’

  ‘Are you chattering, Rosemary Walk?’ Miss Blackburn’s voice was like a whiplash. The two girls sprang apart.

  ‘Just borrowing Carrie’s ruler, miss.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ The teacher eyeballed Rosie. ‘You will be sure and give it back, won’t you, Rosemary? Can’t have things going astray in our classroom, can we?’

  ‘No, miss.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Rosie. I can’t believe old Blackbum said that.’

  ‘It’s OK, Carrie. Not your fault. Some people are like that about travellers.’ It was break-time. The two girls were in a far corner of the playing field, close to the fairy ring.

  Carrie shook her head. ‘Not fair though. You’d think a teacher’d know better.’

  Rosie pulled a face. ‘She’s my gran’s age, and my gran used to say this nursery rhyme to me when I was little:

  My mother said

  I never should

  Play with the gipsies

  In the wood.

  ‘They used to tell kids gipsies would steal them, you see. Take them away. No wonder older people think gipsies are thieves.’ She grinned. ‘I bet Gran would’ve had a fit if she’d known her own daughter was about to become a traveller.’

  ‘Get your ruler back, did you?’ The girls turned to find Lee Kippax leering at them. He was with Carl Foxcroft and Rex Fairclough as usual.

  Carrie looked at him. ‘Yes I did, not that it’s any of your business.’

  The bully nodded. ‘And is your dad going to give the pictures back too, gipsy?’

  ‘My dad hasn’t got any pictures, apple-thief.’

  ‘Oy!’ Kippax raised his fist. ‘Don’t call me a thief. Nobody calls Lee Kippax a thief.’

  ‘Don’t call me gipsy, then. The correct term is traveller.’

  ‘Ho.’ He put on a la-di-da voice. ‘So that’s the correct term, his hit? Haim sorry hif I caused hoffence.’ His two friends guffawed.

  ‘Go away, Kippax.’ This from Carrie. ‘And take your mutants with you.’

  ‘That’s not very nice, is it?’ He looked at his companions. ‘D’you hear what she called you, lads? Mutants. I’d be hurt if it was me. You know – inside. I’d want to lash out. Fancy lashing out do you, Carl? Rex?’

  A slow smile warped Foxcroft’s features. ‘Yeah. Now you come to mention it, Kipper, I do. How about you, Fairy?’

  Fairclough nodded. ‘I like a good lash out, Foxy, you know that.’

  ‘So what are we waiting for?’ Kippax advanced on the two girls. This corner was a long way from the staffroom window. There’d be no witnesses.

  ‘Wait.’ Rosie held up a hand. ‘Watch.’ She stepped into the ring and shuffled backwards, arms outstretched.

  The bully hesitated. ‘What’s your game, gipsy? How d’you mean, wait? Nobody tells Lee Kipp … huh?’ He shook his head, rubbed his eyes and goggled at Rosie’s empty uniform. ‘Carl? Rex? Has she just … am I going nuts?’

  ‘She’s vanished,’ croaked Foxcroft. ‘That right, Fairy?’

  ‘Y … yeah.’ Fairclough scowled at Carrie. ‘Here – how’s she do that, kid?’

  ‘Never mind how I do it.’ Rosie’s voice came from the air above her empty clothes. ‘Think about this - I can vanish, and I can do other things too – stuff you wouldn’t believe. So if I were you I’d think twice before messing with me, or any of my friends. OK?’

  ‘Er … yeah, right. Come on Kipper, let’s …’

  The trio drifted away with many backward glances. Rosie waited till they were off the field, then went visible. She grinned at Carrie.

  ‘Useful skill, or what?’

  Halfway through Maths Miss Blackburn said, ‘Are you feeling ill, Lee Kippax?’

  Lee was sitting with his elbows on the table and his face in his hands. He shook his head. ‘I dunno, miss.’

  ‘You don’t know whether you feel ill or not?’

  ‘No, miss.’

  ‘Is it the work? Something you don’t understand, perhaps?’

  ‘No, miss, it’s not the work.’

  ‘Well, if you’re not ill and you understand the work, why aren’t you getting on with it?’

  ‘Dunno, miss.’

  ‘No, Lee, and neither do I. If you have no explanation for me, perhaps you’d care to explain yourself to Mr Beecroft. Would you?’

  ‘If you like, miss.’

  ‘It’s not a question of what I like, Lee. You’re here to work, and if you won’t work you must expect to suffer the consequences. Go to Mr Beecroft’s office at once and tell him why I sent you.’

  ‘Come.’ The Head looked up as Lee walked in. ‘Now, Lee Kippax, what can I do for you?’

  ‘Sir, Miss Blackburn sent me because I wasn’t getting on with my work.’

  ‘Really?’ He gazed at the boy under beetling brows. ‘And why weren’t you working, Lee?’

  ‘Dunno, sir.’

  ‘Something the matter at home, perhaps? Something you’d like to talk to me about?’

  ‘No sir. Well … yes, sir, but it’s not about home. It’s about that new girl – Rosie Walk.’

  ‘A girl.’ The brows arched. ‘Not in love are we, Lee?’

  Kippax blushed furiously. ‘No, sir. She … can make herself disappear.’

  ‘Disappear?’ The Head’s eyes narrowed. ‘What on earth are you talking about, boy?’

  ‘Please, sir, I saw her. On the field. Carl Foxcroft and Rex Fairclough saw her too.’

  Mr Beecroft shook
his head. ‘Never mind Carl Foxcroft and Rex Fairclough. We’re talking about you, Lee Kippax.’ He clasped his hands on the desktop, sat back in his swivel chair and sighed. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, sir, me and … we were on the field, and the new girl was there with Carrie Waugh.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘We … I said something to them, sir. Sort of a joke, and then the new girl got in the fairy ring and the next thing I knew …’

  ‘Fairy ring?’

  ‘Yessir, there’s a fairy ring. She got in it and like – vanished. There was just her clothes, sir.’

  ‘Just her clothes? You mean, in a heap on the ground?’

  ‘No, sir, they were standing up, but she wasn’t inside them. They were like hollow, sir.’

  ‘I see.’ The Head leaned forward, scrutinizing Lee’s features. ‘Have you been sniffing something, laddie?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Have you swallowed something, then? A pill, perhaps? Did you take a pill from somebody?’

  ‘No, sir, it was real, honest. We all saw it.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Mr Beecroft sat back and folded his hands on his stomach. ‘You realize that what you’ve told me is quite impossible, don’t you?’

  ‘I … thought so, sir, yes, but …’

  ‘And yet you’re convinced you saw it?’

  ‘Yessir.’

  ‘Well, I can’t pretend I understand, Lee, so I think perhaps we’d better have your father in.’

  ‘No, sir, don’t tell my dad, please. He’ll kill me.’

  ‘Oh come now, Lee, why should your father kill you just because you’ve suffered some sort of hallucination? He might want to take you to a doctor, but …’

  ‘I made it up, sir.’

  ‘Ah, now that’s more like it, Lee. That I understand perfectly.’ He leaned forward. ‘Feeling lazy, are we? Bit bored, so we decide we’ll invent a story to liven things up a bit. Is that it?’

  The boy nodded miserably. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Yes, and perhaps we can get the new girl into trouble while we’re about it, eh? Little bonus, so to speak?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’ He sat back and regarded Lee through half-closed eyes. ‘Like most bullies, Lee Kippax, you’re a fool. What are you?’