DEAD GOOD

by Cooper, D A

  ‘Tell him you think their reasons were entirely superficial and selfish,’ he calls over to me, crossing his arms. I nod ever so slightly in confirmation. Which I’m hoping makes me look super-intelligent.

  ‘Well….’ I say, poking my chin with my pencil thoughtfully. ‘I think… and this is purely my own viewpoint…’ I add for greater special effect, ‘that their reasons were probably mostly selfish and entirely superficial.’ I nod just the once to show how satisfied I am with my reply.

  Mr Mason slaps the board loudly with his hand and I flinch. Bugger Leo and his words of wisdom. Now I’m stuffed.

  ‘You see?!’ Mr Mason says. ‘Even we, nearly sixty years later with just these brief facts at our disposal can see how phoney and self-seeking these so-called world leaders truly were! Good, Maddie. Let’s turn to the atrocities on page 74 and see what we make of those now shall we?’

  I breathe out v-e-r-y slowly and silently thank whichever god was paying attention just then. Or just Leo.

  “Good Maddie” I repeat in my head. Good Maddie. Never before – especially in a History lesson – have the words Good and Maddie ever been placed alongside each other in the same sentence. And my god, but wasn’t my reply a bit… well, vague? And a bit… well, opinion-based rather than fact-based? I mean, surely my answer can’t have been the one he wanted? Surely?

  ‘He’s not after the “right” answer, Maddie,’ Leo is crouched down beside my desk now as Mr Mason is stroking a chart on the whiteboard. ‘He wants you to use your brain and think about what happened back then. He just needs to know that what he’s teaching you is being understood and ultimately that it’s making you more aware that people – world leaders especially – weren’t really any different then than they are now. Yeah?’

  Bearing in mind my current state of tormented irritation, mainly due to a persistent dead person who won’t leave me alone, I am actually quite lifted right now. I can only equate the feeling to noticing that clouds are moving away as the first shaft of sunlight breaks through the sky.

  ‘Ever tried your hand at allegorical verse?’ Leo smiles before dissolving away.

  sixteen

  I cannot remember a time when I had more fun at school. Unless you count nursery and Early Years of course. I mean, I’m sure I had a lot of fun when I was little but since I’ve actually been having to learn stuff, proper stuff – proper meaningful stuff that ends up with a SATS test or a mock GCSE then the word ‘fun’ hasn’t exactly been a word I’ve ever associated with school. Even breaks and the odd social occasion like Proms have always held a certain amount of anxiety largely due to the fact they’re always full of students and teachers I guess. I’d started to believe that once my GCSE’s were over then that would quite easily, thankfully, be that. But since today’s lessons went so well I feel slightly more in tune with what I’m supposed to be learning and the way my teachers responded to some of the things I said.

  Y’know, I said a lot more today than I think I ever have in a whole term before – and some of it was entirely unprovoked. I even put my hand up in English to ask the teacher to clarify something she was speaking about. And she seemed delighted to repeat what she’d already said and even embellish on it. Ha! I thought she’d have gone mental at me for not paying enough attention to start with – not the opposite! I’m beginning to see what Leo meant when he said that teachers aren’t out to get me – they just want to get the best out of me. Clever boy. And of course the more I learn, the more they earn, right?

  ‘Not exactly,’ he’s beside me again as we walk from Amber’s house back home. ‘Teachers get paid a pittance – for what they have to put up with.’

  ‘Yeah right.’ I laugh. ‘The pay’s crap but the holidays make up for it?’

  ‘I guess. And did you know that after Social Workers, Teachers have the most time off sick from work due to depression and other stress-related illnesses?’

  I didn’t. ‘I do now,’ I say.

  ‘He’s been a bit miserable,’ Leo says and I turn, shocked. What, so he can hear a thought even before I’ve thought it now then? How did he know I was wondering what I was going to be facing when I got back home?

  ‘Just a considered guess,’ he tries to explain. ‘like that word-association thing that Psychiatrists get you to do, you know?’

  ‘No. I mean yes I know the game but I don’t know about Psychiatrists.’

  ‘Your dad thinks he’s failing you all,’ Leo continues. ‘It’s been a bit strained actually. Your mum feels like she’s treading on eggshells ‘round him and trying not to mention the J.O.B. word and hoping that he’ll miraculously snap out of it and he’s waiting for some encouragement from her. It’s one of those horrible, uncomfortable...’

  ‘Catch 22 situations,’ I finish for him. ‘Shit.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he agrees. ‘And you think being stuck here in limbo is all fun, eh?’ he tries to make me smile. ‘Sometimes I just don’t have enough hours in the day!’ he moans theatrically and then bounds in front of me and does his walking backwards thing like he did before because I’m not responding to his attempts at cheering me. Typical. I have an unusually, no - unprecedented Good Day at school and now this has to bloody well happen. Flippin’ great. Now I don’t want to go home. It used to be the other way around. I didn’t want to go to school and I couldn’t wait to get home. Shit and double shit.

  When I get back, it looks like dad hasn’t moved since I left this morning. He must have, surely?

  ‘Don’t worry – he has moved.’ Leo says soothingly. ‘He’s been to the loo - twice. He’s eaten – not much but a sandwich – and, oh – he’s just come back from the corner shop with a copy of last week’s paper for the Jobs section and he’s been sitting there…’

  ‘Okay, okay!’ I hiss as quietly as possible, holding up my hand to ghost-boy. What? Do I look like a need a running bloody commentary on all my father’s movements from this morning up until now? Hmm? Do I? I hope to hell this thought is loud enough to shut him up, I really do.

  ‘Hey!’ I try all breezily as I swing my bag through the door and throw it down beside Dad at the table. ‘Good day?’ I am suddenly mindful that this scenario is a bit… well… contradictory. Usually it’s mum and dad who are asking me how my day went. This is feeling weird already and he still hasn’t answered me yet.

  I don’t often think things like this but I want my mummy. She’d know what to do or say to defuse this abnormal state of affairs.

  As if by cue, she comes through the door carrying a heavy-looking Davey who looks completely wiped out. Which seems to be the norm since he started Nursery. I guess it is exhausting for his tender little body and I feel an unusual rush of love for the dribbling bundle of brother. Bless.

  ‘Maddie, you’re back,’ she says with a sigh. I bite back the urge to congratulate her on stating the obvious because I’m trying to be tactful. I know that this whole new-house-no-money- general-misery is not worth making any worse than it already is with my so-called clever remarks. My dad doesn’t even look up from the paper he has spread out on the table. I can see he’s ringed about three small ads with red pen and wish I could see exactly what it is he’s thinking of applying for.

  ‘Take Davey from me, lovey, will you?’ Mum says. ‘Just stick him on the sofa or … oh, actually…’ she glances quickly at Dad and I’m guessing she’s calculating how loud their “discussions” can get before they wake him up and perhaps just leaving him next door on the sofa is not going to cut it. ‘…ah… just take him up to his bed will you?’ she nods stair-wards, ‘okay?’

  I haul both our limp frames upstairs and into Davey’s room, kicking his door open and then shut as gently as I can so that I don’t get one of them hollering up “there’s no need for that!” which I’m almost certain would happen if the incorrect decibel of noise were overstretched. And they think I’m complicated!

  I sit on the side of Davey’s bed and watch as he rolls into a more comfortable position and tugs on his stuffed dinos
aur which he has wedged under one arm. He looks the picture of sweetness and innocence. Which I guess he kind of is. For the minute at least. I sigh. My head is thumping and I wonder if I should maybe stay upstairs and let mum and dad sort out whatever it is they have to – without fighting please – and get on with my homework whilst it’s still fresh in my mind…. now there’s a first! Or whether I should go and referee any kind of parental altercation before it even starts.

  ‘I’d leave it if I were you,’ Leo says as his body forms properly in Davey’s doorway. ‘They seem to be talking to each other like mature adults… which they are, I know… what I mean is they’re not…’

  ‘Ripping each other to shreds.’ I finish for him, sighing again. ‘Jeez, parents eh? Who the hell’d have ‘em!’

  It’s about ten seconds before I realise he’s raised his hand and is looking more than a leetle sad. My heart sinks. Stupid. Stupid remark. Of course – he’d have his parents, wouldn’t he? Given the chance he’d probably be back with them in a heartbeat. If he still had one, of course. Which again begs the question “Why does he hang around here so much when he could be with them?”

  ‘That’s a good one,’ he says and slides his (non)body down the wall and sits cross-legged on the floor in front of me. ‘I don’t know how to explain it – but it makes me even sadder to be where they are. Now that they’re alone I mean…’

  ‘But don’t they live with your uncle? At the restaurant?’

  ‘Yeah. No, what I really meant was that they’re alone. Y’know - without us – their family, their kids. I don’t exactly know how badly they must be feeling because I’ve never had kids but if it feels even half the way it feels for me, being able to see them but not being able to speak to them, or touch them– then it must hurt like hell. Plus, don’t forget I could hear whatever they were thinking when I was there – so, no more.’

  The pain in his eyes is even more visible than all his blurry bodyparts put together. This is one sad ghost-boy. My heart lurches. Okay, so I may moan and swear about my mum and dad but I’ve never really given much thought to how I’d feel if they weren’t here. I mean, they’re always here. Even through this whole shitty mess we’re in right now. Which – okay, could probably be blamed on my parents… well, parent…Okay then – Gordon Brown if we want to be accurate. But how would Davey and I feel if we were Leo and Mia? What if we’d died somehow tragically – even nicely - IS there a nice way to die? I’ll ponder that later. But what if Davey and I were left drifting aimlessly through a land called Limbo and weren’t able to touch or talk to or in any way communicate with mum and dad and we had to spend all our time seeing how sad they were and how much they missed us? God, that would make me so unhappy I’d want to die.

  Ah.

  Jeez, then what Leo and Mia are having to endure must be torture. Like a kind of….

  ‘Purgatory.’ He says simply, his head bowed.

  ‘Precisely,’ I agree although I don’t really understand what he means, so I add ‘Probably.’

  ‘Like in Dante’s Inferno?,’ Leo helps, ‘Purgatory was supposed to be a place or state of temporary punishment meant to cleanse those destined for heaven but not quite ready for it.’

  My mouth is open and my eyebrows are high above my eyes which feel like they may fall out. I am not a classic beauty right now but his words send a chill right through me and all the hairs are standing up on my arms and from my neck down my back. The fact I never realised I have hairs on my back I’ll address later. They’re not important right now. What is important I realise, is that I have to do something to help this boy and his sister. And more importantly, to help their parents who probably still think of them as charred lumps of human-charcoal in a burnt-out shell that used to be their home.

  ‘Nice image,’ Leo says sarcastically.

  seventeen

  I need an ally. I need someone on side who can help me sort this whole horrible situation out. And by ‘situation’ of course I’m referring to Leo’s awful state of limbo. And his sisters’ and grandparents’. Which reminds me I still haven’t properly met Leo’s Nonno apart from when I leapt over his body on the landing that night. And I can certainly get through the day without encountering four ghosts in the house at once, that’s for sure.

  After witnessing Leo’s pain last night it’s made me realise that something has to be done to help either Leo and his ghostly associates or his still-living parents and their extended relatives. Or both. In fact it’d be great if everyone benefited from my endeavours. I can’t hold out too much hope of that happening, though, I mean I’m not exactly a fully-qualified ghost-aid worker, am I? I didn’t even believe they really existed until a few days ago either. So you could actually call me a complete novice.

  Which is where I hope Amber comes in.

  ‘I knew you weren’t telling me everything!’ she squeals as we’re walking to school this morning. Thankfully we’re not in the process of stalking two fitties this time so we can pretty much focus on the discussion in hand.

  ‘I wasn’t sure you wouldn’t tell everyone I was some kind of headcase,’ I try explaining. ‘- and I’d end up labelled a total jerk with all the other freaks at school… sorry,’ I add as I notice her face fall a bit.

  ‘S’okay,’ she dismisses my apology. ‘I know what you mean. It’s scary how stuff gets around school so fast sometimes. That time Sadie Harpur had her abortion was the worst… I think I’d have changed schools. Or died….this is so not going any further than here, I’m promising you!’ she slaps a hand sensationally at her chest and I almost expect her to launch into an “all for one!” salute but it doesn’t happen.

  ‘Good,’ I tell her. ‘I need your complete vow of silence and I know that’s a lot to ask!’

  She smiles which I’m very glad about and nods her understanding. ‘You have my word of honour!’ she says, crossing her heart to make her point.

  We meet as usual at lunch on the, now drier, grassy knoll and open our pack-ups. Amber’s is always so extravagant - sometimes I wonder if her mother doesn’t employ Jamie Oliver as their in-house Chef – packed lunches a speciality.

  ‘Any smoked salmon parcels in there today?’ I tease as I watch her unwrap two of a million little packaged goodies from inside her box.

  ‘Aha…caviar enchiladas with a delicate raspberry jus,’ she giggles, brandishing a very normal looking sandwich and a plastic tub of salad at me. I laugh back. I’m glad she thinks her mum is as over-the top as I do and this kind of connection we have makes me feel that much better about telling her all about Leo and asking for her expert advice in helping him move on.

  ‘So!, I say brightly. ‘Tell me…’

  She’s just put a forkful of greenery in her mouth so she signals a “hang on” wave of her hand.

  ‘You see, the thing about Limbo is this,’ she says swallowing the mouthful of wilted spinach and ricotta side-salad with a sprinkling of pine nuts (see what I mean about the Jamie Oliver touch?) ‘Limbo isn’t a particularly nice place to be in. I know it sounds great and groovy and like a funky little dance under a pole that people do at Tropical-themed parties, but it just isn’t a nice place.’ She takes another forkful whilst I digest this piece of information.

  ‘How d’you mean?’ I’m puzzled, ‘ I thought Limbo was supposed to be like a waiting room - a place between earth and heaven. Are you saying it isn’t?’

  ‘Well,’ Amber swallows, ‘it is a kind of in-between place but the balance is more between earth and… well not so much heaven as.. um.. hell.’

  I swallow now, even though I’m not eating anything.

  ‘Sorr-ee…’ Amber cringes.

  I don’t know what to say.

  ‘She’s wrong actually.’ A voice says.

  Yup. Leo’s decided to join us. Thank goodness. He’s actually stretched out on the grass beside us and if I didn’t know it wasn’t possible, I’d swear he was trying to catch some sun.

  ‘Vitamin D’s good for you,’ he says, shielding
his eyes with one hand and peering up at me. ‘Dead or alive.’ I have to laugh.

  ‘What?’ Amber says noticing me. And without even waiting for a reply, she twigs. ‘Oh…My-God. He’s here, isn’t he?’ she whispers loudly, turning her head from right to left trying to get a sense of where exactly he has materialised. ‘Where is he? Is he floating above us? Is he leaning against that tree? Is he sitting on a cloud? What? Where is he?’

  I laugh a bit more and place my hand through Leo’s chest and pat the grass where his body is stretched. ‘Hey!’ he admonishes, ‘careful!’