by Paul Roscoe
“Hey, Tom. How’s it hangin?” Buddy turned and waved, then noticed they were all wearing black. “Say, Tom, did you choose this get up?”
Tom shook his head.
“What about you, Mary-Lou?”
“I don’t mind it all that much,” Mary said. “It reminds me of what I used to wear anyhow. But, no, I didn’t choose it. Or at least I don’t think I did. That sort of thing is hard to figure out here.”
Buddy was nodding, his eyes scanning the surrounding grass. He stood up and patted his various pockets until he found what he was looking for. Mary spoke in a businesslike voice as he lit up. “Would you like to go home? Cos if you do, I-”
“Just come from there, as a matter of fact.”
Buddy met their eyes in turn, seeing the understanding there; he looked away. “So, what have you two been doing about the current situation?”
Tom opened his mouth, but Mary answered first. “The same as you and Alex. Watching and waiting.”
“I’ve been doing more than that. I’ve been doing some research.”
Mary nodded, and wafted a hand at the smoke. “We know. We saw you.”
“When?”
“In the garage, where else?”
He gaped. “You were there with us?”
“Of course.”
Buddy smoked and shook his head. “Of course!” he said, and started to laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking about those dirty pictures you drew.”
“Art, you mean. I didn’t draw any dirty pictures.”
“Looked like a big, dirty porno to me. You’ve got a tidy body there, Mare…that is, unless you like to flatter yourself with those brushes of yours.”
Mary did her best to look annoyed. “You’re still a pig, Richard Budden.”
“And it looks like you’re still a slut, Mary Townsend.”
Tom raised his hands up. “Well I’m glad we’ve got that established.” They looked at him, both grinning. “Now, let’s put our heads together and try to figure out what we’re supposed to do next.”
Buddy sat down on the grass next to Mary, and Tom joined him. The three of them sat with their legs stretched out, allowing the cold morning air to blow through them as they surveyed the land. Ridges of houses, each town marked by its churches and factories, carved up the green landscape. A gauze of mist shrouded the horizon, a shroud that would be gone in a few hours’ time. The sky was cloudless.
“So, apart from watching and waiting, what else have you guys been doing?”
Tom and Mary looked at each other, and then quickly looked away. Their expressions were like naughty children caught in the act.
Buddy’s eyebrows shot up.
Tom shuddered. “No, no, no, nothing like that. We just…” he glanced at Mary for confirmation, who simply shrugged. “Last night, we went into town and checked out all the places we’re too young to go in.”
“Like that Jolly Roger place on Market Street,” Mary added.
“And just all the pubs, basically.”
“And what did you do there? No, don’t tell me. You watched.” Buddy rolled his eyes.
“Basically.”
“And it never occurred to you to go into those places when you were alive?”
Tom shook his head. “I don’t think we missed much. They’re scuzzy.”
Buddy stubbed out his cigarette. “I think being drunk plays a big part in the overall attraction, you know.”
The other two nodded in silent agreement.
“So,” Mary began, “do you have any ideas about what we should be doing?”
Their old gang leader wrapped his hands around his long, thin legs, and tucked his knees beneath his chin. “Well, the way I figure it is this. We’re not quite dead yet, are we? I mean, I know we’re dead – I know what I saw in my own bathroom – but what you said before, Tom, about this not being heaven, you were right. Have any of you seen ‘An American Werewolf In London?’”
Mary and Tom shook their heads.
“No Jolly Roger? No American Werewolf? Good Holy Moses, what were you two doing all these years? Anyway, in that film, the werewolf’s victims don’t get to go onto the next level – heaven or hell or whatever – until the werewolf dies. They’re in limbo, which pretty much sounds like this place, if you ask me. The million dollar question is who are we waiting for to pop their clogs?”
“Alex,” Mary said.
“Sure. It’d be rude for him not to show up. But what then?”
“Then it’ll happen.”
“What will?”
Mary shrugged. “Whatever it is that needs to happen to get us to…the next level, as you put it.”
“But neither of you have any idea what that is?”
“Why would we?” Tom asked.
Buddy opened his packet of cigarettes and frowned. “That’s funny.”
“What?”
“My cigs. I thought I had less than this.” He showed Tom the packet, who looked completely unfazed.
“That happens. You’ll probably never run out again. You might think you’re smoking, breathing, whatever, but you’re not really. It’s all just an act. You’ll notice all kinds of stuff like that.”
Buddy eyes grew wide, and then regarded his company with appraising looks. “There’s something I have noticed, even in the short time I’ve been here: none of us seem as pissed off as we should. Or is it just me, am I just too much of a happy camper?”
Tom was nodding; Mary looked guilty.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m sort of angry at myself for doing something so stupid, especially since I don’t remember doing it. And I’m sad about my mother. And Lisa, of course. But I feel like I should be livid, or grief-stricken, or both. It’s weird that I’m neither of those things.”
“I have a theory on that,” Tom said.
“Oh yeah?”
“It’s nothing earth-shattering, but here goes. We’re spirits – but that’s all. And maybe spirits don’t get that upset about the things they’ve left behind. Maybe they’re just above that sort of thing.”
Buddy looked at Tom for longer than would seem comfortable under any other circumstance. “Bollocks.”
Red spread upwards from Tom’s collar.
“No offence, but I don’t feel above anything right now. I just want to know what the hell’s going on.”
Mary stood up and straightened her dress, patting away the grass she imagined might have attached itself. “Well, if the whole point of this is to get the old gang back together – and that would certainly appear so – then who are we to argue? School’s probably about to start, and I know a quick way to get there.” As he got to his feet, Mary offered Tom a hand. “Let’s go see what our good old friend, Alex, is getting up to.”
Mary and Tom offered their free hands to Buddy. Buddy pocketed his cigarettes and smirked, taking their hands in his. “What’s the deal? Do we say, Beam me up Scotty?”
“Something like that,” Mary said, with an embarrassed smile.
Chapter Twelve
1
Sergeant Sarah Barker of the Lancashire Constabulary rose from a seat that leaned a little too far back for her liking and took the headmaster’s place at the podium. As she approached the wilting microphone, the hall fell silent.
“Firstly, I wish to extend my sympathy and condolences to everyone who knew Mary Townsend, Thomas Whyte, and Richard Budden. Which, I imagine, is probably most of you. The death of a pupil can shake a school to its very foundations, and I cannot imagine the extent of the grief and distress for all concerned. It is too early yet to make public any specific details about these deaths, but we are investigating possible connections between them. This is why Officer Jones...”
She gestured to a thin, uniformed man sitting onstage.
“...and myself are here today. We’ll be based in the school secretary’s office for the morning, and we want people with any information that links the recent activities of these thr
ee pupils together to come forward. Obviously, you must obtain permission from your class teachers first, but it has been arranged for you to leave your classes at any time this morning if you feel you have any such relevant information. Of course, if you would prefer to come forward later on, feel free to pop into the police station for a chat at any time, and with any officer. Please keep in mind that no one here is in trouble. We are simply trying to create a picture of these pupils, and how they might have known each other. Thank you.”
Sergeant Barker stepped away and took her place alongside Officer Ian Jones. The headmaster returned to the podium to thank the police and to dismiss the gathering.
Like everyone else in the hall, he failed to notice the ghost of the latest suicide victim wiggling his naked buttocks at the audience.
*
“Buddy, do you have to?”
“Hell yeah. I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“But no one can see you. What’s the point?”
Buddy pulled his pants back up and Mary held out a hand to block the view.
“Why do you have to be such a misery?” He zipped himself up, then did a cartwheel across the stage, almost falling into the lap of the visiting police officers. “Bet you can’t do that anymore.”
Without pausing to consider it, Mary performed a perfect cartwheel along the edge of the stage. Then she perched on the raised lip and lingered, dusting her hands. She gazed out into the assembly, searching for Craig. Her eyes traced his registration class, and when that yielded nothing, she extended her search to all the boys, scanning them row-by-row. Still no Craig. In a selfish way, she was glad: his absence implied he had been seriously affected by her death, which meant he might even care enough to show up at her funeral.
The thought surprised and confused her.
Was having people at her funeral all that important? She had never been one for birthday parties, and she’d never liked people making a fuss of her, but the more she considered it, the more she realised, yes, somehow it was important. Somehow it felt only right to be mourned. In a way, it felt like this was an occasion for which she had meticulously planned.
Had she planned for it? Had she really wanted to commit suicide?
No, none of them had. But she was dead, for goodness’ sake, and that was something more important than a birthday party. There was nothing wrong in wanting people to come. Nothing wrong in wanting a fuss.
*
Tom considered Mary from his seat at the back of the hall, faintly impressed by her cartwheel. He had joined the other two on the stage at the start of the assembly – it seemed the natural place for them to be, considering the meeting was all about them – but when he noticed his girlfriend stride into the room, he’d sped after her and taken the empty seat beside her. He’d held Angela’s pale hand throughout all the speeches, and when she’d prayed, it had taken an enormous strength of will to wrench himself away.
Suddenly, people were getting up, chairs squeaking, feet trampling – apart from the headaches, it was Monday all over again. With that thought, a terrible image emerged. Tom saw an endless stream of assemblies where one by one the entire school population, including the teachers, died and returned as ghosts. He imagined a school of spirits, dutifully attending morning ceremonies; he saw dead teachers conducting endless sermons, and the same old social inequities being rehearsed throughout the audience over and over: the whispers and rumours deep in the rows; the cluster of young girls arguing over a poor choice of words that had gotten out of hand; the pests in the back flicking ears and rocking chairs; and the vacant eyes of the bullied.
Angela got up, and he got up with her. For the first time he realised that she was clutching her bag, and had been throughout the entire assembly. In fact, it now occurred to him that she had kept it on her lap the whole time. He watched her peering through the thicket of bodies, searching.
*
Buddy was considering spitting on Officer Jones’s shoulder when Sergeant Barker pointed at something and they both sprang up. He watched them thunder down the hollow wooden steps, and then pause to check something with Makinson. The old guy led them off to the back of the hall and through a doorway he and Pete had been listening through only two days – or a lifetime – ago. Pete, he thought, I wonder how he’s doing without his big brother to look after him?
It only took him a moment to spot the gang of lads gathered behind the stack of dinner tables in the far corner. He couldn’t see Pete, but there was something about the way the gang was behaving…
Suddenly he was standing with them.
He felt as though he had finally come to the end of a long elevator ride – his legs seemed to sink into the floor. He looked back at the stage, where Mary was wearing a puzzled expression, as if she had lost something. Buddy watched her locate him, saw her surprise, and then he waved and turned back.
The gang was a familiar group of wannabes-but-no-real-balls. Charles Renders, Matthew Holden, Simon Paisley, and, surprisingly, Daniel Timley. Buddy took his usual position beside Pete, and part of him – the part that still didn’t really believe that any of this was happening – expected things to immediately die down at his mere presence.
Oblivious to anything or anyone that might spoil his fun, Daniel started to close in on Pete.
“I always wondered what it would be like to snap that scrawny neck of yours.”
Buddy’s fist connected with Daniel’s jaw, the power of the blow sending him sprawling backwards into his line of makeshift bodyguards. He tumbled onto his back and Buddy followed through by placing the toe of his shiny new funeral shoes in Daniel’s ribs, making an audible crack. Feeling more in control, he knelt down and got ready to impart a few home truths. As he did, he realised that Daniel’s friends were standing up again, and were now starting to close in on Pete, just as Daniel had done.
Buddy stood up. “Haven’t you guys got it yet?”
No one turned at the sound of his voice. They didn’t even flinch. Despite everything, Buddy was impressed. If these lads can just ignore me like that, maybe I shouldn’t bother with them all at once. But things were already in motion and there was no way he was backing down now. He grabbed Simon Paisley by the shoulder and wrenched him backwards. He cupped a hand behind Simon’s neck and pointed at the broken and bruised boy on the floor. “See, no one messes with-”
Buddy stared at the empty floor where Daniel Timley had been. He seemed to stare at it for a very long time, even though it only took a heartbeat for everything that had happened since last night to settle in his mind. Christ, did the others find it this hard?
When Buddy looked around, Simon Paisley had his back turned once more and was just another cog in the tight little machine surrounding Pete. There’s nothing for it. Pete’s going to get a good kicking. Obviously not here in the hall, they just want him to sweat for a little while, but it’ll be sometime soon. Buddy walked over, and watched things develop. Despite the sneer on Pete’s lips, Buddy could see fear and disbelief already fighting it out in his eyes.
Just then, the gang’s attention – which had been so tightly focused – started to dissipate. Buddy noticed Simon’s eyes flitting away from Pete; he saw the urge to say something straining behind them, and fear stopping him. For a moment, Buddy thought he must have seen a teacher approaching, but then he caught a familiar scent of fresh apples and honey, and knew right away who had come to break things up.
“Do you really think it’s fair to pick on such a little creep?”
Daniel Timley jumped and stuffed both fists in his pockets.
Lisa shoved him, catching him off balance. On reflex, and impressing Buddy without even realising it, Pete caught him and spun him around.
“Well, Danny-boy?” she said.
He looked around at the others; no one met his eyes.
“This has nothing to do with you, Lisa,” he muttered.
She moved, and in one stride they were nose-to-nose. He instinctively stepped backwards into Pete.
“Nothing to do with me? Nothing to do with me? My boyfriend tops himself, and the minute the news is broadcast for you wankers,” she eyed the rest of them, “you try to have a pop at his best mate?” She jabbed a sharp fingernail into his chest. “What are you trying to do, Danny? Do you want to take Buddy’s place?”
“No, it’s just-”
“Just what? That you thought you’d get your own back on this little piece of crap here?”
Buddy noticed that the expressions on Pete’s and Daniel’s faces were remarkably similar: a blend of uncertainty and fear, the emphasis on the latter. Lisa flicked her hair back from her face with a graceful, and slightly showy, gesture, and Buddy caught another taste of her wonderful smell.
“Now,” she said, “say to Pete that you’re sorry and be on your way. And sound like you mean it.”
Pete’s mouth grinned so wide that Daniel, Lisa, and Buddy noticed brown nuggets of breakfast cereal lodged in his teeth.
Relief already trading places with pride, Daniel Timley apologized, and left. His three henchmen were already long gone.
Pete directed his grin at Lisa, rubbing his hands together.
“And you,” Lisa said, pointing at him, “don’t think this makes you my new best friend or anything. I just know that Buddy would’ve wanted me to look out for you. So if anyone tries anything on with you, or anyone gives you any grief, let me know. Other than that, just stay away from me. Got it?”
Pete’s grin vanished.
“In other words, sod off.”
He paused for a moment, clearly not sure what to do, and then he turned and followed in Daniel Timley’s direction. Lisa remained still for a moment, watching the nominated class noisily clear the chairs, and then dabbed at her eyes with a tissue before heading for her first subject of the day. Buddy watched her go, memories itching beneath his skin, the heat of being with her constant through them all.
“I wonder if Alex is going to talk to the police.”
Mary. At his side. From nowhere. No doubt pissed off at him figuring out her little teleporting trick for himself.
“He wasn’t at the assembly. I guess we could try at the secretary’s office…he might be there already.”