by Sue Wallman
We give triumphant looks to each other, but keep a lid on our excitement.
“Cool,” says Tatum.
“What are you doing to your hand, Poppy?” mutters Elaine.
“Making it look nice,” says Poppy. She pushes her plate away. It still has most of her lunch on it.
“What d’you want to do this afternoon?” I ask Poppy. “We could go to the rec, where the swings are?”
Poppy shakes her head. “It’s too far, and I don’t want to go there without Baz.”
“Jewellery-making?” suggests Ivy.
“Yes – you’ve got your jewellery kit,” says Gabs.
Ivy goes to fetch it from Poppy’s bag. It consists of silver wire, silver beads, china beads, clasps, earring hooks, and a small pair of pliers. We make jewellery for Poppy, while she creates little spiral decorations from the wire to attach to the necklace Jakob’s making. I ask to measure her wrist for a bracelet and she holds out her thin arm. She likes the dangly earrings Tatum makes best. She doesn’t have her ears pierced yet, so she wraps them in kitchen towel and places them in her pencil case.
I tell her to be careful not to stab herself with them, and she says, “I could stab someone else if I wanted.”
Jakob catches my eye. We’re the only ones to have heard her because Tatum and Ivy are arguing about how to attach a clasp.
“You wouldn’t want to do that,” he says.
She acts as if she hasn’t heard.
We finish up the jewellery, and she wears the necklace, bracelet and anklet to show the adults, who are talking about plans for the week. Poppy curls up next to her mum on the sofa, and Ivy takes the kit back to the little lounge and comes back with Poppy’s pillow.
“Thank you, darling Ivy,” says Auntie Gabs. “You teenagers go and have some time to yourselves.”
In the attic we discuss what the dress code for the disco might be. We decide it doesn’t really matter because Tatum is the only one who’s brought something appropriate, and we’ll just have to make the best of what we’ve got. Tatum jokes that Jakob can borrow her skirt again and I tell her to shut up, and he gives me a look which tells me he didn’t want me to wade in like that.
He removes “Crushed Rose” from his playlist and presses play on a chilled number from last year. A few seconds in there’s a creaking noise.
Ivy jumps. “Was that the house?”
“It definitely wasn’t the music,” says Jakob. “I know this track inside out.”
“I’ve been thinking,” says Tatum, fidgeting with her phone.
“Uh-oh,” says Ivy.
“The predictions.” She holds her hand up before we can shout her down. “Hear me out. The ‘Something of great value will be lost’ – you don’t think Steve’s binoculars are the thing, do you?”
“I don’t care if they’re lost for ever,” I say.
“That’s not the point, Leah,” she says. “The point is they’re probably worth a lot of money – and they have sentimental value for Steve. Did they turn up before he and your mum went away?”
“No, they didn’t. He wants us to keep an eye out for them,” I say.
Tatum nods. “I think it’s significant the binoculars are about looking at something more closely.” She holds up her phone and I realize she’s filming herself. “The third prediction may have come true at Roeshot House. Something of great value will be lost. This could be interpreted in different ways but…” and she rambles on while I look at the other two Amigos and shake my head.
Jakob picks up one of the beanbags and mimes throwing it at Tatum and that cheers me up. He drops it and lands on top of it, pushing himself round the wooden floor to get into shot.
Tatum finishes her report by saying, “The four of us are eagerly waiting to see if Alice Billings’s lifelong friend, Margery, is willing to speak to us. A meeting with her might be the next step to unlocking the secrets of what went on all those years ago. Meanwhile we’re bracing ourselves in case any further predictions come true.”
I roll my eyes at Ivy but her face is serious. Angry. “This isn’t a game, Tatum,” she says. “I know what you’re going to hint at next. You’re going to use Poppy’s illness for your documentary, aren’t you?”
Jakob sits up. “The ‘Someone will die’? That’s ridiculous.”
“Whoa – that’s a leap,” says Tatum. She holds her hands up with an affronted expression.
“Poppy’s going to get better,” I say.
Ivy’s face frightens me. There are tears in her eyes. “She’s getting worse, not better.”
I move across the room to her armchair and gently budge in beside her. “They’ll find out what’s wrong with her. ’Course they will. You musn’t worry about it.”
“What do the doctors say?” Jakob asks.
Ivy twists the fringe of the blanket round her fingers. She shrugs. “She’s losing weight. She feels sick most of the time. Her hair is falling out. She has no energy. It’s really hard to keep her positive. And now Baz…”
My stomach churns at the memory of Baz’s broken body by the bins.
“They’re doing tests?” I ask.
Ivy nods. “Poppy hates them. She’s got a phobia about hospitals now.”
Tatum says, “That doesn’t surprise me.”
I glare at her.
Jakob gets off the beanbag and on to the sofa. “It’s partly psychological, though, isn’t it?” He says it in an embarrassed way.
Ivy sighs.
“Could it be linked to your dad…?” he asks.
Remember the pact, I want to scream.
Tears roll down Ivy’s cheek. She wipes them on the blanket. “Sorry. It’s just taking so long for her to be better. I don’t know. Maybe it is something to do with Dad, but if it is she’s not saying.”
“Have the tests shown up anything?” says Jakob. He should stop interrogating her.
She shakes her head.
“So has she seen a psychiatrist or someone like that?”
She nods. “We can’t make her talk if she doesn’t want to.”
“Who put Poppy on that diet?” Jakob asks. “Does she mind it?”
“Mum and I researched the best foods for her,” Ivy says. “She doesn’t eat much, so what she does eat has to be good for her. She often complains her stomach hurts.”
“You need answers,” says Jakob. “A proper diagnosis.”
“We’re doing our best,” says Ivy. “She’s had quite a few treatments already. She’s seen loads of different people.”
“You need someone to help you eliminate different things,” says Jakob. “Someone properly organized. How about Mum? You know what she’s like. She won’t rest until she’s got to the bottom of something. You’ve only got to ask.”
“Thanks, Jakob,” says Ivy.
Jakob adds quickly, “On the other hand, you might not want to get Mum involved. She might do your head in and raise the stress levels sky-high. But you need more help.” He taps his lip, thinking. “There’s this boy at school. His dad is some hotshot doctor, a psychiatrist for kids. He came in to talk to our year group about exam stress. He has people who come from all over the world to see him… I could find out more. You can’t let this situation go on and drag you down.”
“You’re right,” says Ivy.
“Let’s talk to my mum tonight!”
“No, not tonight, it’s New Year’s Eve, and I don’t want to make Mum sad. Tomorrow.”
Tatum blows out her breath really noisily. “Perhaps Poppy’s one of those people who find it a struggle to cope in the real world, and there’s no cure for that, is there?”
“Er, we’re trying to come up with helpful solutions here,” I say.
“You didn’t let me finish,” says Tatum. “The fact Poppy reckons she’s seen a ghost says something. I reckon it says she’s after attention, and you shouldn’t fuss around her so much.”
“She thinks the ghost was real,” says Ivy. She’s talking slowly, upset with Tatum. “She
really believes she saw it. And I’m not fussing. I’m caring for her.”
“OK, then. I’ve got a good idea,” says Tatum. “I’ll interview Poppy about the ghost for the documentary. It’ll add some atmosphere and if nothing else you might understand more of what’s going on in her head.” She sees Ivy’s horrified expression. “Don’t worry. You can sit in on the interview and we can edit out any stuff that makes her sound too whacko.” She picks up her phone and pans round the room. She’s clearly filming us so I put my hand in front of my face to make a point.
“By the way,” she says. “Anyone making any predictions or resolutions tonight?”
“No,” the three of us reply at the same time.
SEVENTEEN
Tatum goes off to see if Poppy is up for an interview, but comes straight back saying she’s asleep on a sofa.
“I’m surprised you didn’t wake her up,” says Jakob.
“I wanted to, but Gabs said not to,” says Tatum. She flops face-down on to the sofa and says, “Save me from this boredom.” A second later she lifts her head and says, “Please tell me you have a secret stash of alcohol.”
“Not really,” says Ivy. “There’s alcohol in the larder…”
“But we can’t drink now,” says Jakob.
“Why not?” asks Tatum.
I roll my eyes. Tatum doesn’t seem to understand the most basic of rules. “We’ve got to go downstairs and eat with the adults soon. They won’t trust us go to the Holiday Village if they think we’ve been pre-drinking up here. We have to pick our moments strategically.”
“My parents would be cool about it,” says Tatum.
“Our parents aren’t,” says Jakob. He glances at me. “How about we play twenty-one dares?”
Ivy groans. “I never get it right,” she says. “Twenty-one always lands on me.” But I know she’ll play. She always does.
We push the sofas nearer the armchair so we’re closer together. There’s the usual argument about who’s going to start.
“We can only say one, two or three numbers?” checks Tatum.
“Yep. One, two,” I say, starting. “We’re going round clockwise.”
“Three, four, five,” says Jakob.
“Six,” says Ivy.
“Seven, eight, nine,” says Tatum. She stretches one arm, then another, as if she’s ever so slightly disinterested.
We go round again twice. Twenty-one lands on me.
“Arggh,” I say.
“Truth or dare?” sings Ivy.
“Truth.” I usually go for truth. “No, wait. Dare.”
“Too late,” says Ivy.
“Have you ever kissed anyone properly?” asks Tatum. Her expression tells me she’s anticipated the answer and thinks it’s hilarious.
The other two smile encouragingly at me. They wonder if anything exciting has happened throughout the year that I haven’t told them about.
“No,” I say. It feels shameful in front of Tatum.
“Boring question,” says Jakob.
“You think so?” says Tatum.
Ivy says, “Next time we have to agree on the question together.”
“Next round,” says Tatum. “One.”
I don’t know how it happens because Ivy and I try to work it, without actually verbalizing it, that twenty-one lands on Tatum, but it’s Jakob who gets it. He shrieks, “Nooooo,” then, “All right, give me a dare. And it can’t be ‘eat a dead fly’ because I had to do that last time we played.”
“Go and sneak some alcohol from the larder,” says Tatum.
“It’s got to be a group decision,” I say.
Ivy tightens her tartan blanket round herself and says. “I’ve got a good one. Jakob has to run round the outside of the house—”
“That’s not a dare,” says Tatum scornfully.
“With a bare chest,” finishes Ivy. “It’s below freezing out there.”
“I’d like to see him run faster than he’s ever run before,” I say. “So it’s a yes from me.”
“And I’d like to film it, so all right,” says Tatum.
“Dare accepted, but I’m not taking anything off until the very last minute,” says Jakob.
“You have to run the whole way,” says Tatum. “If you walk, you have to do another lap.”
“How are we going to check he runs all the way?” asks Ivy.
I pat him on the arm. “Don’t worry, Jakob. I’ll run with you to supervize. But I’m wearing as many layers as I like.”
Jakob pats me back and says, “How kind.”
“Poppy’s definitely going to want to see this if she’s awake,” says Ivy. “I’ll tell her to look out of the conservatory. Wave at her when you go by?”
“Anything else you’d like me to do?” asks Jakob.
“Yes – do an Irish dance by the grave,” says Tatum. “Only joking!”
Ivy goes to see if Poppy’s awake. Tatum fetches her turquoise coat. I pile on another sweater and a scarf because my coat is in the kitchen and if an adult sees me with it, they’ll ask where I’m going and I can’t be bothered with that. Jakob goes in search of his beanie hat, saying there was nothing about keeping his head uncovered and it’s too late to make any more rules.
We meet by the front door. Ivy says Poppy’s woken up and is making her way to the conservatory. Jakob runs on the spot and asks for a countdown for his T-shirt and jumper removal. On zero, he whips them off over his head, squealing. He rushes to replace his hat, and scampers outside, shouting that his nipples will never be the same again.
“No screaming by the kitchen or lounge,” I warn him, “or we’ll get the why-can’t-you-be-sensible lecture.”
He nods vigorously. “I … can’t … speak … too … cold.”
I laugh and the wind burns the back of my throat.
“Wave at the camera!” instructs Tatum.
I’m not sure how a topless Jakob will fit into the documentary.
Jakob runs surprisingly fast. We pace past the kitchen window, down the side passage, and duck down past the big lounge window. Jakob remembers to wave at Poppy as we sprint past the conservatory. Tatum films us out of the dining-room window, a room so cold and far from the kitchen we rarely use it, and then we follow the path round down the side of the house towards where the rose garden would have been.
The wind’s got up now, and as my hair flies across my face, there’s a huge body-jolting crash. I instinctively cower. Jakob shouts and I can’t work out what he’s saying, but he’s stopped running, and he’s pointing at the ground. At a lump of metal on the path.
“That could have killed us,” says Jakob. He wraps his arms round his pale, skinny torso. His face is almost blue.
I hug him and look round, and up. “It’s the metal bar from the attic window.” I feel wobbly with the shock of it. The near miss.
“Come on,” I say, rubbing his back, his delicate, freezing ribs. “Back round to the front door.” We run, faster than before, the breath squeezed from our lungs, and when we reach the front door, we scream for the others, and they’re there, Tatum, Ivy and then Poppy, asking what the matter is.
I pick up Jakob’s T-shirt and jumper and press it against him, but he needs help putting them on because his hands are too shaky.
“The metal bar from the window dropped. It almost hit us,” I say. The shock of it catches up with me and I feel tearful. What if we’d been a fraction of a second faster? It was that close.
Tatum rushes off to look at it.
“Jakob needs a hot drink,” I say. I lead him into the kitchen like someone who’s been rescued from a river and needs warming up, and Elaine, who’s there with Auntie Gabs is on her feet, asking what’s wrong. I tell her we were having a running race and the metal bar fell. I make some tea while Elaine calls Marc, and the three adults press for more details.
Tatum comes running in with the bar. It’s very heavy and the close-up smell of rust is unpleasant. Marc says we’d be within our rights to sue Pinhurst Properties. He go
es up to the attic to see how it could have fallen.
I’m worried for Clive and Evan, so I say it gave us a scare but we’re OK. Jakob sips his tea and nods. Auntie Gabs asks if she wants me to drive her somewhere to get a signal on my phone to call Mum. I shake my head. There’s no point.
Marc comes back downstairs, saying he’ll get on to Clive about it right away. ”Very shoddy of him not to have maintained the attic window properly,” he says as he goes to make the call on his mobile at the end of the drive. Elaine tut-tuts about slipping standards and Clive taking on more projects than he can cope with.
We leave Elaine and Auntie Gabs in the kitchen and go into the lounge, to huddle up on sofas near the fire.
Poppy clings to me, and I like having her close. Jakob sits the other side of me, still quiet from shock. “We’ll go out tonight and have a good time,” I tell him.
“And celebrate the fact we’re still alive,” he mutters.
“You’re not going to want to hear this,” says Tatum. “But Rose’s ghost was responsible. She wants revenge.”
EIGHTEEN
I spend a while getting my mascara right in the bathroom mirror and thinking about how much I’m looking forward to seeing Evan again and how much I want to dance. There was a tense atmosphere at dinner and I just want to get out of this house. Dancing makes me happy. It clears my head. I’m jumpy with anticipation. I knock on Ivy’s door when I’m done because I don’t want to be around Tatum more than I have to.
She’s curled up on her bed, not even half-ready to go out. “Hi,” she says in a quiet voice. “Hope you’re all right after that metal bar falling.”
I nod. “I want to go out and forget about it. I’ll be OK once I’ve done some dancing.”
“That’s good,” Ivy says. She looks stressed, as if she’s been crying. I sit on the end of her bed. “I’m sorry if we upset you by asking so many questions about Poppy.”
“You didn’t. I was thinking about Baz.”
“Don’t think about it,” I say. “And don’t worry about Steve – if there’s any evidence, I’m going to the police. I’m not joking. I know they’d say it was an accident or that it happened on private land, but he needs the biggest warning they can give him.”