by Colin Garrow
'Haven't seen you for a while, Jeffrey. No school today?'
'Oh, er...' I started.
'We're doing research,' said Suzi, taking over. 'A project about the changing geographical face of Skeleton Cove.'
The woman raised her eyebrows. 'That sounds interesting.' She held out a hand and wiggled her fingers in the direction of a room at the far end of the library. 'Best start in there. Town Records and Local History - that's what you'll be wanting. Though they're all reference books, so you'll not be able to take them home, alright?'
We both nodded and followed the direction of her fingers.
'Crumbs,' said Suzi, gazing at the vast array of books. 'Where do we start?'
I studied the headings on the shelves, but there was nothing that said 'Maps Showing Devilgate Drive'. 'Dunno. Let's do a quick scan and see if there's anything obvious. You start over there.'
So we began at opposite ends of the largest section under the general heading of Local History, pulling books out, checking the titles and sliding them back in again, as quickly as possible. After a few minutes Mrs Leggart appeared.
'Need any help, loves?'
'Well, actually...' I started, but again Suzi interrupted.
'We're fine, thanks.' She grinned at the woman until the librarian went back to her desk.
'She could've helped us,' I hissed.
'And what if we told her about Devilgate Drive and she reacted the same way as Mr Dangerfield?'
I sniffed. 'Oh, yeah.'
We resumed our search and within ten minutes had identified half a dozen books that looked useful. Spreading our finds on the table in the middle of the room, we flicked through them one at a time. Two were mostly about the distant past and focused on pirates and smuggling. Another one, a large dusty volume, had some interesting maps in it, but again didn't tell us anything useful.
Finally, we came to the last one. It was called A Plan of Communication Between the New and the Old Town of Skeleton Cove; Boyd, Thomas; Stringer & Minchin, Palladian; 1909. I'd noticed it contained several maps when I first looked at it, but none of the layouts were familiar.
'Look in the index,' suggested Suzi.
I did, and found a list of maps and dates. Flicking through to one dated about thirty years previously, I smoothed a hand across the double-page spread.
'What we need is a 'You Are Here' thing,' I muttered, scanning the cluttered maze of miniature streets and symbols.
'There,' said Suzi, tapping a finger on the left hand page. 'That's the coastline. We can work our way up from there.'
'Hang on,' I said. 'Be easier if we had a map with a list of street names.'
Suzi leaned forward. 'Wait - what's this?' With her fingernail, she picked at the crease in the centre of the book, then pulled at what appeared to be a loose page. The centre section opened outwards revealing a larger version of the same map. 'Voila!'
'Brilliant. Here we are...' I scanned the list of street names and areas, printed in tiny writing on the right side of the larger map. 'Devilgate...Devilgate...there!'
'43 N, 35 P. A grid reference.'
Suzi slid her fingers along the two lines to where they met. 'That's it - Devilgate Drive.'
I stared at it. 'Next to the school? That can't be right.'
Suzi fished around in her bag and pulled out a magnifying glass. Screwing up her eyes, she squinted through the device. 'It's the school alright, same shape it is now, so that makes it easier. Look, this must be the housing estate your pal at the picture house was talking about.' She pointed at the first street. 'Devilgate Crescent, then Devilgate Lane, then...' Her finger traced a line along the boundary of the school. 'That's weird. It just stops.' She looked again, then, 'No, there it is - Devilgate Drive.' She looked up. 'Must've built it in two halves, like an L shape sort of thing.' She looked back at the map. 'Oh.'
'What?'
'It doesn't make sense - how could they have built new houses there?'
I leaned over the book. 'No, you're right - it's where Bonefield Gardens is now. That must have been the new estate Mr McTaggart was talking about.'
But Suzi was shaking her head. 'Can't be.' She turned the book around. 'Look where the road is - Bonefield Gardens would've been built here, on the other side, next to where the bike sheds are, where Devilgate Lane is, see? But Devilgate Drive is right the way over here.'
I stared at where she was pointing. The map showed that Devilgate Drive ran straight through the centre of Haggerty's Park.
'Crikey,' I said. 'Right in the middle of the cemetery.'
Walking back to school, neither of us spoke for a long time. We drank the pop and ate our salt and vinegar crisps in silence, each of us mulling over our discovery.
'Your pal must've been wrong,' said Suzi eventually.
'About what?'
'He talked like Devilgate Drive was knocked down and rebuilt as the new estate, but it can't have been.'
I shrugged. 'Maybe the town planners changed their minds and made it into a graveyard instead?'
'That can't be right,' she said. 'My great-grandmother's buried in there - and she's been dead for ages.'
'I dunno, Mr McTaggart's old, but he's not daft. If he says that's where it was, then that's where it was. Maybe we're missing something...'
'You know what we forgot to do?' said Suzi. 'We should've looked up that bloke he mentioned - the one with the construction business.'
'Nathaniel Darke?' I sighed, annoyed with myself that I'd forgotten.
We'd reached Bonefield Gardens. Making our way between the houses, we hurried down the snicket to where the edge of the estate met the back fence of the school. I checked my watch - it was 12:46. We were late.
Leaning against the fence, I linked my fingers and waited while Suzi clambered over me, then bracing one foot against the fence post, heaved myself up.
Suzi was waiting on the other side, but she wasn't alone.
'Ah, Mr Starkey, good of you to join us.' Beaky Beaumont stretched his mouth into the shape of a smile. In one hand he held a clipboard. The other gripped Suzi's arm. I could tell he was hurting her by the grimace on her face.
Dropping onto the muddy path, I brushed myself down and waited for the reprisals.
'How very odd,' the teacher said, glancing at his clipboard. 'On my oath, I could have sworn myself blind I had not encountered you two individuals leaving the school premises, and yet, here you are.'
'We took a short cut,' I said, 'so we wouldn't be late coming back.'
'But you are late, aren't you?' He let go Suzi's arm and wrote on his clipboard. 'I shall expect you after school in my room, where you shall stay until I am satisfied a modicum of accountability has seeped deeply enough into your twin beings to caution you from embarking on such a foolhardy undertaking again.'
Beaumont always talked like that, as if he'd walked straight out of a Charles Dickens novel. Sometimes he even looked like a Dickensian character, with high boots and a long black cloak. Today, however, he was wearing his normal gray suit.
I nodded to show we understood, then followed Suzi along the path behind the bike sheds and back to our class. It'd been a long time since either of us had been thrown in detention and I wasn't looking forward to it. And we still had to face Mr Taylor.
The lesson had already started when we arrived. Mr Taylor was saying something about coming up with ideas for stories. He stopped talking when I pushed open the door.
'And here is a perfect example.' He pointed at us and indicated we should stand at the front of the class. I shuffled towards his desk and turned to face the grinning faces of my friends. Suzi stood beside me, her fingers twitching in annoyance.
'Now, clearly,' Mr Taylor continued, 'these two individuals are somewhat tardy in their arrival, so what, I might ask, from a fiction point of view, might have kept them from their normal punctuality?'
Several hands went up, followed by suggestions as to what the latecomers might have been up to, most of which centred on bodily functi
ons and banana skins. Eventually, Mr Taylor allowed us to take our seats while he resumed the lesson. The rest of the afternoon passed without incident.
Which is just as well, because it would be a long time before me and Suzi saw our classmates, or our families again.
Nine
As most of our friends were escaping to freedom via the school gates, me and Suzi took a slow wander over to Room 4B. It was in the old grammar school part of the building and one of three classrooms on this side of the quadrangle. There were another nine rooms on the other three sides, each with a corridor looking out onto the square of perfect lawn. During the day, it was easy to see a teacher approaching along one of the other corridors, but now, with most of the lights off, we had to rely on our hearing to warn us of Beaky Beaumont's approach.
Leaning against the doorpost, I peered through the half-glazed door of Beaky's lair. Through the windows at the other side of the room, I could see the dwindling hordes of kids as they left the school grounds behind. Most of them would be home within minutes, sitting watching telly or stuffing their faces with cake and pop. If we had a telephone at home, I could've called Mum to tell her I'd be late. But we didn't, and in any case, kids were only allowed to use the phone in the staff room in an emergency. And I didn't think detention was ever likely to fall into that category.
I couldn't remember having to stay behind in school when it was so quiet. Normally there'd be extra-curricular activities going on, like the Drama Group or the Debating Society. Today, though, there was only the occasional slam of a door, the click of a lock or the clack-slap of a sash window as Crosby the caretaker began his routine of checking, shutting and locking up for the day.
An odd silence fell on the building. I looked at Suzi. She seemed remarkably calm, considering we were about to spend the next couple of hours dancing to the tune of Beaky Beaumont. Detention (according to him), was a period of not less than one hour and not more than two, where the individuals concerned would be expected to show, or at least, pretend to show, enough remorse and regret to fulfil Beaky's criteria. Of course, only Beaky himself knew what that criteria was and according to those unfortunate individuals who'd suffered the humiliation of detention at his hands, it was different every time.
'That's him,' said Suzi, nodding towards the double doors at the other end of the corridor. The familiar snap of metal on parquet flooring echoed from somewhere in the adjoining middle section of the school. You could always tell when one of the male teachers was approaching from a distance, because they all wore big heavy shoes with segs hammered into the toe and heel sections. If you were lucky enough to hear two or more teachers walking along together, the clackety-clack of their footsteps sounded like a bizarre dance troupe performing something from Fred and Red's Toe-Tipping Tap routine (Sunday night telly - 7:00pm).
Today, though, it was only one teacher.
Beaky Beaumont barged through the double doors, eyes fixed on me, feet clattering along towards us in a rhythm that seemed to chant: say-good-bye, say-good-bye.
'Ah, the prisoners are at the gate, how lovely.' His thin mouth stretched into that smile again, and he opened the classroom door. 'In.'
We shuffled inside and waited by his desk, while Beaumont took some papers out of his briefcase.
'Now, unfortunately, I have to supervise another group of degenerates over in the new building, so when I have assigned your tasks, I expect you to commence them directly. I shall return at some future point, when you will present your completed assignments, and all being in order, you will then be allowed to leave. Clear?'
We both nodded, though I hadn't a clue what he was talking about, and from Suzi's expression, she hadn't either.
Beaumont sorted through his pile of papers and handed each of us a typed sheet and several blank sheets. 'Find a desk - not next to each other - and begin.'
A minute later, he was gone, the clackety-clack of his shoes echoing down the corridor.
I waited for the thud of the double doors before getting up and sitting next to Suzi.
'What's yours say?'
She shook her head in disgust. 'Write out five million times I must not waste my life hanging around with that reprobate Jeffrey Starkey. What's yours?'
'The same, except with your name instead of mine. I mean, five million times? What's he think we are?'
'It's cos he knows we can't possibly finish it before he comes back.'
'Yeah, then he can throw us in detention again tomorrow.'
We sat for a few minutes in silence, staring at our assignments. Then a noise from the corridor prompted me to skip back to me own seat.
A moment later, a face appeared at the door, a wide pink nose and a pair of bushy eyebrows pressed up against the glass. The door opened and the caretaker popped his head in.
'Aye-aye, what's goin on 'ere?' He grinned and stepped into the room.
'Detention,' I said, gloomily.
Crosby made a mock 'sad' face, then laughed. 'Never mind, could be worse.'
'Hardly,' said Suzi. 'It's Beaky Beau...I mean, Mr Beaumont's class. We'll be here til midnight.'
The old man frowned. 'Beaumont? Nah, he's gone.'
I glanced at Suzi, wondering if this was one of the caretaker's jokes. 'Gone where?'
'Home, prob'ly.' He wandered over to where I was sitting and held out his hand. 'Let's 'ave a gander.'
I gave him the sheet with my 'assignment' on.
'Oh, my. Sly sod.' He crumpled up the sheet and threw it over his shoulder. 'Been pullin that trick for years. Surprised yous didn't know about it.'
'What trick?' I said.
'Calls you in for detention, checks your names off in the register, checks his own name off as being here til gone half five, then does a quick-one up the road, leavin you two muttonheads sitting 'ere like Mr and Mrs Twit.'
'No, he's a teacher. He can't go off and leave us. Can he?'
Mr Crosby's face was serious. 'He can, an he does. Anyhow, yous can't say 'ere, I'm lockin up.'
Me and Suzi looked at each other.
'Go on,' Crosby said. 'I'm not muckin about - you'll 'ave to go.'
We didn't need to be told again. We were down the stairs and out the main doors in a flash. However, I wasn't totally convinced we'd got away scot-free, so we did a quick check round the side of the building, and sure enough, Beaumont's car had gone.
'What a git,' I said. 'Shouldn't be allowed.'
Suzi grabbed my arm. 'Hey, we can go and look at Haggerty's Park now.'
'It's dark.'
'Not as dark as it would've been if we'd had to stay in Beaumont's class for two hours.'
I had to admit this was true. 'Alright, but let's leave our bags here. We can stick them in one of the lockers.'
We hurried round to the main toilet block where the janitor's office was. It would be the last building to be locked up, so should still be open. Finding an empty locker, I stuffed our bags inside, but not before taking out my torch and one of Suzi's precious notebooks (in case we uncovered important evidence). Then we headed out the main gates and down towards the Park.
The sky wasn't as cloudy as the last time we were there, but I could already feel a familiar knotty sensation in my gut as we clambered over the wall into the cemetery.
'So where do we start?' I said.
Suzi pulled a notebook out of her coat pocket. 'According to my rough sketches, Devilgate Drive was the street nearest the school, so it must have been somewhere over there.' She waved a finger, indicating a vague area between the top end of Haggerty's Park and further down where the ground sloped away towards the beach.
We crossed to the main footpath that ran down the middle, then turned right. The gravestones in this part of the cemetery were older than those further down.
'Where's your great-grandma buried?'
Suzi looked around, getting her bearings, then strode off across a grassy path. I followed her, gazing at the variety of headstones - some were decorated with fantastically ornate carvings
that had crumbled over time. Others had a simpler more modern style, but were equally as neglected, moss and weeds making it difficult to read the inscriptions. Many didn't even appear to mark an actual grave, but looked as if they'd simply been dropped in random areas. A few had been erected properly, in straight lines, but most were a far cry from the well-kept plots and trimmed hedges of Tranwell Cemetery in the next town. That's where my Uncle Frank was buried, and though I hadn't liked him much when he was alive, at least his grave was tidy.
'Here,' said Suzi, halting next to a huge gothic memorial. I peered at the writing but it was hard to see in the dark. The only bit that was clear was the date: 1897.
'That's that, then,' I said. 'There couldn't have been a street in the same place. Unless the graves were moved here after they knocked the houses down.'
Suzi gave me a pitying look. 'That only happens in horror movies.'
'Not necessarily,' I said. 'Anyway, it was just an idea.' I moved back towards the main path and continued along for a few yards. The graves in this section did seem to be strangely haphazard, with some plonked right in the middle of paths, others almost buried beneath overhanging branches of nearby trees.
Suzi came up behind me and took my hand. 'What you looking at?'
'Dunno, really. I'm surprised people let it get so...messy, you know? Like they didn't care about their relatives.'
'They are dead, though.'
'Yeah, but...' I shook my head. 'When me and Mum visit my uncle's grave, there's always loads of other people around, putting flowers down and stuff. But here...' I waved a hand uselessly.
'Yeah, I know what you mean. Anyway, it's getting dark. We should go.'
'You're the one that wanted to come here,' I chided. 'Let's just have a look up this way.' Holding my torch out in front of me, I set off across a particularly overgrown section, where broken tombs and odd bits of stone littered the ground.
Beyond the apparent rubble were a couple of trees, but something underneath one of them caught my eye. Avoiding the jumble of stones, I picked my way across the grass for a closer look. Whatever it was had long since succumbed to weeds and wild grasses. Pulling at a clump of dandelions, I cleared the debris to one side and shone the fading light of my torch over the sign underneath. A length of rusted metal showed part of what looked like a letter, or maybe a word - perhaps a V and an I...? Rubbing one hand though the dirt along the top of the sign, it became obvious what the first word was. Grabbing a clump of grass, I wiped it along the length of the street name, revealing more of the lettering beneath.