Dead Gorgeous

by Malorie Blackman

  ‘I like your name,’ Mr Jackman said at last. ‘It suits you. Super Nova!’

  Nova smiled wanly. If he was aiming for a subtle change of subject, he’d failed miserably.

  ‘Sorry! I bet that’s not the first time you’ve had someone say that to you,’ said Mr Jackman.

  ‘No.’

  It was only about the fifty millionth time she’d heard the same joke! They stood in silence for a few strangely unawkward moments. Nova continued to scrutinize Mr Jackman. She usually knew what to make of the guests within five minutes of spotting them. The arrogant, the shy, the considerate, those with something to hide, the pompous – it didn’t take her long to suss them out. But Mr Jackman was different. Strange that he should now decide to talk to her – especially after Nova’s earlier conversation with Miss Dawn. This was the most he’d said to anyone in the hotel since he’d arrived, as far as she knew.

  ‘Are you here for a holiday or are you still searching?’ she asked.

  ‘Still searching,’ replied Mr Jackman. ‘I never stop. I never will.’

  Nova waited and wondered if Mr Jackman was going to continue. It wasn’t like having a conversation with anyone else she had ever met. Usually you could tell by what was said, and how it was said and the way the person looked, just where the conversation was going and whether or not it had finished. But not with Mr Jackman. With him it was all guesswork.

  ‘I’d better be getting back,’ she sighed.

  Mr Jackman nodded, moving past her to sit on the bench she had just vacated. Nova glanced back at him. What was it Miss Dawn had said? ‘We all need friends’? She wondered why Mr Jackman had suddenly decided to speak to her. Maybe Miss Dawn was right. But it wouldn’t have surprised or upset her to learn that Mr Jackman had forgotten about her already. He had himself and his quest and he didn’t seem to need anything else.

  Nova headed back to the hotel. Why worry about Mr Jackman? He was old enough to take care of himself. He certainly didn’t need her help for anything. But as Nova took one last look at him, it occurred to her that she’d never seen anyone look so lonely. Or quite so alone.

  15. Mr Jackman

  ‘I need your help . . .’ Mr Jackman stared straight ahead but his thoughts were light years away in long ago. ‘D’you hear me? I need your help. It’s in your hands now. I’ve been everywhere. This is the only place left. And I’m not leaving. Not until I find you. You shouldn’t have gone. It wasn’t your fault, I know that. It was my fault. I drove you out. That’s why I’m not leaving. But you have to help me.

  ‘You have to.

  ‘You just have to . . . ’

  16. Nova and Rainbow

  ‘Rainbow, stop picking at your food and eat it properly.’

  ‘My name is Raye,’ Rainbow amended tersely. ‘And I am eating.’

  Mum frowned down at Rainbow’s dinner plate. ‘Eating what exactly? Air?’

  ‘Food!’ said Rainbow. ‘And I’m fifteen, Mum, not five.

  I don’t need you to tell me to eat my food. You’ll be picking up the fork and feeding me next.’

  ‘Raye, ten minutes ago you had a dollop of mashed potato on your plate, along with two sausages and baked beans – and none of them have moved,’ said Mum.

  ‘I’ve eaten some beans,’ argued Raye.

  ‘No, you haven’t.’

  Raye glared at Mum. Her voice dropped an octave as she mockingly said,’ “I put it to you, Rainbow Clibbens, that you had one hundred and fifty beans on your plate at the start of the meal and there are still one hundred and fifty left.” What did you do, Mum? Count them onto my plate so you could count them all off again?’

  Nova slowly chewed on her sausage as she listened to her mum and sister argue. It was the same almost every meal time.

  ‘Raye, I didn’t stand in this hot kitchen all afternoon making you dinner for the fun of it.’

  ‘Here we go.’ Raye tutted and raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘“I spend all day in this kitchen, and do you appreciate it? Hell, no!”’

  ‘Don’t be so cheeky.’

  ‘Stop bossing me about then.’

  ‘I’ll stop when you start eating. Or should I get your dad to have a word with you?’

  Raye savagely pronged a sausage before stuffing the whole thing into her mouth in one go. ‘Satisfied?’ she mumbled, her cheeks bulging.

  Nova and the twins exchanged a long-suffering look. Nova shook her head as she took another bite of her sausage.

  ‘Can’t you two stop arguing for two seconds?’ Jake asked.

  ‘Yeah! You’re giving us a bellyache,’ Jude added.

  ‘And you’re both giving me a headache,’ Nova put in her twopence worth, glaring at her mum, then at Raye in turn.

  ‘Fine! Right!’ Raye piled creamy-white mashed potato onto her fork so that the fork was no longer visible beneath the huge mound. Then she pushed the whole lot into her mouth.

  ‘Good idea, Raye,’ Mum said sarcastically. ‘Choking on your food will really show me!’

  Raye sat in stony silence and continued chewing her food. Her eyes shot daggers at anyone who dared to look in her direction. Nova cut carefully into her second sausage, dissecting it into four equal pieces, before pushing one of the quarters into her mouth. She had a set routine. Peas, beans or tomatoes first, then the meat – whatever it might be, then the energy food (as Mum called it), or stodge (as Raye called it). Stodge like chips or rice or mashed potatoes or pasta. Nova never argued about eating her food. And she always finished what she was given. She looked down at her plate. Nearly there. She popped another quarter of sausage into her mouth.

  ‘Mum, can I have some more milk?’ asked Jake.

  ‘Me too!’ added Jude.

  Mum turned round to get the milk out of the fridge. Nova spread some mashed potato over her last two pieces of sausage. She popped one into her mouth before pushing the remaining mashed potato into a miniature volcano-shaped heap in the middle of the plate.

  ‘Mum, while you’re in the fridge, can I have something fizzy to drink?’ asked Nova.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Got any ginger beer?’

  ‘There’s one left,’ Mum replied.

  ‘I’ll have that then. Thanks.’ Nova put the last lot of mashed potato and sausage into her mouth before putting her knife and fork together in the middle of her plate.

  ‘I see you’ve finished all your food – again. Creep!’ Raye hissed.

  ‘What’s your problem?’ asked Nova. ‘Not enough fibre in your diet?’

  ‘Crawly creeper!’ Raye mustered as much venom as she could to inject into her words.

  ‘I think you mean creepy crawler! You’re such a pleasure to be around – really,’ said Nova. ‘I’m so proud you’re my sister.’

  ‘Bog off!’

  ‘You first,’ said Nova.

  ‘That’s quite enough of that,’ Mum snapped.

  Nova and Raye glared at each other. Jude and Jake shared a grin. Meal times were such fun, with everyone arguing and saying rude things.

  ‘I’ll help you to serve the dinner later, Mum,’ said Raye, reluctant to tear the full force of her filthy look away from her sister.

  ‘Catch me, someone,’ said Mum, swooning. ‘I’m fainting!’

  ‘You’re always going on about me helping around the hotel more and when I do volunteer, you just mock me,’ Raye fumed.

  ‘You need a sense of humour transplant,’ Nova muttered so she could be heard.

  ‘And who was talking to you?’ said Raye.

  ‘Sorry, Raye.’ Mum straightened up. ‘You’re quite right. I shouldn’t have made fun of you. Thanks for volunteering.

  ‘She just wants to be with whatshisface – Andrew,’ said Jake.

  ‘Are you going to snog him?’ asked Jude in all seriousness.

  After one last razor-sharp look which scythed around the table, Raye flounced out of the room. Mum shook her head and handed a can of ginger beer over to Nova.

  ‘I can’t wait to
be a teenager.’ Jude grinned at his brother.

  ‘Me too!’ agreed Jake.

  ‘Just drink your milk, you two!’ said Mum, placing a full glass before each of the twins.

  Nova drank as much of her ginger beer in one go as she could, until her stomach was full to the point of being bloated. She sat back and stared at her empty plate. Totally empty. Only a little tomato sauce from the beans showed there’d been anything on it. Nova rubbed her stomach. The gas from the ginger beer was making her feel really uncomfortable. It couldn’t be a good idea to gulp it down so fast. The effect was always the same. Nova sighed and stood up. Standing across the table from her was Liam.

  She jumped. ‘How long have you been standing there?’ she asked.

  ‘We’re not standing. We’re still sitting,’ Jude frowned.

  ‘She’s not talking to us,’ Jake whispered in Jude’s ear.

  ‘I was talking to . . . Never mind.’ No way was Nova going to try and explain herself again. She turned back to Liam. ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘Long enough,’ Liam replied. ‘I need your help.’

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘You’ve got to help me get my – get Mr Jackman out of here.’

  ‘Out of the hotel?’ asked Nova.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why? What’s he done?’

  ‘Nova, who’re you talking to?’ Mum asked.

  ‘No one. Myself.’ Nova headed for the kitchen door. She’d have to watch it. If she started talking to Liam when her family were around, they’d all think she was barking mad. Well . . . even more barking mad than usual.

  ‘Er, oh no you don’t,’ Mum called Nova back. ‘It’s your turn to help me load up the dishwasher.’

  ‘But, Mum, I’ve got other things to do.’

  ‘Tough!’ said Mum, without a single shred of sympathy. ‘It’s your turn. Get on with it.’

  ‘But, Mum . . .’

  ‘Nova . . .’

  Nova turned back to Liam with a regretful shrug, but he was gone.

  17. Liam and Mr Jackman

  ‘When’re you going to leave?’

  Mr Jackman sat at the small wooden table, its surface scratched and scarred, and continued to write. He didn’t even raise his head.

  ‘I want you to leave . . .’

  Mr Jackman raised his head, a frown creeping across his face, but all too soon he carried on with his writing.

  ‘D’you hear me? You’re not wanted here. Why don’t you go?’ Liam shouted from the middle of the room. ‘You made my life a misery when I was alive and now I’m dead, you’re still doing it!’

  Liam glared at the man before him in total frustration. He tried to force himself to focus so that he could materialize, but all the old feelings kept bubbling up inside him. It was so hard, deliberately appearing in front of people. It always seemed to happen by accident, when he lost his temper or experienced some other emotion equally potent. Except with Nova. Why did she see him so easily when no one else could? And now, unless he faded out and thought himself somewhere else entirely, Nova could see him whether he wanted her to or not. Liam sighed. What was the reason? There had to be a reason. Maybe she was more sensitive to his presence? Or maybe she just wanted to see him more than anyone else in the hotel. Needed to see him. Needed his help –just as he needed her help at this moment. Tentatively, he moved closer. What was this man doing? What was it that had him so engrossed?

  Liam walked over to stand to one side of the man and began to read over his shoulder. Horrified, he shook his head, unable to believe what he was reading – but it was there in black and white. He looked at the man beside him, hoping against hope that he’d misread the letter. Maybe he’d misunderstood what was written? But the sombre expression on the man’s face told Liam that he’d done no such thing.

  ‘Oh God!’ Liam exclaimed.

  He needed to find help – fast. And there wasn’t much time.

  18. Liam

  I moved swiftly through the hotel grounds, looking around all the time to make sure there was no one else there. Luckily the slab that marked out the entrance to the tunnel didn’t have too much debris over it. Just an old, discarded wheelbarrow, recently dumped. Shifting it to one side, I moved the slab covering the entrance. I sat down at the edge of the now uncovered hole, then twisted my body round to grab hold of the rope ladder which led down to the tunnels below. Moving down a couple of rungs, I leaned against the ladder and the dirt wall beyond that, until I was steady enough to pull the slab back into place. Even partially hollowed out, it was heavy, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

  I was careful to make sure the slab was back in place before I headed down the ladder. I didn’t want anyone to find the entrance. I was the one who’d gone to the trouble of replacing the rotten, knotted rope which used to hang at the entrance. I’d made the ladder I was now standing on, buying several metres of rope and twisting and plaiting them into shape in my every spare moment until it was ready. So why should I give up this place?

  The tunnels were warm and dry, just as I remembered them. But I’d barely taken three steps before my thoughts returned once again to Josh. I’d told him all about the tunnels, but until now I’d refused to show them to him. But why not? If I was going to show them to anyone in the world it would be him. After all, he is my brother and I care about him. Who am I trying to kid? I love him. There! I admit it! And strangely enough, I don’t feel silly or soppy or even embarrassed. In fact, for some strange reason, it makes me feel . . . OK! Not just OK about my brother, but in a strange way, OK about myself as well.

  So what was Josh doing now? Wondering where I was? What was I worried about? The fact that Josh might be anxious about me, or the fact that he might not be? I smiled wryly as I thought about my younger brother. He had a lot to answer for! I shone my torch around. The dim, yellow torchlight was soon swallowed whole by the darkness. Ahead, behind, it made no difference. I could see no further than a metre in any direction. The torch was a whip, cracking silently to keep the gloom and shadows at bay. But I’d only been walking for about ten or fifteen minutes when it began to flicker. I turned the torch upwards to stare into its fading light. How could the batteries be dying? I’d changed them less than a fortnight ago. I shone it on the ground, looking for a patch of ground that was even. About a metre ahead of me was the perfect bed – ground that was even and solid. I lay down, taking off my jacket so I could use it as a pillow. Switching off the torch to save the batteries, I made myself comfortable and within moments I surprised myself by falling fast asleep.

  I woke with a start and with that groggy feeling you get from too much sleep rather than not enough. I could hear a faint rumbling sound but I couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from. It must’ve been the noise that woke me up, faint as it was. Usually the tunnels were eerily silent. I stood up, wiping the sleep out of my eyes. The tunnels were still pitch black but I instinctively knew it was now morning. I glanced down at my watch, forgetting I couldn’t see a thing. I felt around for my torch, then shone the light down on it. Ten-thirty. I’d been asleep for ages. I must’ve been more tired than I thought. That probably explained why I’d been so ratty to my brother. Never mind. I’d make it up to him. I always did.

  And maybe it was time to make up with Dad too?

  To be honest, I was tired of fighting with him. Time to call a truce – if Dad would meet me halfway. He had to be just as sick of our quarrels as I was. When I was a lot younger, we’d go to the beach or the local museum, or play football, or just sit huddled up on the sofa watching the telly. Yes, he was my dad, but it was more than that. We were good mates. Until Mum died. He fell to pieces and our family fell apart. And stupidly I’d thought I could put everyone and everything back together. Sitting there in the torchlit gloom, I saw more clearly than I ever had before. When Mum died, and Dad fell apart, I’d tried to take over his role. But I couldn’t. I shouldn’t have even tried. I needed help – Dad’s help. I took a deep breath and let it
out slowly, one fight, one quarrel, one bad thought, one frustration at a time. Time to let go. Time to go home. Time to start again.

  I gathered up my jacket, switched on my torch and turned, heading back for the tunnel entrance. The torchlight was dim, but it’d last until I was out of the tunnels. After a couple of minutes I stopped abruptly. What was that noise? I stopped breathing, moving my head forward to listen into the silence. A faint cracking sound . . . What was it? And a rumble, like some kind of machinery, or thunder. What was going on?

  Get a grip, I told myself. My imagination was starting to play tricks on me. Funny that! Mr Sugarman, my English teacher, was always whining at me for not having enough imagination.

  ‘Liam, switch on your imagination when you write!’

  ‘Liam, this poem lacks imagination. Don’t you daydream? Can’t you think above and beyond and outside your little box?’

  Outside my little box! Patronizing twit! What did that mean, for heaven’s sake? I had enough problems coping with my dad and Josh and everyday stuff without drifting along with my head in the clouds.

  Without warning the torch went out and I was plunged into darkness. I shook the torch vigorously. Nothing. It was so dark, I couldn’t even see the torch in my hand, let alone anything else. I looked around, careful not to move my feet, only my head. The darkness was an impenetrable, overpowering force, swallowing me up, eyes first. A darkness rich and thick enough to drink. I took a cautious step forward. I’d be OK as long as I didn’t panic. I’d been in these tunnels a dozen times or more – so what was there to panic about? One foot in front of the other. Face forward. Keep going. No problem. I took another step – and another. See! This was easy. No string, no twine, no thread, no nothing. I didn’t need it. Usually I only used twine if I was exploring a new part of the tunnels, but when I stormed out of the house, I didn’t even know where I was going until I found myself at the hotel. I’d been in the tunnels before and I could find my way through the familiar bits with my eyes shut.