‘Leave that now. Go to your room and stay there till I say you can come out. Move.’
Lee straightened up, scuttled past his father and vanished into the house. Maybe I should follow, thought Rosie, but old Kippax moved to a box on the wall and thumbed a green button. The garage door swung up. Rosie grinned. Panic over. I can leave now whenever I want to.
Under the floodlight stood a van. It had reversed up the driveway. Now it came scrunching into the garage. It wasn’t the blue Kippax van which had nearly squashed Pete. This one was red, and pretty ancient. Rosie tiptoed over to the house door so she could watch and not be in the way.
Two men got out.
‘Bit late,’ growled Kippax. ‘Thought you’d blobbed.’
The driver shrugged. ‘Traffic, squire. God!’ He’d spotted the bin-bag. ‘I’d have hired a ruddy elephant if I’d known it was this size. Solid bronze and all.’
Kippax shook his head. ‘Hollow. Just over a tonne. Piece of cake, and you get a cuppa when it’s loaded. Not many people’d look after you like I do.’ He went across and started ripping away the polythene. The driver and his mate joined in. In seconds the statue stood revealed – six feet of gleaming muscle wearing a crown of seaweed and brandishing a trident, his feet buried in a drift of torn plastic. Rosie nodded to herself. Of course. Poseidon’s another name for Father Neptune and here he is, folks. Why doesn’t somebody pass by right now and spot him? She slitted her eyes, peering down the floodlit driveway. Oh, right. Hidden by the van. Crafty swines. I wonder … can I get to school, go visible, run to the police station and get back here in a patrol car before they load up, drink their tea and drive away?
I can give it a flipping good try.
‘Now then, miss, what can we do for you?’
‘I need to speak to Detective Sergeant Springer. It’s urgent.’
‘Oh, aye?’ The constable scrutinized Rosie from rat-tail hair to sodden trainers. ‘You look half-frozen. Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine. Look – I know where that statue is but they’re shifting it. It’ll be gone in a few minutes.’
‘Statue?’
‘Yes, you know. The Greek one. Poseidon, from Sowerby Old Hall. Sergeant Springer questioned my dad about it, said I was to let him know if I saw anything.’
The constable pulled a fat ledger towards him and picked up a pen. ‘Can I have your name, miss? Name and address.’
‘Rosie. Rosie Walk. We’re travellers, parked on that bit of the old Cleeston road by Inchlake Woods.’
‘Aah, right.’ The officer nodded. ‘You’re one of the Three Bears, aren’t you?’ He smiled. ‘Baby Bear, I suppose. Well, Baby Bear, I’m afraid Sergeant Springer’s not on duty tonight. Comes on at eight tomorrow morning. You could try then.’
‘Tomorrow morning?’ Rosie was outraged. ‘That statue’s being loaded on a van now. It could be in Timbuctoo by morning. Let me talk to whoever’s on duty.’
‘I’m on duty, miss. Constable Stables. Talk to me.’
‘I have, but you don’t seem to believe me.’
‘That’s because you haven’t given me much to go on, miss. Where exactly is this statue, and how come you know about it?’
‘It’s in Mr Kippax’s garage, and I know because I was there. I saw it.’
‘Mr Kippax’s garage?’ The constable gazed at her. ‘D’you mean Bob Kippax, the joiner?’
‘Yes. His son’s in the same class as me.’
‘Is he now? And what were you doing up there, miss? It’s a long way from the woods.’
‘I was … investigating.’
‘Investigating? Playing at private detectives, you mean?’
‘No, I wasn’t playing. Mr Kippax was up Inchlake Manor just before those paintings were taken, and his van was seen near Sowerby Old Hall last night.’
‘Seen?’ The constable stared at her. ‘By who, may I ask?’
‘It’s whom.’
‘What?’
‘You say whom, not who. And it was Peter Rabbit.’
‘Peter Rabbit.’ He sighed. ‘You’re sure it was Peter Rabbit whom saw this van, and not Squirrel Nutkin or Bart Simpson or Alice in Wonderland?’
‘Peter Rabbit’s real. He’s in …’
‘Don’t tell me. The same class as you, right?’
‘Yes.’
The officer sighed again. ‘Listen, miss. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a crime wave all over the country. The police are pretty stretched trying to cope with the genuine stuff. What we don’t need is a lot of hassle from kids called things like Baby Bear and Peter Rabbit, with overdeveloped imaginations and too little to do. And now I’ll have to ask you to run along, because I’m very busy. G’night, miss.’
‘Hi, Pete. All right?’ Thursday morning, just before the buzzer.
Peter nodded. ‘Not bad, thanks.’
Rosie smiled. ‘For someone who nearly got run over by thieves, eh?’
‘How d’you mean, thieves?’
‘The place you were passing when the van nearly got you was Sowerby Old Hall, right?’
‘I haven’t a clue.’
‘Well it was. And that same night, by a strange coincidence, a statue was pinched from the grounds of Sowerby Old Hall. And by an even stranger coincidence, that statue later showed up in old Kippax’s garage.’
The boy goggled. ‘How the heck do you know all this, Rosie?’
She told him about Sergeant Springer’s visit to her home, and her own to the Kippax residence. She was explaining how she’d got herself locked in the garage when Carrie and Conrad joined them and she had to start all over again.
When she’d finished, Carrie said, ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were investigating? We could have come with you. We’re supposed to be a gang, you know.’
‘I know and I meant to, but it was so cold. You’d have hated it.’
‘You managed.’
‘I’m used to it. Thing is what do we do, now the police don’t believe us?’
Conrad looked at her. ‘They didn’t believe you, Rosie, ‘cause you’re a stranger and a traveller. If one of us had been there …’
‘It’d have made no difference,’ interrupted his twin. ‘It’s not because Rosie’s a stranger or a traveller, it’s because she’s a kid. Haven’t you noticed grown-ups never believe kids?’
Conrad pulled a face. ‘’Course I have, turkey. So what do we do?’
‘Get evidence. Hey Rosie – I’ve got a camera. Why don’t we go up the Kippax place tonight and take a picture of the statue? That’d prove you weren’t lying, wouldn’t it?’
Rosie sighed and shook her head. ‘It’s gone, Carrie. I told you, a van came for it.’
‘Oh, yeah. Well – couldn’t we grab Lee? Force him to confess?’
‘Sure, if you fancy a rumble with Rex Fairclough and Carl Foxcroft. I don’t.’
‘Hey, have you noticed,’ said Conrad, ‘they’ve all got the letter X in their names? Kippax, Rex, Foxcroft? D’you think that’s why they’re a gang?’
His sister snorted. ‘What the X has that got to do with anything, you dummy?’
‘I just noticed, that’s all.’
‘We’ve got a choice,’ murmured Rosie. ‘Either we find a way of making someone believe us, or we say it’s none of our business and stop being invisible detectives.’
Carrie shook her head. ‘We can’t do that, Rosie. It’s against the law to know about a crime and not tell the police, and we know about a crime and who did it. We’ve got to do something. Question is, what?’
The buzzer sounded as she spoke, and Rosie pulled a face. ‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow,’ she said, ‘at the barbie.’
Three thirty-five. The twins, walking home.
‘Hey, Con?’
‘What?’
‘Old Kippax. He’s got that yard near Sizzlers, right?’
‘’Course. What about it?’
‘Well, we’ve investigated his house but not the yard. It’s piled up with all
sorts of junk, and then there’s the buildings. He could hide a flipping elephant there and nobody’d know.’
‘There’s no elephants missing.’
‘You know what I mean, dummy. Those paintings might be there. I reckon we ought to take a peek.’
‘You could be right. Mention it to Rosie tomorrow night.’
Carrie shook her head. ‘I’m not talking about Rosie, Con. I’m talking about you and me. What’s wrong with the two of us taking a look by ourselves?’
Conrad looked at her. ‘You mean like, go invisible without Rosie? Or would we do it visible?’
‘Invisible, you donkey. We’ll use Inchlake Ring. It’ll work just the same without Rosie.’
‘Yeah I know, but like … I prefer to have her around in case something goes wrong.’
‘Like what, for Pete’s sake?’
‘Well, like if we went invisible and couldn’t get back. You know – walked round the ring and just stayed invisible?’
‘It won’t happen, and if it did I don’t suppose there’s anything Rosie could do about it. I say we do it today, straight after tea.’
‘I’d want to think about it first.’
‘Chicken.’
‘It’s not that. I just don’t like rushing into stuff.’
‘Chicken.’
‘Shut your face.’
‘Chicken. I’ll go by myself.’
‘You can’t.’
‘What’ll you do, chicken-licken – tell Mummy?’
‘No.’
‘Keep me in an armlock all night?’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘Come with me then.’
‘I … oh, what the heck. All right, but don’t blame me if we both end up invisible for ever.’
Carrie grinned. ‘You’re a hero, Con. I always said so.’
It was dry, but a spiteful wind whipped the bleached grass round the feet of the ancient stones and drove flocks of ragged clouds across the sky. Conrad shivered.
‘Flipping freezing.’
His twin nodded. ‘Wait till you’ve no clothes on.’
‘Oooh, don’t. Think I’ll go invisible first, then strip off.’
‘Good idea.’ There was nobody about. The pair positioned themselves and began walking backwards. ‘Does feel strange without Rosie. You were right about that.’
‘Want to change your mind?’
‘You wish!’
They completed the circle. Conrad looked down at himself. ‘Think it’s worked?’
‘’Course it has, you turkey. Let’s get our stuff off. It’ll be dark in an hour.’
‘You start. I’m just going to take my clothes for a walk.’
‘What’s the point? There’s nobody to see.’ ‘I don’t care. I’ll pretend there’s someone. The Bee.’
‘You’re a nut.’
Carrie crossed to the stone with the recess, unzipping her top. She was shrugging it off when she heard a cry. Turning, she saw her brother topple backwards, arms flailing. She was about to laugh, but then the back of his head struck the altar stone with a sound like an apple splitting. He slumped sideways and lay like a rag doll, one arm cocked against the sky.
‘Con? Conrad?’ She ran towards him, her top flapping. He didn’t move. She knelt, feeling his brow. ‘Con? Are you OK? Say something.’ Daft stuff you come out with when you’re scared. ‘Con?’ Shake him. No, don’t. Not supposed to move someone who’s had an accident, right? She wished she knew first aid, not just fragments picked up from the telly. He’s knocked out. Dead, maybe. What the heck do I do?
Fetch someone. Go visible first, of course, then find an adult. Or a house with a phone. Yeah, that’s it. A house with a phone. Ambulance. We were playing. Just playing, and my brother overbalanced. I’ll say that to Josh, like on Casualty. He’ll know exactly what to do. Clear the airway. Immobilize the head. All that. Yeah, but …
Invisible. She could go visible in a minute, but what about him? She could see him, but to anybody else there’d just be a set of clothes. What would she tell Josh about that? Oh yes, he’s invisible at the moment. We go invisible sometimes. There is a head though, somewhere, and it’s bleeding …
Impossible. Can’t fetch help and don’t have a clue what to do myself. One thing. One possibility. If I carry him round the ring he’ll go visible, won’t he? Or have you got to be awake? Can but try. Then if it works I can get somebody. I know they say don’t move the patient, but …
‘Come on, Con love. Up we go.’
It was unbelievably difficult. Flopping and lolling, the helpless Conrad felt like a tonne of mutton. It took Carrie more than a minute to drag him backwards, heels trailing, to the edge of the ring. She kept expecting somebody to show up and see her apparently struggling with a very heavy set of clothes. What the heck am I gonna say? Oh, I just thought I’d take this stuff to the Oxfam shop but I seem to have come the wrong way. Yeah, sure.
It was when she started trying to move the unconscious boy forward that it got really hard. She couldn’t hook her hands under his armpits and drag him like before, because they’d both be going backwards. She had to sit him facing forward, then haul him to his feet and sort of push him in front of her. His head rolled to and fro on his chest, his arms waved about and his feet kept getting tangled up with hers. She couldn’t do it in one go, it was far too tiring. Every few metres she’d stop, let him slide down till he was sitting, and squat behind him panting for a few seconds, her head on his shoulder. What if it doesn’t work – if you’ve got to do it non-stop? It was no use thinking about that, or about the harm she might be doing by lugging him about. Somebody could turn up at any minute.
She’d forgotten where she’d started, so it was only the appearance of their faint shadows on the ground which told her she’d succeeded. She’d carried him right round, and it had worked. They were visible. She glanced at her watch. Five past seven. It had taken her nearly twenty minutes. Her twin was still unconscious but she could feel him breathing, which was a relief. Now she must leave him and seek help, though she was exhausted enough to fall down on the grass and sleep. She cradled his head and gazed into the pale, still face. ‘Con, I’ve got to leave you now, get help. You’ll be OK, won’t you, till I get back?’
There was a farm just off the footpath near the bottom of the hill. A farmhouse anyway – it wasn’t a working farm any more, but the people would have a phone. She paused between two great stones, glanced back at the small figure in the grass, then started running. The sun was setting over her left shoulder. Soon it would be dark.
Carriage lamps mounted either side of the door came on as she slammed the knocker. Footsteps beyond the iron-studded door, which opened on a chain. A slice of face in the gap.
‘Yes?’
‘Please can I use your phone? My brother’s had an accident, up the Ring.’
‘What sort of accident? You’re not doing drugs or anything, are you?’
‘No. We were playing and he fell. Hit his head on a stone. He’s knocked out.’
‘OK, just a sec.’
There were three people. One woman, two men. They sat her down, fetched her tea while one man phoned. She wrapped her hands round the hot beaker and stared into the fire. She hadn’t noticed till now how cold she was. The warmth was making her drowsy.
The ambulance came in fifteen minutes and she had to go out, get boosted into the high cab, show the way. It wasn’t Josh; it was two women. When the headlights hit the standing stones it was nearly dark. Con didn’t seem to have moved. They piled out. The women, herself, one of the men from the farm. The women bent over her brother. One of them said, ‘Conrad, can you hear me? Can you say something? It’s all right. You’re going to be fine.’
They stretchered him into the ambulance, which bounced down the path, stopping briefly to let the man off at the house. Carrie nodded. ‘Thanks.’ She was scared for Con, but half asleep too. She hardly noticed when the vehicle reached the road and accelerated. The siren stitched a thin blue thread
of light across her dream.
As the twins were being rushed to hospital, a really terrific idea popped into Charlotte’s head. She hadn’t seen the others for a few days and was sitting on her bed, wondering whether they were having invisible adventures without her. She could hear a siren somewhere in the distance. Some poor soul off to hospital, God love ’em. I could go to school invisible.
Just like that. What an ambulance siren had to do with going to school invisible she’d never know but that’s how it happened, and the more she thought about it the more fun it promised to be. In fact she hardly slept that night, she was so excited. Friday morning she left home half an hour early and went the long way round so she’d pass Inchlake School. The yard was still deserted so she ran onto the field. The ring of little toadstools was exactly where Rosie had told her it was. She stepped in, walked carefully backwards and went invisible. Undressing quickly, she checked to see she was casting no shadow. Then she stuffed her clothes in her sports bag and hurried to the hawthorn hedge which bordered part of the field. Kids were drifting into the yard. She put the bag down, kicked it right under and piled dead leaves and rubbish in front of it. When she was satisfied it wouldn’t be seen she straightened up and strolled back, wondering what the kids would think if they knew there was a girl with nothing on in their midst.
She arrived at Holy Family with ten minutes to spare. It was great, loitering by groups of her classmates, earwigging. Just before nine Teresa Walsh said, ‘Hey – anyone seen Spider?’ Spider was Charlotte’s nickname. Then the bell rang.
‘Charlotte Webb?’ Ms Weekes was doing the register. She looked up. ‘Anybody seen Charlotte this morning?’
‘No, miss.’
‘No, miss.’
Charlotte, perched on a corner of the teacher’s desk, smiled. Ms Weeks was looking right through her.
Marked absent, she didn’t go into assembly. Instead she reclined on two giant beanbags and had a snooze. When the class returned, she sat in her usual place and trod on Toby Coughlin’s foot under the table.
Invisible! Page 7
