Tamsyn Murray was born in Cornwall in the Chinese Year of the Rat. This makes her charming, creative and curious (on a good day) but also selfish, restless and impatient (v.v. bad day).
After moving around a lot during her early years, she now lives in London with her husband and her daughter. At least her body does. Her mind tends to prefer imaginary places and wanders off whenever it can but that’s not necessarily a bad thing in a writer.
When she isn’t making things up, you might find Tamsyn on the stage, pretending to be someone else. She occasionally auditions for TV talent shows. One day she might get past the first round . . .
Find out more about Tamsyn at her website:
www.tamsynmurray.co.uk
Also by Tamsyn Murray:
My So-Called Afterlife
My So-Called Haunting
TAMSYN MURRAY
PICCADILLY PRESS • LONDON
First published in Great Britain in 2011
by Piccadilly Press Ltd,
5 Castle Road, London NW1 8PR
www.piccadillypress.co.uk
Text copyright © Tamsyn Murray, 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
The right of Tamsyn Murray to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978 1 84812 134 8 (paperback)
eISBN: 978 1 84812 188 1
3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Printed in the UK by CPI Bookmarque, Croydon, CR0 4TD
Cover design by Patrick Knowles
Table of Contents
Cover
About the Author
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Acknowledgements
To my parents, for teaching me to read.
Chapter 1
I knew the boy was different when I saw him walk on water.
Me and my mates were on the Serpentine in Hyde Park, messing about in a rowing boat. The April sun was burning off the afternoon clouds and Megan was daring Charlie to splash a group of French boys with the oars.
‘Go on, Charlie,’ she urged, stretching out a foot to kick him lightly on the shin. ‘My family is descended from French aristocrats murdered in the revolution. They demand that I avenge their deaths.’
I grinned. That was a good one; Megan was about as French as a Cornish pasty and if the ghosts of her ancestors were demanding anything, it wasn’t that she flicked algae-filled lake water over some innocent teenage tourists. In fact, as I gazed around the lake, I could see there was only one ghost nearby and he didn’t look like he was auditioning for The Scarlet Pimpernel. He was wearing a killer pair of ripped jeans for a start. And did I mention he was walking on the water?
Megan was still nagging at Charlie. ‘Where’s your sense of patriotism? Stand up for your country!’
Charlie pushed his fringe carefully out of his eyes. ‘How is starting a water fight in any way patriotic? The pond police will just kick us off the lake.’
I let their bickering fade into the background as I studied the ghost. He was now hovering near the island in the centre, watching the boats circling around him with an expression of amusement on his face. It was hard to be sure but I guessed he was a couple of years older than me – sixteen or seventeen. He looked relaxed and I wondered if he’d died in the park or whether he was drawn by the people who were enjoying the spring weather.
‘No one is flicking anything at anyone. If you two have finished squabbling, do you think we could go that way?’ I said, pointing over at the island as curiosity got the better of me.
Charlie dipped the oars into the water and we moved slowly away from the French boys.
‘I might have known you’d side with them,’ Megan grumbled, jerking her head towards the receding boat. ‘Didn’t Miss Pointer say Scotland and France were practically married in history last week?’
I pulled a face. I’d lived in Edinburgh most of my life, until my move to London six months before to live with my aunt, but I didn’t have strong feelings one way or the other towards the French. Their language was another thing entirely, though; I’d give up Krispy Kreme for a month to drop those lessons. ‘Où est la gare?’ with a soft Scottish burr was pretty much incomprehensible.
‘I’m not siding with anyone. I’d just rather you didn’t recreate the Battle of Trafalgar in the middle of Hyde Park. And since there are five of them and only three of us, we’d probably lose.’
Megan shook out her chestnut hair and let her fingers trail in the water. ‘What’s so interesting about the island, anyway? You know we can’t go on it.’
She was right; there was a spiky chain linking the frequent metal posts, presumably so no one landed and disturbed what looked like birds’ nests in the wooded undergrowth. It didn’t matter. All I wanted was to get near enough to the ghost to figure out if he needed my help but I could hardly tell Megan that. She had no idea I was psychic and I had no intention of letting her find out. Instead, I pretended to peer at the trees and watched Mr Ripped Jeans. Now that we were closer, I could see that his brown hair gently curled against his head and that he was quite good-looking, in a Disney-Channel way. Charlie pulled at the oars again and we drew closer. I squinted in the sunshine, barely able to make out the distinctive blue glow the dead had; forget quite good-looking, this ghost was gorgeous. And the puckered scar which ran from one ear down to the corner of his mouth gave him an attractive roguish air.
‘Hello? Wake up, Skye.’ Megan waved a hand in front of my face. ‘Do we have to go this way? Only there’s a swan coming and it doesn’t look too friendly.’
I followed her nervously pointing finger. Rounding the island behind the ghost was a large swan. Its beak was open and I could hear a low hissing noise. It definitely did not look happy.
The ghost heard it too and turned, just as the swan passed through him. Briefly, I wondered if he was the reason it was looking so menacing but Megan’s agitation drove the thought from my head. She pulled at Charlie’s sleeve. ‘Row the other way!’
‘Get off, Megan!’ Charlie said, grappling with the oar as she tugged at his arm. It slid out of his grasp and the boat rocked as Megan wriggled around in her seat.
The ghost was watching the swan approach us now, frowning.
‘Calm down, Megan,’ I said, clutching the edge of my seat. ‘It’ll just go around us.’
Her eyes were wide with fear. ‘No, it won’t. I’ve heard about this. Swans can break your arm if you get in their way.’
I was pretty sure that was a myth but the swan was opening its great white wings and suddenly the idea that it could hurt us didn’t seem so unlikely. I could see why she was scared.
‘Megan, sit down —’ I began but it was too late; Megan was on her feet. The boat lurched crazily. Her arms flailed as she struggled to stay upright. Charlie lost his grip on the sec
ond oar and it splashed into the water.
‘Nice one, Megan,’ Charlie said, scrambling towards the side of the boat and thrusting an arm deep into the water. ‘Are you trying to tip us over?’
Megan’s eyes were still fixed on the swan, which was rearing up, its wings scything through the air. Its beak was wide as it bore down on us. A look of terror on her face, Megan craned backwards. The boat dipped with her weight. She screamed as we tilted towards the surface of the water and then we were over.
The lake was glacial, in spite of the warm day. Shock coursed through me as the chill savaged my nerve endings and, for several long seconds, I plunged into the murky depths without doing anything to stop my descent. Then survival instinct took over and my legs lashed out to propel me upwards. I gasped as I broke the surface and gulped in a lungful of air before looking round for my friends.
Charlie was about a metre away, clinging to the boat and coughing. The swan fired baleful glares our way as it glided back towards the island. There was no sign of Megan.
‘Where is she?’ I called, casting around to find her.
‘D-Don’t kn-know,’ Charlie sputtered in between coughs. ‘Under the boat?’
Other boaters were heading our way. Some were laughing but a few mirrored my concern. I twisted around in the water, desperate to see Megan’s head break the surface. When seconds ticked past and there was no sign of her, I started to panic. Hadn’t she said she could swim when the boat attendant had offered us life jackets? I bit my lip as I trod water. Now that I thought about it, there’d been a faint look of revulsion on her face when she’d eyed the orange plastic; what if she’d lied? I’d only known her for six months but Charlie had known her longer. Why hadn’t he said anything?
Plunging back into the brown depths, I peered around. The lake wasn’t that deep, she couldn’t have gone far. Even so, fear flowed through me and my blood pounded in my ears. It had only been a minute since the boat tipped over; how long did it take to drown?
Charlie’s legs swam into view as I cut through the water. Dark shapes loomed overhead – they’d be the other boats, I guessed. I couldn’t see Megan anywhere. My lungs started to burn. Feeling the sting of tears, I kicked upwards.
Above the water, Charlie had got his breath back and was now looking as panic-filled as I felt. He was ignoring offers to climb into one of the boats and was shouting Megan’s name as he scanned the lake. I could see one of the lake attendants heading our way in a motorboat but his progress was hampered by the other people on the lake. If Megan was drowning, he wouldn’t reach us in time.
Then I saw the ghost. He was peering down at a patch of water about fifteen metres away, thrusting an arm into the water and drawing it out over and over. His expression was a tense mix of sorrow and anxiety, as though he wanted to pull something out but couldn’t. Instantly, I realised why; Megan was there.
Swimming faster than I ever had before, I ploughed towards him. As I got closer, I could hear his feverish muttering. ‘Take my hand, just take it. Please . . .’
Our eyes met for a second and surprise flickered in his. But I had no time to explain. Sucking in a deep breath, I forced myself back under the surface. Once again, my vision adjusted to the greenish-brown half-light and I caught sight of something dark red floating below me. I kicked down hard. It was the end of Megan’s silk scarf. Spreading my fingers, I waved an arm beneath it and almost sobbed when they entangled in a web of fine strands; her hair. I closed my fingers and tugged. The strands became taut as her weight pulled against them. She must have felt the drag because she struggled and one of her flailing arms caught my ankle. I could have sobbed with relief – she was still alive. Forcing myself further down, I groped around for her face and slid my hands under her chin, pulling her towards me. Her eyes latched onto mine, wide and desperate, hands clutching at me as she writhed. Her added weight only dragged me down and we sank further towards the bottom of the lake.
My lungs were on fire and every cell was screaming for oxygen but there was no way I was leaving her. Summoning one last burst of energy, I wrapped my arms around her and thrust downwards once more. Mercifully, my feet thudded into the lakebed and the impact sent us catapulting through the water. The momentum only carried us so far, though. My feet flapped furiously as I strived to reach the precious air above us. It was so tantalisingly close but I couldn’t seem to get there. Feeling as though my heart was about to burst, I kicked frantically. It was no use. Megan was wriggling in my arms and I struggled to keep hold of her. The last of my strength faded and we started to sink.
Something latched onto the back of my shirt. I shot upwards, my fingers clutching onto Megan. Then my hands lost their grip and she was dragged away from me. I opened my mouth to scream at the exact second my head broke the surface. Water rushed in and filled my lungs. I coughed as a pair of strong arms hauled me into a boat. Eyes streaming, I shook off the blanket someone was trying to wrap around me and scrambled to a sitting position.
‘Megan —’ I croaked, leaning over the edge to stare into the water.
‘She’s safe, don’t worry,’ a voice soothed and I looked up into the eyes of the lake attendant.
I refused to believe him. ‘Where is she?’
He pointed to another boat a short distance away. ‘She’s there, bringing up what looks like half the lake.’
I peered across the water. Relief flooded through me as I saw Megan’s soaking chestnut head retching exactly where he’d said she was. ‘And Charlie?’
‘He’s on dry land, being checked over by paramedics. Which is where you’re going now,’ he said, and a hint of a smile hovered around his mouth. ‘The Serpentine is clean but it’s not meant for drinking. Next time you’re thirsty, stick to Evian.’
It was the worst joke I’d ever heard but I didn’t have the energy to tell him so. He nodded at the other man in the boat, who I hadn’t even noticed was there. The engine gunned and we started towards the shore. Huddled on the floor, the last of my adrenaline drained away and I began to shiver as the realisation of what could have happened sunk in. How close had we come to drowning? And what would have happened if the ghost hadn’t shown me where Megan was? My shuddering intensified as my thoughts darkened. Teeth rattling against one another uncontrollably, I forced myself to scan the lake for the ghost but I couldn’t focus well enough to see very far and everything seemed blurred. I’d find him later and say thanks, I told myself, forcing my twitching fingers to hold onto the blanket. It was the least I could do, after all. Without him, my best friend might be a ghost too.
Chapter 2
When I was a kid I’d dreamed about travelling in an ambulance with the blue lights flashing and the siren blaring, but I’d always been the driver rather than the patient. So I wasn’t fully able to appreciate the journey from Hyde Park to the A&E at University College Hospital. I was worried sick about Megan and it felt like I’d swallowed most of the Serpentine. It roiled around in my stomach as we sped around the corners, making me wonder if I was actually going to throw up all over Charlie.
The paramedic looked up from measuring my blood pressure. ‘Keep the mask over your mouth,’ she instructed in a kind voice. ‘You need that oxygen.’
I lay back on the metal trolley bed and did as I was told, trying to stop trembling. There must have been two or three blankets on top of me, as well as the one around my shoulders but I still felt cold. Charlie was hunched on a fold-down seat opposite me, wrapped in a blanket, his eyes fixed anxiously on me.
‘You OK?’
I nodded and lifted the oxygen mask a little. ‘Yeah, except this thing smells worse than your PE socks.’
A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Charlie’s mouth. ‘Nothing smells worse than my PE socks.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Except maybe yours.’
‘Ha ha.’ I considered reaching out a soggy leg to kick him but it felt as though it was made of granite. The paramedic was watching anyway, and I didn’t think she’d approve of me inflicting ac
tual bodily harm on another patient.
Charlie’s smile evaporated. ‘How do you think Megan is?’
I didn’t have the first clue. She’d been alive when they’d bundled her into the other ambulance and sped away but that was all I knew. How long had she been underwater, struggling to break the surface? Had she lost consciousness?
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘Maybe they’ll let us see her when we get to the hospital.’
The paramedic shook her head. ‘Not for a while. She’ll go straight to the ICU and you two will need tests to make sure you haven’t done any lasting damage.’
She must have seen the panic on our faces because her expression softened and she patted my arm. ‘Try not to worry. I’m sure she’ll make a full recovery.’
Charlie’s head drooped and his gaze became fixed on the floor. I placed the mask back over my mouth and stared up at the white ceiling. In my mind, the crimson tassels of Megan’s scarf floated and danced, as though taunting me for not finding her sooner. Her pale face flashed before me and I recalled her terrified look as we sank further into the murky depths. The way my lungs had seared in pain as they screamed out for air would stay with me forever. My heart sped up, making the monitor beside me beep in shrill warning. The paramedic raised her head and stared at me sharply. Closing my eyes, I forced the memories away and the beeps started to slow. I wiped my suddenly sweaty palms on the blanket and breathed in and out as slowly as I could, reminding myself we’d survived. Thank God the lake attendants pulled us out when they did. The alternative would be giving me nightmares for weeks.
‘So it really was a very lucky escape; all three of them have avoided permanent damage.’ The doctor, whose name-badge proclaimed that he was Dr Mohammed, rubbed his face and offered my aunt, Celestine, a tired smile. ‘Megan will need to stay in for observation but Skye is well enough to go home.’
My So-Called Phantom Love Life Page 1
