Had he heard me? He’d only gone and rung the bloke, hadn’t he? Was he asking for his old job back? As it happened, the conversation took a very different turn.
‘You don’t speak to him again,’ whispered Mr Hancock. His eyes were wet as he stared at the lounge door. ‘Leave my boy alone, you hear?’
He didn’t sound confident, his voice lacking conviction. If he was trying to sound threatening, it wasn’t working. I had to get closer, hear what was being said on the other end of the line. I knew eavesdropping was an awful thing, but it came with the territory when you were invisible. I drifted right up to Mr Hancock, picking up the thick accent that crackled through the earpiece.
‘He’s your double, you know? You must be proud.’ No answer from Mr Hancock. He gulped as the voice continued. ‘Listen, we haven’t seen you for a while, which is a real shame. It’d be good to catch up, find out what you’ve been up to.’
‘We don’t need to do that.’
‘Don’t be like that!’ Bradbury sounded hurt, or was at least pretending to. ‘We could get together, have a coffee morning.’
‘That won’t be happening.’
‘Come on, George. It’d be good to get out of the house, wouldn’t it? Can’t be healthy, stuck indoors like a hermit, old before your years? Bit of fresh air would do you good.’
‘Thanks, but I’m fine,’ said Mr Hancock. ‘Don’t bother trying to get in touch with me again. I don’t work for you any more, Mr Bradbury.’
‘Now hang on. You forget. You and I know things. We’ve been through and seen some stuff, haven’t we, George?’
Dougie’s dad remained silent, refusing to acknowledge Bradbury.
‘Way I see it, you can help me out. I’ve got a job coming up, and you’re the perfect fit.’
‘No thanks.’
‘I’m not asking. I’m telling.’ Mr Hancock drained of colour as Bradbury continued. ‘Remember, I know your little secret. You kept it. I know you didn’t get rid. So you’ll do as I say, capiche?’ No reply. ‘I’ll be in touch soon, George. Stay by the phone.’
‘I do this one job, Mr Bradbury, and then we’re done. For good. No more. And you keep my boy out of this. There’s no reason for him to know anything.’
‘Sure,’ chuckled the man on the end of the line. ‘Whatever.’
The phone went dead. Mr Hancock placed it back into its docking, hand trembling all the while.
What was that all about? What had I just witnessed? What was Dougie’s dad involved in? The kettle whistled on the stove, screeching angrily, as Mr Hancock whispered four sorry words.
‘Please forgive me, Douglas.’
SIX
Dances and Dogfights
As double dates went, this one was weird. Dougie and Lucy had accompanied Stu and Mary to the hospital, our friend returning to the General Hospital for one of his once-a-month check-ups. These were visits to a spinal unit specialist regarding the variety of metal plates they’d put in Stu after his fall from the school roof. He was more machine than man, now. At least that’s what he told everybody. He’d spent the first three months in a wheelchair as he recovered, and it was a miracle he could now walk. With Stu and Mary with his consultant, Dougie and Lucy remained in the hospital gardens.
I kept my distance, as best I could. I hadn’t told Dougie what I’d overheard the previous day. How do you bring something like that up? ‘Hiya, pal. Your dad’s got a stonking secret. Thought you should know.’ Their relationship was already in bits. News like this would push it over the edge. Besides which, I didn’t know what that secret was. It was clearly a whopper, judging by the hold Bradbury had over Mr Hancock. What did the man from Liverpool have on my friend’s father?
‘Ah, young love,’ said the Major. ‘Is there anything more beautiful?’
‘Pass me the sick bucket,’ I grumbled as Dougie and Lucy wrestled with one another. We were on the opposite side of an enormous rose bush display, two pale blue apparitions sat on a bench of our own. There were others in the garden too, patients and visitors alike. Old folk sat in their dressing gowns with grandkids at their feet. Younger patients grabbing fresh air together. Others stood in the smokers’ corner, puffing away, seeking out altogether more horrid air.
‘You disapprove of the romancing,’ he said. ‘Why?’
‘I just don’t need to see it.’
‘You got the hots for her too?’ said the Major, clicking his fingers. ‘That ol’ chestnut! Tough break, kid.’
I was going to deny it, tell him some big fat lie to cover my bum, but it was no good. The look on my face told him everything.
‘It’s just . . . I always thought she and I would end up together. She was the last person who saw me alive the night I died. We’d just shared a kiss. Our whole lives lay ahead, who knew where they would lead?’
The Major raised an eyebrow. ‘OK, for starters, you’re fifteen years old, kid. Less of the whole life talk. It was probably just a kiss. You’d have got another, somewhere else, from another gal who rocked your world. There are plenty of fish in the sea.’
‘But I never got to see where it was heading,’ I said, shifting as I spied them snogging. ‘She meant the world to me, Major.’
‘You were infatuated, Will. She may not have felt the same way. Perhaps this was a blessing.’
‘Me being dead? A blessing?’
‘You know what I mean. It probably wouldn’t have worked out.’
‘What would you know? What makes you the world’s greatest knowledge on love?’
‘I know a thing or two,’ said the airman ruefully.
‘So you say, but why should I believe you? You tell us nothing about who you are, dodging that bullet every time. Secrets? You’re just like Dougie’s dad.’
‘Sparky’s dad’s keeping something from him?’
‘Yes, I overheard Mr Hancock on the phone, speaking to this bloke, Bradbury. He knows something that sounded really dodgy, and Dougie’s old man’s keeping that from him. How do I tell him something like that? Their relationship’s already a mess. It’s hopeless.’
‘You gotta be straight with Sparky. Tell him what you know.’
‘I can’t, it’ll kill him.’
‘Not telling him will cause more harm. He’s your best friend, Will. You gotta do right by him.’
‘And why should I take your advice anyway? You’re a closed book.’
The Major sat in silence as I stewed on his words. He removed his hat, smoothing a pale blue hand over the phantom material, running a finger along its visor. It wasn’t my place to press him. If he wanted to open up, he would. It was a cheap trick to hit him with a comment like that.
‘I’m Captain Chip Flowers and I was born in Columbus, Ohio, 1910.’
A cheap trick that worked! The airman’s ghost continued.
‘I was thirty-three years old when I died. Yeah, young. In wartime, all kinds of promotional opportunities pop up when you least expect ’em, usually preceded by a bullet.’
His demeanour shifted to one of introspection as he reminisced. He was being open for the first time, and I feared if I said something it’d be gone, snuffed out.
‘I’d been stationed here for twelve months, but it was long enough. We had an incredible time, me and the boys. The girls of your fair town certainly made us Yanks feel welcome. The boys – less so. If we weren’t chasing the ladies, promising them chocolate and nylons, we were being chased by mobs of local guys, angry that we were stealing their gals. In between that excitement, we trained hard at the base, preparing for war. Our lives consisted of drills, dances and dogfights. It was glorious.’
He stopped and smiled.
‘There was one girl. Ruby. I didn’t have a string of girlfriends like some of the boys. I’d courted in my youth back home, but nothing serious. That’s why I tell you not to dwell on what might’ve been. But Ruby? Beautiful creature, mysterious too. Can you believe she never told me her surname? The minx! I thought I’d come to England to get ready for the fi
ght, not fall in love. My best friend fell for her too, Josh Hershey, spelled like the chocolate bars. He asked her to marry him and she just laughed; thought the poor sap was joking! She only had eyes for me, though – kinda made things awkward for me and Josh for a while there.’
He nudged me in the ribs with his elbow.
‘I never got to tell her how much she meant to me. I was going to propose. I had that stolen from me. She never knew.’
We sat in silence. It made all my dramas seem insignificant, certainly regarding Lucy, anyway. The Major – or Chip, to use his real name – had made me see things a little clearer. The jealousy goggles were off, never to be replaced.
‘When I tell you to be straight with your mate, I mean it, Will,’ he said, his voice sincere. ‘Never have regrets about what could’ve been. Seize the day. Don’t keep secrets from those you love.’
‘Thanks, Chip,’ I said, the man grinning as I used his name for the first time. ‘Chip. Kind of sounds weird after calling you Major for so long.’
‘It can be our little secret,’ he said with a wink, replacing his peaked dress cap and straightening it upon his head.
‘I thought you said no more secrets?’
‘Dang, I did, didn’t I? You’re good, Will Underwood. You’re very good.’ He stood and stretched as if stiff and sore, completely pointless for a ghost. ‘Lordy, but you get to my age and things start to ache. Come on, let’s go and break my name to Sparky.’
‘He’s with Lucy,’ I pointed out. ‘Might wig him out if we start talking to him mid-smooch.’
‘Fair point,’ he said. He clapped his hands, signalling that he’d arrived upon a remarkable idea.
‘What is it?’ I asked, keen to hear his plan.
‘Let’s go pull faces at him from over her shoulder.’
And like that we were off, dashing through the rose garden to gurn at our buddy. It really was the least a friend could do.
SEVEN
Telltales and Truths
The rest of that day flew by. My chat with the Major (we decided to stick with our favourite moniker) had given me a fresh perspective. I hoped they got their shot at happiness that others, such as the Major and I, would never get. Especially the Major. His story was sad beyond words. He had found love, only for it to be snatched away. There was always somebody worse off than you. I was able to tag along with Dougie and Lucy, no longer feeling like a gooseberry. And if they happened to kiss, so be it. There were worse things to witness in life, apparently.
That evening, Dougie was at home. He wasn’t seeing Lucy. I know; whodathunkit? Perhaps he was suffering from snog exhaustion, his lips chapped from so much action. Instead of reclining in the divine Miss Carpenter’s embrace, he was lying prone on his bed, Xbox remote in hand as he battled his way through Skyrim. He made a surprisingly accomplished Battle-Mage. Better than a halfling thief, anyway.
We were a couple of days into the summer holidays and, bar our encounter with Vinnie Savage, we had many reasons to be cheerful. The business with Dougie’s dad and Mr Bradbury, however, left a brooding cloud overhead. One that still needed broaching with my mate. But how?
‘Shoot him in the eye!’ I shouted as Dougie’s character went head on with a dragon. It was my go-to phrase to shout at my mates whenever we played computer games. He could have been playing Minecraft and I’d still have yelled it. It was meant to irritate and put them off. It was working.
‘Sod off!’ he laughed, eyes wide with concentration, fingers feverishly working the controls. ‘I kill this big lizard, I get the treasure!’
‘Never. Gonna. Happen.’
A gout of fire erupted from the dragon’s jaws, showering Dougie’s Battle-Mage with liquid flames. He was too slow reaching for a healing potion. He stumbled and fell, ablaze. Quite dead.
‘Ahem,’ I said. ‘Not saying I’m psychic or anything, but I think you need to update the Rules of Ghosting handbook.’
‘Lucky shot,’ said my mate, waiting for the game to reload.
‘Yes. Being engulfed by a ball of fiery death was pure fluke. You had him on the back foot there, pal.’
As our laughter subsided, the Coronation Street theme drifted upstairs from the lounge, the volume set ridiculously loud as ever. It gave me a way in to the conversation I’d been dreading.
‘Has he said any more about that business with Bradbury?’
‘Nah,’ said Dougie. ‘Doubt he will now. Whatever bad blood there is, we’ll never know.’
‘You should dig a little deeper. There’s something your dad’s not telling us.’
Dougie stopped the game, hitting the pause button.
‘You what?’
‘Your dad’s involved in something with Bradbury, something he hasn’t told you about.’
‘Hang about,’ said Dougie, tossing the controller aside as he rolled over to face me. ‘You have my full attention now, Will. Spill.’
I sighed. Judging by his less-than-friendly body language, Dougie wasn’t going to enjoy hearing this.
‘I overhead your dad on the phone last night. He was talking to Bradbury. Sounds like he has some kind of “big secret” he’s been keeping from you. You should ask him about it.’
‘You were eavesdropping?’
I shrugged. ‘Comes with the territory. But I know what I heard.’
‘You’re aware you’re basically calling my dad a liar?’
‘No,’ I said, trying to remain calm. This wasn’t going at all well. ‘I’m saying he’s not telling you the whole truth.’
‘I don’t believe this.’
‘I’m being straight with you here. I don’t want to keep anything from you. You’re my mate.’
‘You’re stirring is what you’re doing,’ said Dougie, angrily. ‘Is this your way of getting your own back, turning me on my dad?’
‘Hang about, Dougie. I’m coming to you with this, so you can do something about it. Your old man’s involved in something – or was, in the past – and it’s come back to bite his bum now.’
‘So Dad’s a criminal, that’s what you’re saying?’
‘You’re putting words in my mouth—’
‘No, carry on. Tell me what you really think of him. He’s a mess, isn’t he? A gibbering, drunken, embarrassing mess. And your folks are just so perfect, aren’t they?’
This was very bad. Things were spiralling rapidly out of control.
‘Now wait a minute—’
‘You can’t stand the fact that Lucy’s with me, can you? That’s what this is all about. Wrap it up however you want, mate, but this boils down to good old-fashioned jealousy.’
‘Sod off! I’m not jealous!’
‘Yes you are! You’ve been like a kicked dog ever since we started seeing each other. Face like a wet weekend. I know you fancied her, but you’re gone. I’m not. Should I ignore my feelings?’
‘You?’ I shouted, my own anger now getting the better of me. ‘Feelings?’
‘Damn right,’ snarled Dougie. ‘Feelings! That’s why I’ve pandered to your every whim since you died, tolerated your creeping around like my flaming shadow every minute of the night and day. See, that’s what mates do, Will. They make sacrifices. It’s me that’s taken you wherever you want, whenever you want.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah. Popping round to your folks for awkward conversations after I haven’t seen them for months. Trips to the hospital so you can spend time with your mate, the Major. I do all this for you, and do I grumble? You won’t allow me a moment’s happiness with Lucy.’
‘This isn’t about Lucy,’ I said, regretting any previous moodiness. I’d turned a new leaf since my chat with the Major, but the epiphany had come too late. I was already damned by my actions.
‘It’s always about Lucy!’
‘I’m trying to help you see the bigger picture, but you just won’t listen, you idiot.’
‘You patronising sod,’ said Dougie, and took a swing.
Ordinarily, such a punch would
have flown straight through me, sending him on to his bum. For whatever reason, probably the anger and raw emotion that had boiled up between us, the old rules didn’t apply. His punch connected with me, his knuckles catching me flush on the chin. My head recoiled and I reeled back, through the air, through the bed, staggering through the wall and on to the landing. Dougie followed, appearing in the doorway to his bedroom.
‘Stay away from me, Underwood.’
He slammed the door as I nursed my jaw.
‘If only it were that easy.’
EIGHT
Dames and Names
The next three days saw my relationship with Dougie plummet to never-before-seen depths. We went from best of friends to the finest of enemies. For the first two days we said nothing to one another. I was the shadow we’d joked about, following him, impossible to shake. He spent time with Lucy – a lot of time. Perhaps he was trying to rub my nose in it, I couldn’t say. He’d got me wrong in tremendous fashion, and I had no hope of persuading him otherwise. So I kept my back turned, tried to shut them out, ignored what was going on behind me. In his crueller moments, Dougie would occasionally mention me to her, recounting embarrassing stories from my extensive back catalogue. But he couldn’t shake me. I was going nowhere. I was haunting him, for real.
Dougie was hurting, that much was clear. The words he’d thrown at me during our row still rang in my ears, much of which was true. He had gone out of his way to help me. How had I repaid him? I’d been sulky over his relationship with Lucy. I felt bad about it, only realising my stupidity after my chat with the Major, but it all seemed so terribly late now. The cannon had fired, the horse had bolted, and I was covered in manure.
The third day saw Dougie catching up with Andy and Stu. Previously, whenever I’d anything to say to them, Dougie acted as a conduit. He was the mouthpiece, passing on my comments. Only now, sat in the public library, he wasn’t being quite so helpful. As the three of them trawled through the local records, searching for the Major’s old flame, Dougie didn’t acknowledge me once. He actively ignored me. If the others asked me a question, he’d tell them I was exploring the library. It was hopeless; he’d cut me out. I was farting into a gale.
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