by Holly Webb
“Who are you, anyway?” William asked her haughtily.
“I live here.” Polly glared at him. “I’ve got just as much right to be here as you have.”
William snorted and Polly rolled her eyes. She had wanted to help Rex find Magnus but the grey dog didn’t seem particularly friendly and neither did his owner.
“Let’s go,” she said to Rex. “They don’t want us. Can’t we try to wake up the others instead?”
She was halfway across the room when the boy called after her. “Please don’t go.”
“I’m sorry.” William stood up, more solid now, and Polly saw his face properly for the first time – the tear-tracks in the dirt smudged across his cheeks, his reddened eyes. “I’m not used to talking to people. There hasn’t been anyone, don’t you see? Not in all these years. You being here – looking for me. It’s made me realize how lonely I’ve been.”
Polly nodded slowly. She wasn’t sure what to say to him – how much he knew. Did he understand that he was a ghost? Did he know that he had died, and how? She wanted to know why he seemed to be a ghost her own age, when he had died as a teenager, but she wasn’t sure how to ask. “I’ve only lived here for a few weeks…” she murmured.
“I know. I saw you come.”
Polly blinked. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being watched. But then it was his house, too – more than it was hers. And he had to watch hundreds of people traipsing through it every day.
“Is this your room?” she asked. “I could show you mine, if you like. I live in a flat at the top of the house. It’s one of the rooms in the rightmost turret with a round window.”
“I don’t know if I can,” he said quietly. “I stay here mostly, around the nursery. There are good memories here, you see. This is where I was happiest, before I was sent off to school. I can be in the garden, too, sometimes, when Magnus is there. But it’s hard, going to other places.”
Polly swallowed. She couldn’t imagine mostly living in one room for a hundred years. But perhaps time didn’t mean the same thing to ghosts.
Polly reached out and, almost before she knew it, she grabbed William’s hand.
He gasped and tried for a second to pull away. But then he stopped and his own fingers curled around hers.
“I didn’t know you could touch me,” he whispered. “No one has before. No one even saw me. Only Magnus.”
His hand felt cool but quite real – just like any other child. “I expect it’s because of Rex,” Polly suggested. “Whatever magic that makes the statues come alive works on us, too.”
“It’s not magic,” Rex scoffed. “It’s because we belong. All of us belong to the house – yes, before you tell me, Polly, I know you’re not a Penhallow. I don’t understand why you can see us or how you can touch William. But you have. So let’s go! Adventure! Excitement! What are we waiting for? Why are we standing here talking, like little old ladies sharing a pot of tea?”
Polly bit her lip. “I only thought we could go and see my bedroom. It’s not really adventurous or exciting…”
“It is for me.” William grinned at her shyly. “And I’m sorry I laughed at you before. I wouldn’t have if I’d known you could hear me.”
Polly shrugged. “I suppose I must have looked a bit weird hugging a statue. But you’d have hugged him, if you felt like I did.” She ran the fingers of her other hand through the thick, wiry fur on Rex’s neck. “Do you really think that I belong here? That’s why I spoke to you that first night, you know. Because I didn’t feel like I belonged anywhere any more.”
“You must,” William put in. “I’m sure you wouldn’t be able to see me and Magnus otherwise. People have come into this room lots of times over the years and never known I was here. They don’t ever stay long – I suppose I make it feel strange. I’ve never tried actually haunting someone but they can probably tell I don’t want them in here.”
“So you’ve been here all the time and you’ve really never been anywhere else in the house?” Polly glanced around – the room wasn’t very big. She could walk across it in ten or twelve steps. “I thought I … I felt you, in the other nursery. Did I just imagine it?”
William shook his head. “No, you’re right. There are only a few places I go – the rooms up here that I used as a child. Sometimes I’m in one, sometimes the other. Or maybe the garden. But mostly Magnus comes up here to find me. I used to sneak him up to my room – before, you know. He wasn’t really allowed upstairs but my mother pretended not to notice that he slept under my bed.”
Polly tugged his hand. “Just try to make yourself move. You never know.” She looked round the doorway, checking for anyone else in the passage. Then she slipped out of the door and beckoned to him to follow but he stood hesitating in the doorway.
“What is it?” Polly bit her lip. Perhaps there was some sort of barrier he couldn’t break. “If you can be in the gardens you must be able to get out of this room somehow.”
“I know…” He put a foot out towards the door and flinched back.
“Oh, stop that nonsense.” Magnus’s voice was low and growly but there was something loving about it, something worried and fussy that didn’t fit with his deep chest and the air of a dog about to set off on a long ramble across country.
He shook his head crossly and then jumped up, planting his front paws in the small of William’s back and shoving him out into the passageway. “There,” he muttered. “Could have done that years ago, if you hadn’t spent all your time moping away in here.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me I could leave whenever I wanted?” William stood in the passageway, staring down at his hands as though he couldn’t quite believe that he was still in one piece.
Magnus loped out after him and set off along the passage. “You never tried to leave. You sat there mending that train, over and over, and I thought that’s what you wanted. If we’re going, we’d better go.” He disappeared around the corner to the landing. “Is it up here?” they heard him call back.
“Yes!” Polly dashed after him, chasing up the stairs to the flat with Rex and William following – she could hear them, paws and boots thudding on the wooden steps, not like ghosts at all. Suddenly she found herself smiling. It was like being back home at the flat, with her and Dad deciding to take the stairs and race Mum in the lift.
She opened the door, ushering the others inside. “It’s a bit small – and we haven’t unpacked all the books and things yet,” she said, looking around. The flat looked very bare compared to the grandly furnished rooms below. She swallowed nervously. William was used to that enormous mahogany dining table and the silver candlesticks and about six sets of knives and forks. She had been going to offer him a stale sponge finger… Although, thinking about it, ghosts probably didn’t eat. “Um … I suppose it isn’t anything like downstairs.”
William just sniffed. “I didn’t go in the formal rooms downstairs that much. So, which is your room?”
Polly smiled at him gratefully as she opened her bedroom door. “It’s here. The best bit’s the round window – look. I love it.”
William climbed up on to the chair Polly had set below the window, gazing out. “You can see the sea from here!”
Polly laughed. “Rex took me to the beach the first night I woke him up. I’ve never lived by the sea before. You’re so lucky. Did you learn how to swim when you were really small?”
“Pretty young. Where did you live before you came here?”
“London.” Polly shut her eyes and spoke very fast. It was still hard to say, even to a ghost. “We moved here because my dad died.”
“Oh…” She could hear William shuffling his feet, as though he didn’t know what to say, and her eyes snapped open. “You’re a ghost! Shouldn’t you be able to say something better than Oh? I mean, you’re dead.”
Rex snorted in shocked surprise and Polly went red. “Sorry…” William was staring at her, round-eyed. “You did know that, didn’t you?” she asked panickily.
“Of course I did! I’m not stupid.” He sniggered. “Just dead.”
“Huh.” Polly tried hard to stay indignant but she couldn’t. It was actually quite funny.
“I still don’t know what to say about you losing your father,” William murmured. “I’d have hated it if that had happened to me.”
There was a scuffling noise from the living room and then a guilty silence.
“Magnus!” William sighed as they hurried out of the bedroom. “He was probably after food. He’s a dreadful thief.”
“Can he still eat then?”
“No, of course not. But he likes trying. What have you done, you bad dog?” he scolded. The grey dog was looking embarrassed, standing next to a pile of papers that had clearly fallen off the table.
“There wasn’t even any food up there, you awful creature.” William crouched down to gather the papers and photos but he was smiling. “I can pick these things up! You don’t know how strange that is.” He laid the papers on the table and then Polly saw his face change. “What is all this?”
“My mum’s research. She’s putting together a new exhibition.” Polly felt her throat dry up as she suddenly remembered what the papers were. Mum had got up early that morning and spread all the photographs out again. It was lucky that Polly had already slipped the one of William and Magnus back into the envelope the night before.
She darted forwards to snatch them away but it was too late. William was holding a photograph, staring at it with his mouth set into a hard line. Then he threw it down. Polly felt a tug, like a sharp gust of wind and that odd shimmer twisted in the air again.
William was gone before the photograph of him in his uniform had even landed on the floor.
The boy in the picture smiled peacefully up at Polly and she felt tears burn at the corners of her eyes.
He hardly looked any older.
Polly swung round as she heard the door handle rattle and even Rex jumped. She quickly stuffed the photographs back inside the envelope, trying to remember how all the papers had looked on the table.
As the door opened, Rex licked her hand before settling himself at her feet. Polly brushed her eyes on her sleeve. How could she have been so careless? William’s story had been in the back of her mind but she had forgotten about the photographs and papers spread all over the table. Rex had been so lonely – just like her. And now she had lost them both the chance to make friends. She couldn’t imagine that she would ever see William again – or Magnus. It seemed to Polly that William had chosen to stay a child forever, safe in his happiest times, because when he’d grown up he’d gone to war. The photographs must have brought back the most terrifying memories.
“Are you all right, Poll?” Her mum smiled at her a little worriedly. “You’re very red round the eyes.”
“I think I’m getting a cold,” Polly muttered. She could hardly explain that she’d driven away one of the only friends she’d made by reminding him exactly how he’d died.
“Oh no… Do you want to go to bed?” Polly’s mum put a hand on her forehead but she twisted away crossly.
“No! I’ll be fine, don’t fuss!” The hurt expression on her mum’s face only made Polly feel worse but she couldn’t stop. “I just want to be alone!”
“Polly! Sweetheart, I only want to make sure you’re OK.”
“You shouldn’t have dragged me to the middle of nowhere then, should you? Where I don’t have any friends and I’m never going to!” Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t fair – she’d hardly had any friends at home, after months of not talking to people. But why did Mum have to start fussing over her now?
It was only when she saw the golden-brown shape crawl out from beneath the table that she realized what she’d actually said. Rex seemed smaller as he crept across the room, slinking between the furniture, fading in and out of shadows so that Polly could hardly see him. He vanished round the open door with one last miserable glance at Polly and she gasped, sucking in a painful breath and leaning over as if she’d been hit in the stomach.
“Polly! Oh, you really are ill!” Her mum caught at her shoulders, trying to look at her face.
“I’m all right! I’m going out,” Polly snapped, dimly thinking that she had to go after Rex. She shouldn’t have said she had no friends – she hadn’t even meant it. She’d been upset, that was all.
She’d been feeling lonely for so long, they were the first words that had come out of her mouth, even though they weren’t true any longer. She did have a friend. Maybe even two. Two and a half, since even though Magnus hadn’t been very polite to her, he didn’t seem to be nice to anyone. But now she’d driven them all away.
“You’re absolutely not going out in that state,” her mum said firmly. “Go and put your pyjamas on, I’ll find you a hot-water bottle.”
“I said I’m fine!” Polly watched with her fists clenched as her mum went into the kitchen. She obviously wasn’t going to be persuaded. “Ohhhh…” Polly groaned. She couldn’t stand the thought of being cooped up in the flat with Mum worrying and fussing and popping up to see her every half an hour. She darted into her bedroom, snatching up her backpack and stuffing in her swimming costume and a towel. She’d had them ready – Mum kept promising they’d go to the beach together and swim but something always came up. Something that was more important than Polly. So she’d go by herself. She even had a book and a bar of chocolate in the backpack – she could stay out all afternoon if she wanted. Slinging the bag over her shoulder, Polly raced for the door, swinging it shut behind her with a defiant crash.
She went to the terrace first, desperate to make up with Rex – to tell him that she hadn’t meant it at all. That actually, he was the best friend she’d had in ages, now that she thought about it.
His statue was back and there were visitors everywhere, admiring the flower beds, sitting on the sunny benches – there were even children climbing her yew tree. It wasn’t the time for a heartfelt apology.
Polly sighed and patted Rex’s nose, hoping she’d imagined that he flinched away from her. Then she set off for the wood and the path down to the beach. She’d expected it to be packed but the sun was going in – from the top of the cliff she could see fat grey clouds banking up over the sea. People were packing up their picnics and trailing back up the path as she came down.
“I don’t care,” Polly muttered. Right now, rain actually suited her mood. She sniffed irritably as the first drops splashed down and headed for a small dry space under the overhang of the cliff. It would give her a little bit of shelter, anyway. She sat hunched under the rock, gazing sulkily out at the sea. When she’d looked out of her bedroom window with William, only half an hour before, it had been a glittering blue expanse – a deep, sapphire blue that sang of summer. Now it was a heaving, grey-brown mass, swelling up and then dropping down like a shaken rug.
Polly gazed at the water. She was a good swimmer. Better than Mum, actually. She’d had loads of lessons – she’d even got as far as diving, which was the top class you could do at the local pool back home …. back in London.
Suddenly she jumped up, yanking her T-shirt over her head and grabbing her swimsuit and towel out of her bag, getting ready to go in the water. She was loads better at swimming than Mum and it was stupid of her to say Polly couldn’t go in. And she liked swimming in the rain. Dad always said it was the best time to swim in the sea because it made the water feel warmer. Polly had always suspected he’d just said that to cheer her up because it was raining, but still…
She raced across the beach, laughing out loud at the spatter of raindrops on her shoulders and back. She flung herself into the water – squealing at the sudden cold but loving the silky feel as it sucked her in. She paddled out, kicking lazily, pleased to be the only one in the water. She could see for miles, it felt like. She struck out more powerfully, making for the rock just outside the bay. She’d seen people sunbathing on it before and it looked easy enough to climb up.
The cold hit her when s
he was about halfway. It came on gradually – she didn’t realize what was happening at first. Then everything seemed to slow down. Her arms and legs were so heavy, and every stroke was an effort. Polly stopped and trod water, peering at the rock. The rain had got heavier, too. It was like looking through a grey veil. She glanced back at the shore. If she swam on to the rock, she’d have to come back again – and what had seemed a short, easy swim five minutes ago looked far more exhausting now. She’d better turn back, she thought.
Wearily she began to swim for the beach, telling herself it would only take a minute or two. She’d go back up to the house and treat herself to hot chocolate at the tea room, the proper sort, with marshmallows and a flake. But after a few more pulls she couldn’t even dream about hot chocolate – every bit of her was focused on swimming instead, dragging her aching limbs through the waves.
Then she went under. She could see it, almost as if it was happening to someone else. The dull grey water closed over her head, and she gasped and panicked and fought her way back up. But she was still so far away from the beach.
No one knew she was here, Polly realized, as she splashed and struggled to stay afloat. Even if she screamed for help, no one was coming to get her. Mum didn’t know where she was.
Mum! Polly fought harder – she was beginning to see how much trouble she was in, that she might actually not be able to swim back to the shore. She couldn’t do that to her mum.
Gritting her teeth, she forced her way a little further through the waves but she was so cold she could hardly feel what she was doing. Everything seemed fuzzy and dreamlike, and the sea was sucking her under again.
Then she came back up to the surface, coughing feebly. Someone was shaking her, there was yelling in her ear and teeth – teeth – had grabbed on to the strap of her costume.
“Stupid idiot! You shouldn’t ever swim out here on your own! Don’t you know about the undertow? It’s really dangerous!”
