by Claire Davis
“Shut up!” Johnny drew the curtains quickly and snuggled down.
“Sorry,” the ghost said quietly.
“It’s OK. I just don’t want to. Goodnight.”
“Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
He started to doze until an insistent voice started saying his name over and over again. Johnny sat bolt upright in bed. Finn was kneeling there. “What do you want?” It came out more rudely than he meant but that was only the shock. “I was almost asleep. You’re not allowed in here after lights out.”
“Sorry. I got scared.” Finn was shivering. “I keep thinking about the blood. What did Napoleon say?”
“He said we should leave it alone and not go back there. Not Ever. He suggests we get more into PlayStation and…” he paused, “normal kid things.” Johnny had little idea what normal kid things were. “Maybe shoplifting?”
“No, he didn’t. A ghost would never say that.” Casually, Finn lifted the quilt and made to get in. “Budge up.”
“No! Finn, no. It’s forbidden. Absolutely banned. If they see us, we could be—”
“Clapped in irons and whipped?” Finn giggled. Johnny sighed and moved over. Finn slipped in immediately and brought the quilt right up to his neck. “Brr. I’m freezing.” A freezing cold foot poked Johnny’s.
“I’m serious. It’s forbidden.” Johnny got as close to the wall as he could but still his knees touched Finn’s.
“Why? Do you do killer farts?” Finn nudged him and laughed. “Stop looking so serious. Look what I’ve got.” He shook his hand. “Want to see?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yeah, you do.” Slowly, Finn opened his hand. It was a small bottle with a cork in the top, like a kid’s toy potion. Uneasy lurches began in Johnny’s stomach.
“What is it?”
“A spell. We have to breathe in its essence while singing an incantation. And then—” he fluttered his eyelashes “—we will have strength to face that bloke next door.”
“What’s it got in it?” Johnny leaned in to look. “You don’t really believe this crap, do you?” Finn popped off the cork. “Doesn’t seem very smelly?” He sniffed cautiously. Being in bed with another boy with a spell was too good to miss. He cast away thoughts of Greg and Anna.
“No, it isn’t. Mostly dewy grass and fox pee.” He collapsed with laughter. “You should see your face! We’ll do it together. One—two—sniff!” As Johnny shoved his head forward to sniff, he collided with Finn. The sniff was more a gasp but still a strange sensation of flying took grip. He clutched at Finn, who clutched back just as hard. “Man! Do you feel that? Powerful stuff.”
“I felt something.”
“Lie back.”
Johnny rested against the pillow. “What do we do next?”
“Nothing. You’re not going to sprout wings. What do you think was in that guy’s shed? Sounded like some kind of animal to me.” Finn wriggled until he found a spot he was comfortable with.
“I don’t know.” Johnny hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. “Maybe a guard dog?”
“Why is getting in bed with another kid banned?”
“Because of—you know—sex. Some of the kids do it. It’s banned—obviously—and illegal.” Johnny’s face flooded. “It’s not allowed. Obviously it’s not.”
“Sex?” Finn sat upright and stared as if Johnny had suggested skydiving off the Eiffel Tower dressed as a unicorn. His face contorted. “Sex?”
Johnny shook helplessly with laughter. “You know—that thing—”
“Yeah, yeah, I do know what it is, thank you very much. But why would they think we’re going to do that when there’s a fella next door with a prisoner and the ghost of Napoleon living in your window?” Finn shook his head slowly. “And a kitchen full of food! People make no sense to me. They really don’t.” He flung his head back. “At least you’re normal.” He smelt of crisps and bubble bath. “Shall we have a feast? I’ve got cake. And crisps.”
The heady aroma of cheese and onion and pine seemed to affect Johnny’s brain, making him much calmer than he should have been with another boy tucked up in his bed. He’d never been called normal before. “Mm. It’s why they all dress up and put that stuff on their faces. I think that’s why. They all do it here. I guess it looks nice—to them.” He turned cautiously onto one side. “All they talk about is shagging.”
“Oh.” Finn wriggled. “Is that what you have to do when you have sex? Look nice? I wouldn’t have thought that mattered?”
“I suppose so.” Johnny considered. “You know what’s always worried me about sex?” Everything.
“What?”
Johnny opened his mouth and out it poured, water into a bath. “What if I never want to? I mean—they’re all at it. They expect it! A girl only has to look at a boy, and then it’s bang-bang-bang. Even a look is so dangerous.” Only last week in English, the teacher made everyone get into groups, always shitscary. Johnny had slithered into his seat, next to a girl. A couple of times she smiled at him, right at him, and then he had to avoid her like the plague in case she thought it was a date. “I’d rather step in front of a car.”
“Ah, well, they’re probably lying anyway. Everyone lies constantly. It’s why cases in court are so hard to crack.” Finn turned onto his side to meet Johnny’s eyes. “Sex and love do make the world go round, though. All the soap operas and TV shows are full of it.” He wrinkled his face.
“Oh. I never thought of that.”
“And, there’s not only girls. You know?” He spoke casually but his voice was loaded. “Boys too. For instance.”
Johnny, the room, and the ghost froze. He counted to five, ten, and feverishly urged the nearest volcano to erupt. Yeah. I do know that. Finn smiled, knowingly, the type of smile that didn’t turn into a grin because it wasn’t sure enough. It was an asking, an invitation. After Johnny’s head shrank and then expanded about fifty times, he smiled back. “Yeah.”
“I thought so. Me too.” Up close, Finn’s eyes were flecked with shining stars. He leaned on his arm. “Is that why you don’t speak much? To the others, I mean?”
“No. I only just realised. It’s not why I don’t speak.” The reasons why were complicated, and yet when it all boiled down to it, there was really only one reason that mattered. “Not really.” He wished with all the particles in the house that he wouldn’t have to say anything else.
“Aw, OK.” Finn leaned over and squeezed Johnny’s hand. “It’ll be OK. Because I’m here now, and I am—”
“My wizard.” Johnny let go of the breath. It turned into a giggle. Finn watched him. For the first time since arriving, the room looked familiar. Safe. “Are you going to—sleep here all night?”
“Who can say? I am a creature of the wind and rain, my child. Might do or not. Comme Ci, Comme Ça” He closed his eyes, long lashes resting against pale cheeks.
Johnny drifted off thinking about sex, cheese, and noisy trains. He woke once in the night, but the comforting sounds of Finn’s snoring soon had him slipping back into sleep.
Johnny’s list: Mum, Nan, Granddad, Benjy (my dog).
“Something to tell me?” The ghost snickered. “Bang a gong!”
“No! Nothing much,” Johnny huffed, but he couldn’t help smiling. “He just came in and got in. Nothing I could do.”
“So you like him?”
“Yeah.” Johnny hid his face in his shoulder. “But what if they send him back? They’re bound to, aren’t they? The first person I like, and he’s nice—really nice—and now they’ll send him away and I’ll have no-one again.” His voice wobbled. “And if they do, that’s it. I’m through. No more. And you’re about to fade away with that bloody cobweb.”
“Mama Mia! Calm down. He only just got here, and he hasn’t told Greg to fuck off, flooded the loos, tried to sell drugs or done anything remotely stupid. So why would they get rid of him already?”
“Because.” Just thinking about it made Johnny’s head shrink and the childi
sh racing cars on the walls begin their descent towards his socks. “I haven’t had depression since he came,” he whispered.
“No depression today! It’s Saturday,” the ghost pointed out. “No PE or therapy. You can do spells with Finn and eat crap and watch TV. Stop being a baby and wipe your nose, you dirty bugger.”
Since waking up, the urge to say his name out loud was strong enough to punch a planet hurtling away into outer space. Johnny had opened his eyes and remembered the night before. No Finn in his bed, but on the pillow a sprig of pine and a packet of crisps. “Finn.” Tingles went up and down his body, then up and down again.
“Hah-hah hah.”
Johnny laughed too, because he was an idiot and because it was too much to contain. “Finn says we have to find out about that bloke next door.”
“Who does? I’m not quite clear,” the ghost chided.
“Finn. Finn Lyons. Should I comb my hair? Finn.”
“Mon dieu! You’re turning into a sex-mad maniac.” The ghost squeezed his hand. “If you want to. Comb your hair and go and find Finn Lyons, teenage wizard. Go and have fun.”
“But normally I talk to you for hours Saturday mornings. Won’t you miss me?” It was as Johnny drew back that he noticed the web. One half was flapping in the wind. Instead of looking crystalline and forever, it looked old and ragged. “The web!”
“Go. I’ll be here later. Go,” the ghost urged. “Don’t worry about the web. Finn will be waiting.”
After the planet spun fifteen painful times, Johnny got up and looked in the mirror. Whether he combed boring hair or not did not seem to make any difference to his appearance. He was ordinary and plain and that was the end. “Shut up,” he told the ghost crossly, and banged the mirror down.
“Never said a word.” The ghost chuckled.
“Can you hear that singing? It’s bloody horrible.”
“See you later.”
“Alligator.”
Johnny’s list: Mum, Nan, Granddad, Benjy (my dog), Benjy’s puppy collar.
He hurried down to the kitchen to see if Finn was the cause of the awful wailing, not pausing to creep past Greg’s room like he often did. Saturday could be a dodgy day where ‘cosy’ chats could be forced upon a person at any given moment. “Johnny, is that you?” Greg called.
“No,” Johnny answered without thinking. He sprinted past the hallway, through the TV room, ignoring the various disputes, and straight into the kitchen. Finn had sleeves rolled up; the counter was covered with white powder and a smell of sweet cooking.
“There you are!” Finn said. “Got your lazy arse up finally, I see. Did you hear my rune?”
Relief went over in waves of thank-god and happiness. “You’re still here,” he gasped, grabbing. “I thought they’d moved you. I thought you were gone.” And worried and worried that after the confessions of last night, Finn wouldn’t want to hang around anymore. He caught his breath and tried not to look too pathetic.
“What you talking about?” A heavy rolling pin was thrust into Johnny’s shaking hands. “Get baking. We’re making a pie.” He rolled his eyes at Johnny’s panic but as their eyes met, he smiled. “Stop worrying. OK?” Casually, he put his hand over Johnny’s, just for a second, enough to make his heart flip-flip-flip. “Course I haven’t gone.”
“I wasn’t. What type of pie? I love steak and kidney best.” A pile of ingredients was scattered across the table. “Potatoes, onion, carrots and grass. Pastry. Please tell me that’s not dog food?” The open tin of Pedigree Pet’s favourite was empty. “I’m not eating that!” He peered down at the counter and melted and died as Finn’s arm slid across his shoulders then onto his neck. Tickles and shivers almost made him gasp.
“Course not. It’s for our friend next door,” Finn whispered close. “A pie of truth. Once he eats that, we can question him closely about the blood. Roll the pastry so I can pop it in the oven. While it cooks we can go check his shed.” Johnny started on the pastry, remembering rhubarb crumble with Nan.
“First, we have to get it into a lump. This is readymade?” Finn nodded. “OK, but next time tell me, and I’ll show you how to make fresh.”
“Cool.”
Finn watched as Johnny kneaded and pushed, back and forth. He immersed his fingers and worked on the pastry until it felt right—not too hard and not too soft. His neck was singing with warmth and deliciousness as he carried on under the hot gaze. “I think it’s ready.” He looked sideways and for a few seconds couldn’t look away.
“Boys? What are you cooking?” Greg’s voice barked. Johnny instinctively jumped. He huddled against the counter behind Finn, who straight away stood in front protectively.
“Morning, Greg! Nice to see you. I hope you don’t mind if we bake a pie. Is that OK?” Greg’s eyes slid from the counter to Finn. “Cooking is so very good for the soul.”
“Yeah, but you should ask first.” He paused. “Johnny? I thought I heard voices,” he said carefully. “Was that you? Did you speak?”
“Sorry, of course we should have asked! What was I thinking?” Finn slapped his forehead. “Would you like us to save you a slice? And, can I say, you look awfully good in that yellow jumper. It really brings out your…hair. What’s left of it, anyway.”
Greg laughed. His gaze shifted away. “Be careful with the oven.”
“No disrespect, but I’m old enough. Legally old enough to drive a moped, get married with consent and join a trade union.” Finn laughed too loudly. “I can probably manage the oven, but thank you for the concern.”
“Oh! OK, yeah. Sorry.” Greg held up his hands in mock surrender. “I guess we get a little overprotective around here.” He grinned. “Well, enjoy. I’ll look forward to a slice.” He started to walk away but then stopped and looked back. “Johnny? Can you come and have a chat today? OK, dude?”
Oh, fuck. It’s bad if he’s calling me dude. Johnny nodded through the rising tide of panic.
“I’ll see that he gets there,” Finn enthused, waiting until Greg disappeared before pulling a face. “Are you OK?” He gripped Johnny’s arm. “I’ll come with you. Don’t worry about him. We can always poison him if we have to.” It wasn’t easy to tell if he was joking.
Yeah.
They finished making the pie in silence, through mingling of fingers and nudges. Johnny gagged as Finn shoved the dog food into the metal tray lined with pastry. “Waste of a nice crust. What if it kills him?”
“It won’t,” Finn said confidently. “Dog food isn’t fit for human consumption, but I’ve eaten it loads of times and I’m still here. Cat food too. It’s very cheap, you know.”
Johnny took in this morsel of news uneasily. It sat somewhere in his stomach, along with Greg’s threat of a cosy chat and the dog food.
“Actually doesn’t taste too bad. The smell is the worse part. Most times I ate holding my nose like this.” Finn illustrated holding his nostrils together with floury fingers. “Thee? Do you thee?” he asked nasally. “Youths. Thee?”
“Yeth,” Johnny giggled. “Thee me making thumb prints around the edges of the pie? That’s to make it look good. Though why I’m bothering for dog food, I really don’t know. Maybe it’s guilt? I mean, that guy hasn’t really done anything wrong except shout at us and be a dick.”
“Let me do some.” Finn copied. His fingers brushed Johnny’s. “At least you’re smiling again. I hate it when you’re sad.” By concentrating very hard indeed, Johnny was just about able to carry on living instead of dancing in the kitchen. “Oops.” Finn’s finger pierced the pie. He winked and licked it thoroughly.
“Oh, god,” Johnny said, moving away. Finn scooped up the remaining mixture and waved it about.
“Go on. Try a lick?”
“No way. No—no—no—no—way.” The finished pie went in the oven. “There. Be ready in half an hour. Probably. I don’t know how long dog food takes to cook.”
Washing hands and tidying up was even more of a head rush. Finn talked loudly about the weather an
d spells, broken up with short bursts of singing, fortunately requiring nothing back in the way of communication except the odd nod and non-committal noise. As Johnny dried his hands thoroughly with the tea towel, Finn casually slipped his hands in too and dried them together. “You’re thinking about sex now.” He grinned. “Aren’t you?”
“I was not!” Johnny went redder than anyone had ever done before—redder than a beacon on Bonfire night. “I was thinking about…spells and that.” In a state of absolute confusion, he followed the lanky figure out to the garden and down to the shed, possibly in the grip of a mental health crisis. It happened to the kids at Windybank all the time. “What are we looking for?”
“Evidence. That guy went out half an hour ago so we can go and look at that blood and see if we can get inside. Follow me.” Finn crept out the door and round the back of the shed where you couldn’t be seen from the house. “We can climb over and not be detected.”
Johnny meant to say no, or go back inside, or anything except follow, yet that was exactly what he did. He bent down low and scrambled through the bushes into the next garden.
“Keep behind me. I’ll protect you.” Slowly, they edged around the shed. “Can you see the door?”
Johnny nodded. It was splattered and wet with red.
“It’s blood! It’s definitely blood.”
“Looks like it,” Johnny agreed. “We’re not going in, are we?”
To his horror, Finn suddenly banged the side of the shed loudly. The wall reverberated. Heart hammering, he listened for noises or shouts. From inside the neighbour’s house, a dog barked.
“Nothing in there,” he said with relief. “Back to the shed to re-group.” It wasn’t really scary. The worst scenario was the guy would come back and shout; Finn would make some excuse and that would be that. Johnny crawled through the bushes, feeling they had done something tremendous.
Back in the safety of the shed, he knew he was grinning. “Wow. That was definitely blood. He must have left his dog in the shed last time.”
Finn brushed his hair away from his eyes and leaned back against the wall. “How long until the pie is ready?”
