St Grizzle's School for Girls, Ghosts and Runaway Grannies

by Karen McCombie

  “Hold on…” says Arch, disappearing from view for a minute or two, though I can hear some banging and clattering in the background.

  And then a face – sort of – appears on the small screen again.

  OK, so it’s a hand puppet made out of a sock, with two googly eyes stuck on.

  “So, Dani,” says a high-pitched voice as the sock puppet mimes the words, “is it totally great having your granny and your dog with you right now?”

  “Very funny,” I say in a sarcastic way, though the sock thing IS pretty funny, considering. “And yes and no.”

  “Yes and no what?” says Arch, his face coming back into view, even though he’s still got the sock puppet doing the “voice”.

  “I mean, yes, it’s completely brilliant having Granny Viv and Downboy here,” I answer him.

  “But?” says the sock-puppet Arch.

  “But what?” I ask as I carry on putting pillows into pillowcases and duvets into duvet covers. “I didn’t say but.”

  “Dani, you just PUNCHED that pillow into its case,” the sock puppet/Arch points out. “So there has to be a but.”

  “Well, I s’pose,” I say with a sigh.

  I mean, there was that whole thing at the supermarket where Granny Viv left me to do the shopping on my own for HALF AN HOUR (I had to wait outside with the packed shopping trolley and two restless animals for ages). Then Granny Viv was all weird and vague and fake cheerful and wouldn’t tell me what she’d been doing while she’d been gone.

  “Spill,” the sock puppet/Arch orders.

  “OK…” I mumble. “It’s just that I’ve hardly seen either of them since lunch. Downboy’s been off scampering with Twinkle and Granny Viv didn’t come to afternoon classes.”

  “Well, she IS sixty-five and doesn’t technically have to go to school any more,” says Arch, forgetting about the sock on his hand and letting it flop sideways like it’s fainted.

  “I know,” I reply, shrugging. “But she’s made herself totally at home already. She sat gossiping with Miss Amethyst at lunchtime. And the Newts forgave her for not being a witch and sang her a hello song they just made up on the spot.”

  “Did it have a tune?” asks Arch.

  “No, but that’s not the point. And the triplets ALMOST smiled at her, Arch! It’s freaky how well she’s getting on with everyone. AND Lulu let Granny Viv sit in her office all afternoon while she was teaching and I don’t know what she’s been doing in there…”

  OK, so I’m sounding all moany and whiny.

  And I know I’m not just moany and whiny about how quickly Granny Viv’s settled in.

  “Anyway, what ARE you going to do for the film project, Dani?” says Arch, since it’s mainly what I phoned him to talk about.

  “Haven’t a clue…” I sigh, punching another pillow into its cover.

  Honestly, if there was a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Pillows, I would be in pretty serious trouble right now.

  “Hey, you know, maybe,” says Arch, the peak of his red baseball cap bobbing as he talks on my phone screen, “you could still film at the same spots as Spencer and his mates. Why should THEY claim all the best stuff in the village?”

  “I just don’t fancy copying what they’re doing,” I tell him, “especially if they’re filming on a fancy, professional camera.”

  “Yeah, but you could make it different, Dani,” says Arch. “How about you edit YOUR film with a weird filter, like distorting stuff with a fish-eye lens, or use freaky colours, or have it spinning like a kaleidoscope or something?”

  “Suppose that could look cool but too much weirdness might frighten visitors away, rather than attract them?” I suggest, though I don’t want to dampen Arch’s enthusiasm.

  “OK, fair enough,” he says. “Well, how about you shoot all the scenes with the T rex as your presenter? You could have it moving around a bit as it talks, with you adding a funny voiceover after!”

  “Hmm. But having a random Tyrannosaurus rex narrate a promotional film about the beauty of the area around St Grizzle’s … it sounds kind of, well, maybe a teeny bit random?”

  Urgh. I’d hoped Arch would magically say something that would solve my project problem but I’m no closer to finding a filming solution. And it’s Tuesday teatime already! Earlier, I heard Lulu tell Granny Viv that she has no idea how she’ll get the whole of St Grizzle’s to the awards ceremony all the way away in Dunchester on Friday, cos the minibus is too tiddly. I’m secretly hoping Lulu decides it’s too much trouble to go, cos we haven’t got a film – or the faintest inkling of an idea about what to film – to even enter the competition!

  KNOCKITTY-KNOCK-KNOCK!

  “Hello, sweetheart!” Granny Viv says as she wanders into the dorm, then pulls a face. “Ooh, interesting décor in here…”

  “You could always ask the Newts to style your room,” I cheekily suggest, thinking of the flowery-wallpapered bedroom Granny Viv’s staying in.

  “Hmm, tempting, but I don’t think I’m brave enough for this much mess,” Granny Viv replies as she kicks some socks away. “Anyway, can I give you a hand, Dani?”

  “Um, yes, please,” I say gratefully, since putting a duvet cover on to a duvet is about as simple as crocheting with spaghetti.

  “Great!” says Granny Viv, getting on with the duvet fitting/spaghetti crocheting as if it’s all ridiculously easy-peasy. “Actually, I’m glad I’ve got you all to myself, Dani.”

  I’m about to point out that we’re not totally alone, since Arch and his sock buddy are perched on the nearest bedside table, but Granny Viv breezes on with what she has to say.

  “Want to know what I found out?”

  “Mum’s at the wrong Pole?” I suggest. “All the penguins moved to the Arctic instead, just to mess with the scientists?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t put it past them. Sneaky lot, penguins, behind all that cuteness,” says Granny Viv, nodding as if I have a fair point. “But want to know what I REALLY found out?”

  “OK,” I say, hoping she means that a gold ticket she’s found in a bar of chocolate will give us a year’s free supply of the stuff.

  Or a raffle ticket in an old coat pocket has won us an hour in a room filled with puppies.

  Or that she’s discovered a secret portal in time and space at the back of her camper van that’ll take me to the Antarctic, so I can give my mum a quick hug.

  ANY of those would be nice.

  “Well, I have found out a couple of things, actually,” says Granny Viv, with a big wanna-know-my-secrets grin. “Did I ever tell you that I was the tour manager for Eric’s punk band in the summer of 1977?”

  “Er, no…” I reply, wondering where on earth this is going.

  “Well, I was, and that meant me being in charge of these loud and lazy blokes and driving them and their gear all over Europe in a beat-up old van. Can you imagine?”

  “Sort of,” I say, thinking nothing Granny Viv does would surprise me. “Um, but what’s this got to do with finding things out?”

  “Ah, well, I was on Lulu’s computer earlier, looking up recipes and dreaming up meals for the rest of this week, just to help her out. And while I was online, I decided to check something on my driving licence…”

  So that’s what Granny Viv was up to. The thing is, the meal-planning I get, but why have driving licence checks got her all excited?

  “…and I found out that I’m also allowed to drive coaches.”

  “So…?” I say hesitantly.

  “So I booked one – and I’m driving us all to the awards ceremony at Dunchester Town Hall on Friday!”

  “What? But we haven’t even got a film to enter!” I protest, feeling wibbly around the edges.

  “Not a problem,” says Granny Viv, expertly tossing a duvet into its cover like she’s flipping a pancake. “Cos the SECOND thing I found out was that Miss Amethyst used to be an actress. She was in panto and everything!”

  It’s as if Granny Viv is talking in riddles. One second she’
s on about recipes, the next coach companies and now it’s Miss Amethyst’s former career on the stage. The madness of the Newts’ dorm was already making my head feel fuzzy but Granny Viv is making my mind melt.

  “Um … yeah, I know that she used to be an actress. I mean, Miss Amethyst is our drama teacher, after all,” I say, frowning, and wondering where this conversation’s going next.

  “I thought she was your science teacher?” Granny Viv frowns back, not realizing quite HOW much everyone has to do at St Grizzle’s. “Oh, never mind, that’s not the point. Finding that out about Miss Amethyst – PLUS something you and I spoke about today, Dani – has given me an amazing idea for your Why We Love Where We Live project. Want to hear it?”

  You know something? Part of me wants to say no. Cos part of me is feeling a teeny bit hugely cross that Granny Viv has just waltzed in and made herself quite comfy at St Grizzle’s, all in the blink of an eye.

  St Grizzle’s is MY school, not hers.

  I’M the director of this film project, not Granny Viv.

  It should be ME who—

  “YES!” a tiny, tinny voice shouts from the bedside cabinet. “I WANT TO HEAR IT!”

  Oops, I forgot about my miniaturized best friend for a minute there.

  “Ha!” laughs Granny Viv, grabbing up my phone and my screen-sized buddy. “Isn’t it all such good fun, Arch? Don’t you just LOVE this place?”

  “Mneh…” I mumble, and hide my grumpy face behind a fluffy duvet.

  Three of my most favourite things in the world are Granny Viv, Arch and making mini-movies.

  But right now, I wish … oh, I don’t know what I wish.

  “Hey,” says Swan, appearing at the doorway of the dorm, twirling a stretchy twang of pink bubblegum around her finger.

  “Hey,” I say back, trying – and failing – to do a convincing smile.

  “Hi, Swan! Have you met Arch?” booms Granny Viv, who’s literally holding my best friend in the palm of her hand.

  “We’ve said hello a couple of times,” Swan replies, giving a swift chin nod to Arch.

  “I was just about to tell these two my idea for the film,” says Granny Viv, pointing at me and my phone.

  “Yeah, so I heard,” says Swan.

  “Great! Well, come on in and sit down, and I’ll tell you all about it at the same time...” says Granny Viv, parking herself on the newly made bed and patting the space beside her.

  What, she wants to snaffle Swan, too?

  “Uh, sure,” Swan answers with a shrug. “But could I grab Dani for a few minutes first? I just need her to give me a hand with something.”

  “Of course!” Granny Viv says brightly and then carries on nattering with Arch.

  Swan leaves at high-speed, and zips across the corridor to our dorm, with me trailing behind, dragging a half-made duvet in my clenched fist.

  BANG! goes the dorm door.

  “What do you need me to do?” I ask.

  “Take THAT,” Swan orders, pointing to the duvet, “hold it to your face and scream!”

  “Huh?” I mumble.

  “I heard your gran. I saw your face. My mum drives me mad when she takes over like that, too. So I thought I’d rescue you – let you have an AAAAARGHHHH! moment.”

  Ooh, you know I think that Swan might be another of my favourite things.

  Cos if knowing when someone needs to go AAAAARGHHHH! isn’t the sign of a good friend, then I don’t know what is.

  “Doesn’t she look amazing?” says Granny Viv, stepping away from Miss Amethyst and revealing her “look” to everyone on Wednesday morning (i.e. the whole school, which happens to be crammed into Lulu’s office).

  “Whoo-OOO-ooo!” Miss Amethyst calls out, making all the Newts shriek and giggle.

  So, what’s going on? Well, Granny Viv – with the help of Mademoiselle Fabienne – has transformed Miss Amethyst into St Grizzle’s first ever head teacher, Miss Augusta Wilberbuttle.

  As a ghost.

  Her make-up is white, her hair is white, her sweeping old-fashioned skirt and cape are white.

  And the ghostly Miss Wilberbuttle is going to be the narrator of our Why We Love Where We Live film project. She is going to give her early 20th century opinion on the 21st century best and worst bits around St Grizzle’s School and the village.

  This was the idea Granny Viv explained to me, Swan and a tiny Arch-on-the-screen last night in the Newts dorm. It was inspired, she said, by stuff I’d told her about on our walk to Huddleton for the groceries, stuff like Mrs Hedges’ ghostly sheet tangle and the impressive speech about Miss Wilberbuttle on the Conkers’ mini-film.

  At the time, we all thought it was pretty great. This morning, it’s obvious everyone else thinks it’s pretty great, too.

  But still, Granny Viv and her Great Idea is making me feel…

  AAAAARGHHHH!

  “Be cool,” mutters Swan.

  She can sense the top of my head is about to pop off.

  Here’s the thing – back at home, everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, loves, and I mean LOVES, Granny Viv. All her friends, all her neighbours, all her workmates from before she retired, everyone of the 473 “friends” on her Facebook page loves, loves, loves Granny Viv.

  And of course, I love her the most, cos she’s my gran and everything, and she is totally the best.

  And even though she’s only been here for practically a nano-second, everyone at St Grizzle’s seems to love Granny Viv, too, which is, er, lovely.

  But that’s the problem – everyone going wild for Granny Viv has happened TOO quickly and it’s making me feel INVISIBLE. And don’t even get me started on the fact that she has come up with her Great Idea for the film project when I couldn’t.

  And right this minute, with everyone from the smallest of the Newts to boss of the school Lulu staring at Granny Viv and hanging on her every word as if she’s a genius, I feel like handing my phone right over to my grandmother and telling HER to film it all.

  Maybe I can go hang out with Twinkle and Downboy and chew scattered pegs on the lawn instead...

  “Well, that’s all sounding fabulous! TOTALLY inspired!” says Lulu. “So, what happens next?”

  “Well, we film ‘Miss Wilberbuttle’ beside some of the worst new buildings, giving her opinion of them,” says Granny Viv, “and then we switch and take her to these beautiful hidden-away spots in the woods, and hear all the wonderful things she she has to say about them. It’ll be a brilliant contrast.”

  “I can’t wait!” says white-faced, white-lipped, utter-spooky Miss Amethyst. “Where’s my script?”

  “Script…?” Granny Viv says, sounding confused. “Can’t you just make your speech up as you go along?”

  “Improvise? Oh, no, darling, I’m not that sort of an actress,” Miss Amethyst replies, a frown starting to crack her white facepaint. “I need to know my lines!”

  Suddenly, I think of someone who loves Granny Viv as much as I do, but feels AAAAARGHHHH! about her quite a lot. I’ve never, ever understood why my quiet, sensible, organized mum gets so grouchy with Granny Viv but now I think I get it. Granny Viv is like a big showy Catherine wheel, spinning off in all directions and grabbing everyone’s attention but with nothing much to add once the fizzles and flashes have died away. And maybe loud and sparkly Granny Viv makes Mum feel a little bit invisible, too.

  I don’t have much time to think about this, though – I’m distracted by a thumping noise. It’s Zed… He’s gently thudding the rubber tyre of his wheelchair up against Lulu’s desk, while STARING at me. Is Zed trying to attract my attention? I frown at him, and wonder why he’s pulling a funny face. He’s either got a bad tummyache or is trying to tell me something.

  Maybe I’m a bit thick but I don’t get it.

  Zed seems to get that I don’t get it, so he says VERY loudly, “Hey, Dani – YOU’RE the director. What should we do?”

  “WE” – that’s the word that makes a switch flick on in my brain.

  “Um…” I star
t with a mumble as everyone turns to look at me.

  Deep breath, Dani, I tell myself, then try again.

  “Thanks for coming up with this great idea, Granny Viv. But like Lulu told us at our assembly on Monday, this has to be a whole-school activity. So…”

  I glance around at lots of expectant faces.

  “I think Swan and Zed should have a production meeting with Granny Viv, to map out where all the pretty places in the woods are, and then we can plan our shooting schedule.”

  Granny Viv, Swan and Zed nod their okays, which makes me feel better and more in control.

  “Yas? Can you write the script, please?”

  Yas beams a Yes, I can do this!

  “Angel, you could do the filming with Zed and help me with editing later. I’ll teach you how the editing app works. And May-Belle, could you figure out some background music? Maybe moody goth stuff for the modern bits and nice jangly guitars for the scenes in the woods?”

  Angel and May-Belle high-five each other.

  “Otters and Newts… I need you to do some acting. Is that OK?”

  Cue massive whoops from the Newts and strange smiles from the triplets. I hope they don’t all get their hopes up and think that I mean they’re going to have STARRING roles… I mostly just need them to goof around – being themselves – in the background.

  One hand is up, though, which belongs to someone I haven’t mentioned yet.

  Klara is blinking at me hopefully with her white-fringed eyelashes.

  “Yes, I think we’ll definitely need some cartwheeling in the film,” I tell her. Klara is so pleased she immediately rushes out of the office and does a bunch of practice cartwheels all down the corridor.

  There actually appears to be a cartwheel going on in my tummy, too.

  It’s because I got brave and un-invisibled myself (don’t care if that’s not a real word), and came out from the shadow of Granny Viv. And I’m back to doing what I do best, i.e. making mini-movies but without Arch’s help.