‘George?’ Morgan clicked her fingers in front of his face. ‘Has the gold rush brought back memories? Is that how your family built such a big house?’
‘Whaling played the larger part. The diggings merely increased demand.’
‘Urgh, whaling?’ Morgan shivered her revulsion. ‘You sent children down mines and slaughtered innocent whales. The eighteen-hundreds were disgusting.’ She didn’t dare bring up anything about Aboriginal people because his archaic views on them would be unforgivable.
George became lost in his own confusion. ‘Our family already had everything we could conceivably want or need. Why would I turn my back on that and go to America?’
‘You’re asking me?’
‘I do not like this book. I do not like the ideas it has in it.’
‘No need to get ups –’
He vanished.
‘– et.’ Morgan shivered. ‘You’ve got to stop doing that! You scared a year off me!’
How utterly bizarre. Not an hour earlier, Morgan had begged for peace and quiet. Now she had it, the silence became oppressive.
She took her laptop to bed, leaning against the certainty of the headboard so that nothing could sneak behind her. For the rest of the night she kept her focus on impoverished children working in mines to distract her from the insanity of everything else.
Morgan did not see or hear George the next day. Or the next night either. She’d dragged the chaise longue back to its spot under the window, thinking that might invite him back. But as she sat at her desk and added to her history essay, he continued to fail to show up.
Her friends went out on Saturday nights, either going to the movies or binge watching a show, or just talking and talking about nothing and everything. How crazy that she’d given up her one weekly night of fun to wait around for a ghost.
But here she was, deliberately keeping busy with school work while she waited. Nothing shook and there were no strange noises. Just the continuous calm silence driving her slowly insane.
Sunday morning her body was so groggy and slow, as if she’d had no sleep at all. Yet the deep crease along her face told her she’d slept heavily.
Flipping ghost.
It wasn’t until she was brushing her hair, that George’s face appeared behind her in the mirror. ‘Jeebus, George, you scared me to death!’
George took a step back and looked her sternly up and down. ‘Hell’s teeth, woman, have you taken leave of your senses? You’re wearing men’s clothing!’
Despite the scare, a rush of relief spread through her at seeing him again. ‘Where have you been?’ She nearly added, ‘I was worried about you,’ but stopped herself. He was already dead, so there wasn’t much danger of anything bad happening to him. Was there?
‘That’s the rub.’ His forehead crinkled in confusion. ‘I have singularly failed to be anywhere. It is most vexing. I want to see this world of yours, yet I cannot leave this infernal pink cave.’
Putting her hairbrush down, Morgan searched her brain for an answer. It wasn’t the chaise binding him to her room because she’d moved that to the landing but he hadn’t followed. ‘You really are stuck in here, aren’t you?’
‘To my perpetual frustration.’
There had to be something anchoring him here, keeping him from stepping through the doorway. An idea came to her. She moved over to the chaise and dragged it to the middle of the room. The effort puffed her out and hurt her shoulders. How frustrating that her ghost could hold a book, but could not help her move furniture! ‘George, I want you to walk through the door.’
‘It will achieve nothing.’
‘Just do it, yeah?’
With a look of resignation, George did her bidding and vanished through her closed door.
Morgan made herself comfortable by the chaise.
‘As predicted, that has failed. What next?’ George appeared behind her, near the window instead of sitting on the chaise beside her.
‘Right, definitely not the furniture. Maybe it’s the window. You say you were born in this room, yeah?’
A look of frustration crossed his face. ‘You do speak in the strangest fashion. Yes, I believe this is the room into which I was born.’
Strange that he should be born so high up. The image of a heavily pregnant woman scaling the steps to give birth up here seemed counter intuitive. Unless his mother had been in the room doing something else when her time came, and she couldn’t walk back down again? Maybe that was it. ‘Maybe you’re fixed to this place? Maybe we have to find something fixed from this room that we can take out with us? Then you can follow it.’
‘I believe I ascertain your meaning.’
For the next ten minutes, Morgan dragged things from the room and dumped them on the landing. The (pink) curtains. A scrap of (pink) wallpaper she ripped off. Each time, George walked through the door. Each time he vanished after walking through it, then reappeared by the window.
With a resigned sigh, Morgan said, ‘I can’t very well take the window out and carry it over.’
‘Morgan, what are you doing?’ It was Dave. He’d climbed the stairs and noticed the (pink) pile on the landing. ‘I know you don’t like the colour, but ease up yeah?’
‘I’m helping George get out of my room. He’s stuck and I’m figuring out what’s anchoring him. If I can find that, I can bring it out and he can come with it.’
‘And here I was thinking you were redecorating.’
‘He is a strange one,’ George said.
Dave made no indication that he’d heard or seen anything.
‘He says you’re strange,’ Morgan said with a giggle.
Dave shot back, ‘And you’re too old to have imaginary friends.’
‘Hey what? George is real. The other day you said you heard something. So did my friends.’
Dave put his palms up. ‘At the time, I thought I heard something. But the truth is more likely that we all got a bit worked up and let our imaginations run away with us.’
‘I can hear the beeping noises as you back up!’
‘Sometimes when a group of people all get in a bit of a mood, it’s contagious, yeah? I’m sorry for getting the girls wound up about a ghost, that was my fault.’
Thanks for nothing, Dave.
‘Is he to be our chaperone?’ George asked.
‘Er, no,’ Morgan said.
‘Come on, let’s clean up this mess.’ Dave scooped up the curtains and walked over the threshold.
‘No!’ George yelled. The lights flickered on and off.
Morgan jumped in fright.
Dave stepped back from the doorway and swallowed a few times. ‘What the –?’
Morgan laughed at how easily she and Dave had freaked out. ‘You still think we don’t have a ghost? He’s standing right there, you know.’
‘I’ll call The Rat Man In The White Van. There must be a nest of them chewing the wiring.’
‘I need to leave this room and you are hampering my progress,’ George said.
‘He wants to go for a walk,’ Morgan translated.
‘You’re serious?’ Dave dropped his bundle and took to the stairs. ‘I’m calling your mother.’
Frustration made Morgan let out an over-loud sigh. She had to focus on getting George out of her room instead of Dave’s theatricals.
‘My observations tell me you like a challenge,’ George said, running his hands through his hair. ‘I have a feeling you will not rest until you find the answer.’
He was right. If she didn’t find a way to get him out, she wouldn’t get any rest. ‘Nothing has worked so far,’ she said, looking at the debris on the landing. ‘Of course! It’s all pink, and you don’t like pink. I’ve got to find something that’s not pink.’
‘An insurmountable challenge,’ George said.
Morgan stood near the window, searching for something that might become portable. A section of carpet? No, still pink. The skirting boards were white though. She went to her bathroom and grabbed the nai
l clippers. Back by the skirting boards, she scratched and chipped away, using the pointy end of the fingernail cleaner to dig out a chunk.
Pale flakes of paint came off in tiny pieces. ‘Right, let’s give this a shot,’ she said, jogging back to the landing with the fragments. ‘Walk through the door again.’
George straightened his jacket and made strides.
Morgan held her breath.
Just as he reached the threshold, just as she thought he might make it, he vanished again.
‘Dammit!’ She kicked the wall with her foot in frustration. ‘This is never gonna work!’
‘What won’t work?’ Rachelle came up the steps to see what was going on. Dave returned as well, a few paces behind her.
‘She said she’s trying to set a ghost free,’ Dave said.
‘I’m trying to help him get out of my room. It’s giving me the screaming sh –’
‘Morgan!’ Rachelle snapped.
‘Five-aitch-one-tee-fives then.’ She groaned with frustration. ‘It’s not the chaise, or the curtains, or the wallpaper. And then I thought maybe it couldn’t have pink in it, so I tried the skirting boards because they’re the only white thing in here, but it didn’t work either.’
‘Resorting to vandalism?’ Rachelle asked.
Morgan pressed her lips together in thought.
Rachelle picked up the scrap of wallpaper. ‘All I can say is thank goodness for heritage listings, otherwise he might have had the outside painted pink as well.’
A light went off in Morgan’s brain. ‘Of course! This is all new! That’s why you can’t leave the room, George. It’s the original things that are keeping you here, not the renovations. Why didn’t I think of that?’
‘I should have thought of it too. Good show, Miss Parker.’
Leaning out the window, Morgan patted and nudged the weatherboards, testing for anything that might come loose. Kind of a relief that none of them did, otherwise she’d be nervous about living this high up with such wonky walls.
Looking up, she noticed how low the shingles came down over the window. The roof! Twisting her body, she angled herself to reach for a tile.
Rachelle’s voice carried across the room. ‘This has gone far enough. Morgan darling, stop climbing out the window. Dave, do come and help.’
‘I’m staying right here,’ Dave said.
‘Have a care, Miss Parker,’ George said.
‘I’m doing this for you,’ Morgan grunted with the effort. ‘I can almost reach . . . yes!’ With a noisy scrape, the tile came away. ‘I did it!’
Then another tile followed it, sliding free.
With an ominous clatter, so did many more. Morgan screamed and ducked back into her room as roof tiles showered behind her and landed on the grassy lawn with shattering thumps.
‘Oops.’
‘What sport!’ George said.
‘Dave!’ Rachelle called behind her. ‘Get the tile people. Morgan’s broken the roof!’
‘It’s not broken-broken. Only a few fell off.’ Morgan held her tile and walked to the landing outside her door. After a deep breath, she placed the tile at her feet. If this didn’t work, she was officially out of ideas. ‘OK George, step over here.’
With a flourish, George put his black hat on his head and sauntered to the doorway. With each step, Morgan’s heartbeat kicked up a notch. It had to work, it simply had to.
George’s boot touched down on the landing, followed by the rest of him.
‘Woo hoo!’ Morgan cried. She threw her arms around George for a hug, only to fly straight through him. ‘Aaah!’ Lurch! She smacked down.
Rachelle clicked her tongue. ‘You’re taking this too far.’
‘I forgot you were still here,’ Morgan said.
George couldn’t be happier. ‘I say, that was quite the success. Right up until the very moment you fell on your face.’
‘Cheers for that.’ Morgan wobbled to her feet and dusted herself off. Her palms stung from landing so hard, but she refused to show how much it hurt. A smile burst free despite the pain. ‘You’re out of my room at last!’
‘Morgan, you’re scaring me.’ Rachelle slapped her hands onto Morgan’s shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. She didn’t know it, but she’d stepped straight through George. ‘If you don’t stop this soon, I’ll have to speak with your father.’
‘I’m fine, Mum, I promise.’ Morgan beamed with success as she broke free from her mother, picked up the piece of roof tile and put it in her backpack. ‘See you later. Come on George.’
Morgan was already half way down the stairs by the time Rachelle said, ‘Come back here and clean up this mess.’
‘Later!’
Stepping out into the sunshine, Morgan breathed the air as if she’d been the one cooped up all this time. The chill tickled her nose and she sneezed.
‘God bless you,’ George said as he stood beside her.
Lightheaded with relief, Morgan bounced on the spot. ‘This is awesome!’
George turned three hundred and sixty degrees to take in his surroundings. ‘You are correct. This is indeed something of great awe. What is this surface I am standing on?’
‘It’s a driveway.’
With purpose in his stride, George walked its length towards the front gates. ‘Remarkable! My father had installed broken seashells.’
‘We originally put in cobblestones, y’know, to make the place look old, obviously. But then we had to get them taken out again because they gouged the underside of Dad’s Koenigsegg.’
George’s forehead creased up. ‘A what egg?’
‘It’s a type of sportscar.’
‘And a sports car is?’
‘Oh boy!’ Morgan shook her head and walked towards the gate. ‘Through here.’
A smile split his face as he motioned, ‘After you,’ for her to walk first.
‘Wow, you can hold the gate.’
‘I can?’ The minute he said it, his hand dissolved and the gate sprang closed on him.
A moment later, Morgan saw him walk through the timber fencing instead. ‘That’ll never get old.’
A white van came hurtling around the corner, clipping the footpath as the driver overtook a sedan.
‘By Jove!’ George leapt across Morgan.
Something buttery moved through her torso. George’s arm passed right through her as he tried to save her from the van.
Out of breath, Morgan said, ‘What just happened? It’s like you turned me into marshmallow.’
‘Forgive my lack of gallantry, I was attempting to remove you from harm’s way.’
A broad grin split her face. ‘My knight in shining armour.’
‘Hardly. My actions were ineffectual. And I believe in this case you have far more at stake than I?’
Gulp! ‘Um . . . yeah.’ Yikes, if she had been any closer to that van it would have been goodnight Morgan. Fear wormed into her head.
George adjusted his hat. ‘If this is what public thoroughfares have become, I suggest we confine ourselves to the parks and gardens.’
‘Good idea.’
They had to cross a few more streets to get to the local park, but once they arrived at the broad expanse of paths, lawns and trees, George’s face lit up. ‘This is grand!’
Joggers and mums with strollers bustled past. Soon another man came into view, talking loudly to himself.
‘By Jove! Is he conversing with a ghost of his own?’
‘See that thing in his ear? He’s on the phone.’ Morgan felt a headache coming on at all the explaining she had to do. Note to self: Leave the laptop on streaming history channels so he can catch up while I’m at school.
‘Do you mean Bell’s Telephone? Father was to have one installed in the drawing room. Rather cumbersome to take on a walk.’
‘This is what they look like these days.’ Morgan pulled out her cell phone and found a wiki page. ‘Here you go, have a read of that.’
A smile lit his face. ‘Your news machine is
also a small telephone? How remarkable!’
‘Everything’s smaller now,’ Morgan said.
‘Except, it would seem, the people.’ He spread his hands out to indicate the walkers around them.
‘Fat shaming is not cool, OK?’
‘Merely an observation. I daresay we are in a particularly wealthy borough?’
‘I guess you could say we’re not in Portland anymore.’
‘Oh brave new world that has such people in’t.’
‘Eh?’
‘Shakespeare, my dear girl.’
Morgan shook her head.
‘It appears then, I have much to teach you.’
A shudder rolled through Morgan at the thought of George mansplaining. ‘Come on, you’re going to love the shopping centre.’
7
Making The News
At the end of another intense school day, Morgan slid her history assignment under her teacher’s door and breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t her best work, but she hadn’t phoned it in either, so it was worth a pass, right?
Leaving the school grounds, she had every intention of going home on a tram like she usually did. Until she saw her mother’s car parked by the school gates. Couldn’t possibly be good.
‘What’s wrong?’ Morgan said as she opened the passenger door.
A whirring click sounded in her ear. ‘Give us a smile love,’ some bloke with a camera lens for a face said.
Quick as lightning, Morgan jumped into the car and slammed the door, grateful for the tinted windows.
‘Why should anything be wrong?’ Rachelle gave a tight smile as more photographers pressed around the car, making it impossible to move.
Morgan pulled her seatbelt on while the paparazzi outside kept snapping away.
Rachelle indicated to pull out, then nudged the car out slowly so she didn’t hurt anyone crowding the car. Her chin wobbled as she revved the engine to make the paps move away.
Finally they pulled away and started driving home, but her mother still said nothing. Then they missed the turnoff for home. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I’ve made an appointment for you to see someone,’ Rachelle said.
‘Me? What’s this got to do with me?’
The Girl and the Ghost Page 6
