Froggy closed his eyes and wondered how it had been when Tad was here … and saw dark sky, boats silhouetted against glittering stars, lanterns bobbing along the beach. There were cries and curses. Froggy saw bodies being unloaded off a dinghy, saw coffins piled by the gate and smelt the stench of death.
He gave a cry of horror as he looked down at corpses. There was a face he recognised – the face of his father!
He felt Cassie’s hand on his arm, dragging him back to the present.
‘What is it?’ she whispered. ‘Did you see something?’
‘No!’ Froggy blinked at her, tried to free his mind of the horror. He shuddered as he looked about him at the peaceful, sunlit scene.
The picnickers on the beach seemed oblivious of the watchers behind the fence. And the watchers behind the fence were now being rounded up for the next part of the tour, a visit to the mortuary.
The stone floor seemed chill under their feet as they crowded into the small room. Froggy gave a start of alarm as he noticed a body lying under the sheet. But it was only a dummy – this part had been built in 1916.
There was still no sign of Tad. They were herded into a large room, which the guide told them had once been accommodation for steerage passengers – the passengers who had paid the cheapest fare. They were to watch a short film. While they were waiting for it to start, Froggy wandered around collecting pamphlets, while Cassie walked over to look at some photocopied documents pinned onto the far wall.
‘Look!’ she shouted, urgently waving Froggy over. Eyes swivelled in her direction and by the time Froggy joined her, so had the rest of the group. ‘It’s a record of some of the arrivals at the Quarantine Station last century! The Dearbornes are on it!’
Craning over shoulders, trying to see the list, Froggy groped in his school bag for a piece of paper and a pen and began to copy down the list in front of him before the lights went out. His task was made easier as people lost interest and drifted away, intent on finding seats before they were trapped in the dark.
As they made their way back up the hill, a low whistle caught Froggy’s attention.
It was Tad, sitting on a rock in an attitude of patient boredom, as though he’d been waiting at least a century for them. He beckoned them over.
Froggy nudged Cassie. ‘Over there,’ he whispered. ‘It’s Tad.’ They looked down at the group, now filing across to have a look at the first class accommodation for passengers in the ‘healthy’ grounds. As the last person disappeared through the door, Froggy and Cassie slid behind a tree. No-one followed. No-one seemed to be taking any interest in them at all.
‘Let’s go!’ Froggy hissed, and Cassie followed him as he raced over to Tad.
‘What kept you?’
Froggy ignored him. ‘Quick, before we’re missed! We’ve seen part of a register. I asked about the other records, but the guide told me they won’t show them to the general public.’
Tad’s face fell. ‘Bother!’ he said angrily.
‘But we did see something!’ Froggy caught his arm, reassured by how solid Tad felt under his hand.
‘It was just a photocopy but it was for the time of the smallpox epidemic. Look! I copied down all I could find of the names of people who were sent to the Quarantine Station between June and November 1881: their age and date of arrival. It’s not a complete record, but it’s very interesting.’ He fished the crumpled piece of paper from his pants pocket and held it out to Tad.
Tad scanned the names anxiously. ‘Here we are!’ he said, jabbing a triumphant finger at the list. ‘See? Charles and Mary-Anne Dearborne, Joseph Dearborne and …’ He looked at Froggy blankly. ‘My name’s not there,’ he said.
‘No. Like the newspaper said, you seem to have vanished.’
‘But I was here!’
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Froggy said hesitantly, taking the paper from Tad and pointing to a name. ‘See here? There’s a Thaddeus Fisher listed. Same first name, and he’s also twelve, same as you. But there are no other Fishers – no Mum or Dad or anything. Do you think maybe that’s you?’
‘But why?’ Tad remembered the meeting with his father at school; the quick dash down to Southampton, their hasty boarding just as the ship prepared to set sail.
‘He didn’t want my mother to find me,’ he muttered. ‘I suppose we all used a different name on board, but they must have felt safe once they got to the Quarantine Station. Safe enough to use their own names, anyway. But still not mine.’ And he stared sadly at who he had become.
‘Is there any record of Thaddeus Fisher dying?’
‘I don’t know. We weren’t shown the death register. But look!’ Froggy jabbed excitedly at the paper. ‘Look at the listing after the Dearbornes.’
‘Atkins, Fisher, Davidson, Kelly …’
‘Davidson!’ Froggy said impatiently. ‘Davidson! Don’t you see? That’s my name! Davidson. If these Davidsons … who are they again?’ He squinted at the paper. ‘If this Catherine, aged thirty-three, and George, aged two, are anything to do with my family, it puts my ancestors at the same place as you, and at the same time!’ And he stared at Tad triumphantly.
‘Yes!’ Tad’s eyes lit up with excitement.
‘What’s going on?’ Cassie begged.
As Froggy explained, Tad shook his head. ‘I don’t know how we’ll prove any of this,’ he muttered.
‘First things first,’ said Froggy. ‘I can ask Mum about the family when we get home. She’s into family history and all that stuff. She did a course about it, once. And I can talk to my Gran, too. But while we’re here, let’s see what else we can prove about your family.’
Tad looked depressed. ‘For a start, there’s no way I can prove I’m not Thaddeus Fisher …’ Suddenly he clapped a hand to his mouth, remembering his last day at the Quarantine Station.
‘Yes, I can!’ he said triumphantly, and began to pick his way through the thick bush that covered the hill behind them. ‘I can prove that I was here, and that Joseph is part of our family. Just wait until you see this!’
11
Tad pulled aside the tangle of creepers and the three of them stared in silence at the words carved into the rock so long ago. Age had weathered them; moss and lichen had rendered them almost unintelligible, but they could still make out faint outlines: ‘THADDEUS DEARBORNE. CHARLES DEARBORNE. MARY-ANNE DEAREST. JOSEPH DEARBORNE. JUNE 27TH, 1881.’
‘I was here! You see, I was here!’ Tad said fiercely.
‘So, it’s really true,’ breathed Cassie. ‘It’s something you can show the lawyers at any rate, Froggy.’
He grinned at her, glad that at last she was taking him seriously.
‘It would be better if we could show them evidence from the register, too,’ he said. ‘I mean we can prove that Joseph was part of your family, Tad. But we also need to prove that you were here and that you died under a different name.’
‘But I …’
‘You never told us what happened to you, Tad,’ Froggy interrupted.
‘Well, I …’ Tad swallowed hard. ‘I died of the smallpox, too,’ he said rapidly.
Froggy blinked. ‘Why are you hanging around Dobroyd then? Why aren’t you here?’ he asked.
‘Because I … I had to be over there to rescue you, you silly ass!’ Tad sounded suddenly hostile.
‘But you said you couldn’t get back here. Why not?’
‘Because … oh, you ask too many questions! How am I supposed to know what ghosts do!’ Tad turned his back angrily and stared down at the inscription they’d uncovered.
‘There are other ghosts here, too,’ Cassie said helpfully, remembering what the guide had told them. ‘Apparently lights go on and off at night and strange things happen.’
‘Kids’ stuff!’ Tad sulked. Froggy stared at Cassie with interest. He hadn’t heard the guide say that. He wished now he’d listened more carefully.
‘Why don’t we sneak back here and have a look at the other records?’ Cassie looked from Froggy to fresh air, hoping she wasn’t
interrupting anything.
‘You mean sneak back and break in?’
Cassie nodded. ‘We’ll have to come at night, when no-one’s around,’ she said.
‘That’s a stupid idea!’ Tad said hotly. Froggy was glad Cassie couldn’t hear him. He frowned thoughtfully. The idea of coming back to this place didn’t appeal to him at all. If he could see visions during the day, what might he see at night?
‘You didn’t tell me what happened to the rest of your family. Did they all die of smallpox?’ he asked Tad.
‘Joseph didn’t die! I know he didn’t. I already told you that.’ Tad was still sulking and Froggy wondered why.
‘All right, all right! But what about your father and Mary-Anne?’
‘Mary-Anne died of smallpox. That’s why I had to …’ He checked himself abruptly. ‘And my father died of a bellyache.’
‘How can anyone die of a bellyache?’ Froggy sniggered.
‘Appendicitis.’ Cassie patted the small scar on her stomach, invisible beneath her school uniform.
Tad looked at her with new respect. So did Froggy.
‘They wouldn’t let him off the hospital ship for treatment,’ Tad explained, giving Froggy a dirty look. ‘Ralph told me he …’
‘If appendicitis isn’t treated and the appendix bursts, you can die from peritonitis.’ Cassie didn’t realise she was interrupting Tad. ‘I know because it nearly happened to me.’
‘They brought your father to the beach for burial.’ Froggy felt the hair rise up along his arms as he remembered his vision.
‘How do you know?’ chorused Tad and Cassie.
‘Because I … saw something on the beach. A dead man from long ago. He looked like …’ Froggy felt his mouth go dry. ‘He looked like my father,’ he said rapidly.
‘It was my father,’ contradicted Tad. His face was grim as he absent-mindedly traced the ragged carving on the rock with his finger.
‘Oh.’ Froggy thought of the face he had seen, with its black hair and bulbous eyes, and its tortured expression. He decided it might be better not to say any more.
Cassie looked at him expectantly. ‘Well? What do you think? Shall we come back?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Waste of time!’ Tad snapped and Froggy wondered why he seemed so keen to stop them.
‘It might help if we could see what happened to the Davidsons as well as your family, Tad,’ he acknowledged.
‘Good!’ Cassie whacked him on the back, delighted Froggy approved of her idea. ‘Look, it’s Wednesday today. There’s a blue light disco in Manly on Friday night. Why don’t we tell our parents we’re going to that, and come up here instead?’
Froggy stared at her, wondering if it was too late to back out. His vision on the beach had done nothing for his peace of mind. The last thing he wanted was to be alone here at night!
‘What a dumb idea!’ Tad said scornfully, and Froggy made up his mind then. He was tired of secrets.
‘I think that’s a great idea,’ he said untruthfully, grinning at Cassie before turning back to Tad. ‘It’ll be worth …’ But Tad had gone.
Froggy was thoughtful as they slipped back down through the bush to rejoin the rest of the group. It seemed Tad could disappear at will, when he wanted to. He’d done it before, when he was upset. Now he’d done it because he was cranky. Why? Froggy was sure it was more than Tad not getting his own way. It was almost as if Tad didn’t want them to see the records. But why not, when he’d seemed so keen to have a look at them in the first place? What was he trying to hide?
The more Froggy thought about it, the more certain he was that he couldn’t trust Tad. But in the days that followed, he began to wish he’d listened to Tad instead of Cassie. Now his dreams were full of horror. He was escaping something, running away with a heavy box tucked under his arm. His arms ached from carrying it, and from rowing a small boat endlessly across the ocean. But most of these details were forgotten in the terror that followed as the water grabbed him and sucked him down. Once he woke up, screaming.
Froggy remembered his promise to Tad and asked his mother about the family history. She was surprised but pleased by his interest. She wasn’t so pleased when he ignored her side of the family and pushed the papers aside to concentrate on details of his father’s line.
‘Typical male,’ she said. ‘I suppose my side of the family isn’t important enough!’
‘It’s not that.’ Froggy tried to think of an excuse. ‘It’s just … oh, let me see then.’ And he spent a frustrating hour listening to stories about her grandparents before he could turn his attention to his father once more.
What he saw excited him. His mother had noted the details meticulously. Froggy read through the entries quickly.
Froggy knew his cousins, Abigail and John. They lived down on the south coast, but the families usually got together every Christmas. John was really too young for Froggy to bother with. The only thing that made him interesting was the fact that he had webbed feet, too.
Froggy’s attention was drawn back to the top of the page. Joseph Davidson! The same name as Tad’s brother – Joseph! Yet according to the details he’d copied from the Quarantine Station register, the Davidson boy’s name was George. So how had he suddenly become Joseph? Froggy was more determined than ever to go back to the Quarantine Station to check the records.
‘Why did you stop at Joseph Davidson?’ he asked his mother. ‘Who came before him?’
His mother frowned. ‘Things got a bit confused,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t find his birth certificate. Nor could I find any trace of his father, but his mother was Catherine, I believe.’
Check! thought Froggy.
‘Were they ever at the Quarantine Station, do you know?’ he asked.
‘What an extraordinary question. I have no idea!’ said his mother. ‘Why do you ask?’
Froggy shrugged. ‘I dunno. Just something I thought of.’ He pointed to the family tree. ‘So are all these people the heirs of Joseph Davidson?’
His mother gave him a funny look.
‘I mean, if there was money or something like that to inherit, would …’
He stopped as his father wheeled his chair into the room and over to the table. He looked at the documents with interest.
‘Trying to find out about your ancestors, Fred?’ he asked. ‘Hang on a minute. If you’re interested, there are some old photographs stashed away somewhere. Now where would they be?’
‘Have you got any of …’ Froggy did a quick calculation, ‘of my great-great-grandfather, Joseph?’ he asked eagerly.
‘Joseph? Yes, I think there’s one of him in army uniform. He died during the First World War, you know. Quite a hero he was, unlike his son, poor old Charlie who died during the Second World War after a car accident. He was drunk at the time. Go and look in that old box-trunk in the garage, Fred. You might find some stuff in there.’
Froggy rushed outside. The box-trunk was right at the back of the garage. Old paint tins thick with grime and host to a tangle of spiders’ webs were piled on top of it. Froggy lifted the tins off, brushed the top of the trunk with an oil-stained rag and gingerly lifted the lid.
His eager fingers found a rich assortment of velvet and brocade, beads and feathers, old dresses from bygone days now moth-eaten and frayed. He pushed them aside, sneezing as he disturbed a cloud of dust. Underneath was what he was looking for – a pile of photographs. He flicked through them, then bundled them together and raced inside to show them to his father. ‘Nan!’ he shouted as he passed her bedroom, hoping she was home to help with identification. The people in the photographs all looked the same to Froggy, in their formal, antiquated clothes with their formal, carefully posed expressions.
‘Look!’ He spread the pictures out in a fan in front of his father. The family resemblance was unmistakeable, particularly in the male line. The female descendants, especially in more recent years, tended to make the most of their thick black hair and disguised their rather bulging eye
s with make-up.
‘There’s your Joseph,’ his father laughed, handing Froggy a stained sepia photograph of a bride and groom. ‘Look how nervous his new missus is. I always hoped the wedding night wasn’t quite as bad as she seemed to expect!’
‘Really, James!’ Froggy’s mother said crossly.
Froggy studied it carefully, comparing it with his memory of Tad. But Tad’s face was young, unlined. He picked up another photograph. His hands were sweating, leaving damp smears on the side of the print. Joseph in his army uniform. There was no doubt. Again, the family resemblance was unmistakeable. Joseph looked very like his father, and like himself and Tad, if they’d been older. Tad would be rapt to see these!
‘May I keep them?’ He slipped the photographs into his pocket, wondering if they would be enough to persuade Tad to swap the rabbit.
‘Sure.’ His father looked at him curiously.
‘Did Joseph have webbed feet, too?’
His father laughed. ‘We all do,’ he said cheerfully.
‘No, you don’t.’ Nan said, arriving just in time to hear the last part of their conversation.
‘Who hasn’t?’ Froggy demanded.
‘Your Uncle John and his side of the family.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘Joseph’s …’ Nan paused for a moment ‘Joseph’s great-nephew. His side are descended from Joseph’s younger brother, William. You’ve never met Uncle John. He’s still out west, farming. That’s where our family came from originally, you know. I met John when I married your grandfather. He came over for our wedding. His family are quite different from ours. Funny that, now I come to think of it, when our side of the family is so distinctive.’ Nan looked thoughtfully at the photograph in her hand. ‘Here, see for yourself.’
Froggy stared at a thickset man posed in his best Sunday clothes, a lean-to shed in the background.
‘You see, he has fair hair and light eyes,’ Nan pointed out. ‘None of that lot has webbed toes like you and your father.’
Froggy took the photograph from her as Nan seized on another with an excited cry. ‘That’s what I was looking for!’ She waved it under his nose. ‘Your grandpa and I on our wedding day.’ She smiled at the groom who stood woodenly beside someone still recognisable as herself, only younger and more hopeful-looking. ‘And look, that’s my father.’
Ghost Boy Page 8
