I turned the photograph over. Something was written on the back:
Dragon by Ava Laurent
April 1980
I picked up another photo. In this one the cloud looked like a peacock: it had a fan of feathers standing tall and proud behind its smooth, pointed head. I looked on the back:
Peacock by Ava Laurent
June 1977
I raked my hand through the box, studying picture after picture. They weren’t accidental photos of clouds at all. These clouds were all different shapes. There was a lion, a shoal of fish, a whale and a wide oak tree. They were all beautiful.
At the bottom of the box there was a photograph of a woman with long dark hair, standing beside a big black barn. She had her arms crossed, and she was leaning against the barn wall. The sun was in her eyes, and she was laughing at whoever was taking the picture. I flipped it over:
Ava Laurent – Cloud Artist
May 1987
I remembered what Grandad had told me on Friday afternoon when I’d said I didn’t have time to listen: “Ava Laurent was the finest cloud sculptor that this country has ever seen.”
I stared at the woman in the photograph and her dark brown eyes twinkled back at me. I thought about the strange black barn with the cabinet full of “carving knives” and the thing moving under the sheeting. Could one of Grandad’s silly stories actually be true? Was Ava Laurent an actual cloud sculptor?
“Don’t be ridiculous, Tabby,” I whispered to myself. And then I quickly put the photographs back in the box and placed the lid down firmly.
Chapter 8
Mum and Dad said I didn’t have to go to Grandad’s funeral if I didn’t want to. I wasn’t sure what to do, and I kept changing my mind. At the last minute I decided I would go, so Mum rang the school to say I wouldn’t be in.
The funeral service was really sad and I thought I would cry, but I didn’t. In fact, I hadn’t cried at all since Grandad died. My chest felt like there was a big balloon filling up the space behind my ribcage. The balloon was being stretched almost to bursting point, but still the tears didn’t come.
When the funeral was over, everyone came back to our house for sandwiches, cakes and cups of tea. Mum had placed all our spare chairs in any available space, apart from Grandad’s room, which had the door closed.
Dad asked me to take a plate of sandwiches around, and everyone said what a brave girl I was and how Grandad must have been so proud of me. I bit my lip. I didn’t think Grandad would have been proud at all. I thought about how I’d always been in a rush to get away from him.
When I went back to the kitchen, I spotted Buster sitting in the corner. He looked scared as he stared up at the strangers’ legs around him. I told Mum that I could take Buster for his walk now, and she agreed.
I ran upstairs and changed out of my smart clothes into jeans and a jumper. When I took Buster’s lead off the hook by the front door, he spotted me and trotted over.
“Let’s get out of here, shall we?” I said, clipping his lead on. Buster smacked his lips together and wagged his tail.
When we got to the pier, the sandy beach on the right was completely empty. School was finished for the day, but the drama department were holding auditions for the next musical production. Rebecca and Lily would definitely be there.
When I’d gone back to school after Grandad had died, Rebecca had come up to me in form and said she was really sorry to hear what had happened. I’d thanked her, and she’d smiled and walked off with Lily. A few seconds later I’d heard them laughing about something.
At the pier Buster stopped to sniff the ground next to the claw machine stuffed with the fluffy frogs. He must have remembered that he’d found a dropped ice cream there.
“Hello again!” said a voice.
It was Alex. He had a black dog with him.
“How did the funeral go?” Alex asked. “Actually … that was a ridiculous question. I’m sure it was horrible.”
I smiled at him. “It wasn’t too bad,” I said. “Not as bad as I thought it was going to be, anyway.”
Buster and the black dog began to sniff each other’s bottoms.
“Is he yours?” I asked.
“Yep!” said Alex, patting the side of the dog. “This is Dave. He’s a Labrador and a bit deaf, so we have to shout at him sometimes. DON’T WE, DAVE?”
I giggled as the dog ignored Alex and wagged his tail at Buster, who was going round and round in circles like an idiot.
“We’re going down to the sea if you fancy it?” said Alex.
I shrugged. “OK,” I said.
When we got to the pebbly beach, Dave ran straight into the water. Buster watched on, yapping madly at him.
“Dave loves the sea,” said Alex. “He always goes in, no matter how cold it is.”
I put my hands in my pockets to keep them warm. It was pretty windy, and every now and then I felt a light spray of seawater on my face.
“Dave! DAVE!” shouted Alex, walking towards the shore. Dave was swimming further and further out. His black head bobbed up and down as the waves passed underneath him.
“Dave! YOU’RE GOING THE WRONG WAY!” said Alex. “TURN AROUND!”
I giggled and wondered if Alex would have to wade in to get him. Buster was spinning round, wagging his tail and barking.
Dave suddenly turned and began heading back towards us. His mouth was wide open as he paddled. He looked like he was laughing.
“Come on!” Alex said. “You know you’re not allowed to swim out that far.”
Dave walked out of the sea and shook himself, showering all of us with cold water.
“Urgh!” I said, laughing.
“Sorry about that,” said Alex, smiling at me. We carried on walking.
“Oh look,” I said. “The beach huts have been moved.”
All the pastel huts were now standing in a row in the field beside the car park. I felt a lump form in my throat when I thought about my chat with Grandad. He’d asked if they’d been moved, ready for the winter. I shook my head, trying to block out the memory. Then I looked up at the strange house perched on the headland.
“Do you know anything about that place?” I said to Alex, pointing towards the dirty white house.
“The House of Clouds?” said Alex. “Just that an artist used to live there or something. The whole place is empty now, I think.”
“Do you know why it’s called the House of Clouds?” I asked.
I thought about the box of photographs that Grandad had kept on top of his wardrobe and his story about Ava Laurent.
“No,” Alex said. “I don’t even know if it’s a real name or just what some people around here call it.”
I remembered the sign I’d found, but I didn’t say anything.
We got to the end of the beach and walked up the wooden steps to the promenade. Dave and Buster scampered up behind us and waited while we attached their leads.
We walked along the promenade, then turned towards the car park.
“Grandad said a woman called Ava lived there. Ava Laurent,” I said. I didn’t want to tell Alex what Grandad had said about her carving clouds into shapes. It sounded too ridiculous.
“Oh, right,” said Alex. He waited for a moment while Dave sniffed at a patch of grass. I carried on, but when I got to the track that led to the house I stopped. The wooden sign was still face down on the ground where I’d left it.
The House of Clouds. An artist who was a sculptor. The box of photographs of clouds.
This was all beginning to sound a bit … weird. I stared down the track at the house, with its dark windows and peeling paintwork.
“Tabby?” said Alex, catching me up. “Are you OK?”
I nodded and was about to turn away when something caught my attention. In the top right hand window was a light. I took a few steps along the track and squinted at the window. A shadow fell across the glass and my heart began to hammer. The shadow blocked out the light for a moment, then turned away.
> Alex walked over and stood beside me. I turned to face him.
“I think there’s someone in there,” I said.
Chapter 9
I began to ramble as I told Alex everything that had happened.
“Before Grandad died, I had a look around the outside of the house,” I said. “There’s a big barn at the back with some strange stuff inside.”
“What kind of stuff?” said Alex.
“There were shelves full of boxes of scientific equipment and this cabinet full of elaborate knives,” I said. Alex’s eyes widened. “There was also something covered in a sheet, and it looked like it was moving. I don’t think the house is abandoned at all. Shall we take a closer look?”
Alex took a deep breath.
“I don’t know,” he said, staring at the house. “It looks kind of creepy. And I don’t like the sound of those knives.”
I thought about all the people at our house, dressed in black and drinking tea. I didn’t fancy going home yet. And besides, I’d only start looking at my phone and feel bad when I saw more selfies of Rebecca and Lily at the school musical auditions.
I looked back at the glowing orange light in the window. Maybe that shadow belonged to Ava Laurent? The lady in the photograph, whom Grandad had called a “cloud artist”.
“Well, I’m going to have a look,” I said.
I pulled on Buster’s lead and we headed across the long grass. I heard Alex sigh and then the jingle of Dave’s lead as they began to follow.
We stood to the side of the house. Dave started to whine.
“Now what do we do?” said Alex.
I didn’t get a chance to answer. There was a low creak as the front door began to open. A woman stepped out with her hands on her hips.
“Can I help you?” she said to us.
Dave wagged his tail and pulled Alex towards the door. Buster quickly followed and the two dogs dragged us towards the mysterious woman.
She looked about the same age as Mum, with long brown hair braided into a plait that snaked around the side of her neck. She was wearing a long, white billowy dress, and she had kind eyes and a soft smile on her face – even though her words hadn’t been exactly welcoming. She was far too young to be Ava.
“Um, hello,” I said. “We were, um … We were looking for Ava. Ava Laurent?”
The woman’s eyes widened when she heard the name, and she blinked a few times.
“I see,” she said. “No one has asked for Ava for many years now. And you are?”
“I’m Tabby and this is Alex,” I said. “My grandad told me that he knew Ava. We were just … um … passing, and I thought I’d see if she was here.”
The woman nodded.
“And your grandad is?” she said, folding her arms.
“Was,” I said. “He died just last week. George Robert Baker was his name.”
Something caught in my throat. I don’t know why I included his middle name. I’d only just found out what it was at the funeral.
The woman’s eyes widened again.
“Ah, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I remember George. You’d better come in.”
She turned and went back inside, leaving the door wide open for us to follow.
Alex looked at me and shrugged. I peered inside the hallway. Everything was clean and painted white. It was the complete opposite of how the outside looked.
“Aren’t you coming?” the woman called. Her head poked round a door further down the hallway. I looked at Alex, and we both stepped inside.
“Would you both like some lemonade?” the woman asked as we walked into the kitchen.
“Yes, please,” I said.
“Oh wow, it’s so … nice,” said Alex, looking around. “I wasn’t expecting this at all.”
The lady smiled.
“Ava liked to keep herself to herself, so it suited her if people thought the house was empty. She could maintain her privacy that way, you see?”
I nodded. The woman had a slight accent. French, I thought.
“And is Ava here?” I asked.
The lady poured some pale lemonade from a jug into two glasses and passed one to me and one to Alex.
“I’m afraid she passed away in a care home about six months ago,” she said. “Ava must have lost touch with your grandfather, so I guess he never knew.”
“I’m sorry,” said Alex.
The lady smiled at him.
“I’m Amelie, Ava’s niece,” she said. “I’ve been staying here for a while, sorting out her things.”
I stood beside the table, which was scattered with photographs. Amelie came over and began to search through the pictures.
“I’ve got a photograph here that might be of interest to you, Tabby,” Amelie said. I took a sip of my lemonade. It was sharp and sweet at the same time and nothing like the stuff you got in the supermarket. It was delicious.
“Ah, here it is,” said Amelie. She smiled as she passed a small square photograph to me. The picture was of a young girl standing on a pebbly beach – the beach that Alex and I had just been walking on. Behind the girl was an older woman and next to her was a man and another lady. They were all grinning at the camera. The man had his hand at his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun. I looked closely. I recognised the man.
“Is that … my grandad?” I said.
“Yes,” said Amelie. “And that little girl at the front is me.” She pointed at the photo. “That’s my aunt Ava and that’s your grandmother. They were all friends.”
I stared at the faces laughing back at the camera. They were all so happy. It looked like someone had cracked a joke just before the photo was taken.
“I used to come here in the summer holidays, and I remember your grandparents being really lovely,” said Amelie. “Your grandfather definitely had some funny tales to tell!”
I placed the photograph back onto the table. Grandad must have been telling his stories for years, and not just to me. Maybe Amelie knew more?
“My grandad said that Ava was some kind of artist,” I said. “Is that true?”
Amelie paused for a moment, then turned away to put the jug of lemonade back in the fridge.
“You could say that, I guess,” she said. “Ava was very talented.”
Amelie seemed to avoid my eyes. It was like she didn’t want to say any more.
“What kind of thing did she do?” said Alex. “Paintings?”
Amelie gave a small smile.
“No, not paintings,” she said.
I quickly stepped forwards. “Did she sculpt clouds?” I blurted out.
Alex and Amelie both stared at me.
“I mean … I know it sounds silly,” I went on, “but … well, my grandad, he used to tell me these stories, and … well … I just wondered if … that one might be true?”
I could feel tears beginning to prickle the back of my eyes like tiny feathers. I looked down at the floor. Buster was asleep by my feet, and his little shoulders rose and fell.
“I’m not sure what your grandfather told you,” Amelie said, “but—”
“Forget it,” I said quickly, feeling my face turning red. “It’s a ridiculous story. Thank you for the drink, but I’d better get home.”
I gave Buster a prod with my foot. He jumped up, and I turned and walked down the hallway and out of the wide front door.
What was I thinking? I couldn’t believe I had said it out loud. I couldn’t believe that for one second I had actually thought that Grandad’s story about a woman who sculpts clouds might have been true.
Alex caught me up just as I got across the car park.
“What was that all about?” he said. “What did you mean, sculpting clouds?”
There was a bit of amusement in Alex’s voice. Dave and Buster trotted beside each other like they’d been friends for years. I pulled Buster back a bit.
“Just forget it,” I said.
Alex ran in front of me, blocking my way.
“I’m not laughing at you, Tab
by,” he said. “I just wanted to know what it was that your grandad told you.”
I exhaled.
“My grandad loved to tell me stories,” I said. “When I was little, I really enjoyed them. But the thing is, he never stopped. He kept telling me stupid things that were clearly made up. Like his story about a ship in a bottle! He loved that one. He told me countless times that it had been made by bumble bees.”
Alex smiled.
“But then Grandad told me about an artist called Ava Laurent who lived in the House of Clouds. He said that she pulled clouds down from the sky, carved them into shapes and then released them for everyone to enjoy. He said … he said that artists like Ava were becoming extinct because no one looks up any more. And … and I just wished that one of his stories was true.”
Alex smiled at me.
“I think that’s a wonderful story,” he said.
“But that’s just it, isn’t it?” I said. “It’s a story. It’s made up.”
I felt a tear roll down my cheek, and I wiped it away.
“I wish I’d listened to him more, Alex,” I said. “I wish I’d just given him more time. And now he’s gone, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
Alex was quiet for a moment.
“I’m so sorry, Tabby,” he said.
“Thanks for the walk,” I said. “I’ll see you at school on Monday.”
I quickly walked away and headed home.
Chapter 10
The next morning, I woke up and checked my phone. There was a photograph of Lily looking really bored in the back of a car on her way to visit family in Wales. At least I wouldn’t be bombarded with photos of her and Rebecca out doing fun things all weekend.
I could hear Mum and Dad sorting out Grandad’s room. When I went downstairs, his bed had gone and our dining table had returned from the garage and been put back where it used to be. I wished Grandad’s bed was there instead.
“Tabby, I know you might not want to think about it right now,” Mum said, “but is there anything of Grandad’s that you’d like to have? We don’t have room to keep everything, but I thought it would be nice if you wanted to choose something special.”
The House of Clouds Page 3
