Boy Meets Ghoul Read online

  The way the crowd were screaming for Kayla, it was already settled as far as I was concerned. There was no way she wouldn’t win now.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  ‘I can’t believe you didn’t win,’ Leroy muttered, shaking his head. He was watching Kayla, clearly worried.

  We all were. The crowds had dispersed pretty quickly after the contest was over, some of them coming up to tell Kayla she’d been robbed, or that she’d definitely scared them the most. She’d managed to nod and smile politely for a while, but she’d been staring silently into space for half an hour now, clutching the bag of Deathsplash Nightmares merchandise she’d won for coming in second place to the music video. She wasn’t even eating the pizza Freddie had picked up as a consolation dinner, just staring and twitching slightly when someone said the words win or second or tiebreak.

  ‘I can’t believe you came second. In a tiebreak!’ Leroy said, for about the eighth time in the last ten minutes.

  I put a hand on his shoulder. ‘All right, I think she’s got that you can’t believe it,’ I said. ‘The problem is, it’s true.’

  ‘And now you’re not going to get to see the concert!’ Leroy added. ‘You might as well have stayed at home and watched YouTube clips on your phone!’

  Next to me, Freddie groaned. ‘You know what, Leroy – we’d better head off,’ he said, tossing a piece of pizza crust back into the box and standing up. ‘Big day tomorrow. You want to make sure you’re captaining on an early night.’

  ‘Or maybe I shouldn’t sleep at all?’ Leroy suggested. ‘I do seem to do well un—’

  ‘Under pressure. We know.’ I wasn’t sure that insomnia would suddenly turn Leroy into a tactical mastermind, but he’d surprised us once today. ‘Listen, did you sleep last night?’

  He gave me a quizzical look. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Then you don’t need to get less sleep to have good ideas. You should probably try to get exactly the same amount as you had last night.’

  ‘Good plan,’ Freddie put in.

  ‘Well, I suppose I shouldn’t leave Mum waiting much longer, anyway,’ Leroy said, finally standing. ‘Anyone need a lift?’

  ‘What do you mean, waiting?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, she’s in the car over there.’

  He pointed to a green car parked up in a bay at the side of the street. If I squinted, I could just make out an I HEART WALES sticker in the window. A woman squinted back at me as I stared.

  ‘She doesn’t like me to go off on my own in strange places,’ Leroy said. ‘So she followed us from the training centre.’

  Freddie looked dazed. ‘But why was she there? You take a bus.’

  ‘Well, she follows the bus too,’ Leroy replied, as if that were obvious. ‘She doesn’t want to disrupt my social development, just to make sure I’m not kidnapped.’

  I looked at him. Freddie looked at him. Even Kayla slowly lifted her head to look at him miserably.

  Finally, Freddie nodded. ‘Yeah . . . OK, Leroy. You can give me a lift.’

  Slowly they headed off together across the street.

  ‘I’ve called Mum and Dad,’ I told Kayla. ‘They’re on their way. You don’t have to pretend in front of them – we’ll just tell them you’re miserable because you couldn’t find anything nice at the shops.’

  ‘I’m not miserable,’ Kayla said, hunching over to wrap her arms round her knees.

  I shifted closer, bumping her shoulder with mine. ‘No? Could have fooled me.’

  She sighed. ‘It’s just . . . it feels like the wrong ending. Like I should have won because I put so much work into winning. I should have won because I talked my way into coming here with you, and I’ve been sneaking around the whole week, and I’ve worked so hard. That’s how these things are supposed to go.’

  It was true. If someone made the film of our lives, one day in the future, with the currently infant children of famous movie stars playing our parts, they’d definitely change this bit so Kayla would emerge victorious. But, since we weren’t currently living in the film version, I couldn’t ask for a rewrite. ‘Sometimes things don’t happen the way they’re supposed to.’

  ‘But there’s more than that,’ she said. ‘We should have won because we overcame disaster and pulled it off with teamwork. That’s the moral of half the stories I read as a child: you can do anything if you work together. What’s the point of stories having morals if they aren’t even true? How do we know all happy endings won’t turn out to be lies?’

  Her bleak mood was getting infectious. I was starting to think about the happy endings I’d been taking for granted – like the happy ending Leo and I had to our holiday romance. ‘Maybe they will. But . . .’

  I bit my lip and trailed off to think. I wasn’t sure Leo and I were going to have a happy ending any more. But when that was what I expected, all I did was worry that something was about to mess it up.

  ‘But even if your happy ending might not happen, it’s still worth trying for, isn’t it? You didn’t win today, but if we’d given up and gone home after your first idea didn’t work out, you’d never even have had a chance.’

  ‘Maybe it would have been better not to have had a chance. I wouldn’t have got my hopes up.’ Kayla scuffed her feet against the step we were sitting on and reached across to grab the last slice of pizza.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. I wasn’t sure about it, yet, but I couldn’t help thinking that chances were what kept people going. Even ones that might not work out. ‘I think maybe stories only really end unhappily when you give up. If you keep trying, there’s always a chance to fix them.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem like there are many chances left to fix this,’ Kayla said.

  ‘Well, the band are staying in our hotel. Alonzo’s probably filled Rick’s room with a series of tripwires and booby traps after our visit the other day, but there’s still a chance to catch him at the breakfast buffet.’

  From somewhere, Kayla managed to find half a smile. ‘I told you, rock stars don’t do buffets.’

  ‘Or hamsters.’

  ‘Just hot dogs and Abba,’ Kayla said. ‘I can’t believe that’s what he listens to!’

  ‘Same as my mum.’ I grinned. ‘Maybe she’s missing out on her true calling as a death-metal artist. You should hear her scream at me when I don’t hang up the towels.’

  There was a real smile on Kayla’s face now. ‘All right, all right – I’ll give not giving up a chance. But you have to give something a chance too.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like Leo. And don’t ask me how I know something’s wrong. You weren’t wearing that stupid smile you always get after you talk to him this morning, and now you’re ignoring his calls.’

  She was some sort of wizard, honestly. ‘But how do you know that?’

  She tapped the side of my coat where it was pressed up against her. ‘Your pocket’s been vibrating all night.’

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The next morning, I got up early and curled up on the sofa to check my messages from Leo. Last night, there had been too much going on

  But now I had to make myself read what Leo had sent me. I’d ignored him for a whole day without really having a reason. Not one I was sure about, anyway. So now I was expecting the inevitable: a series of messages letting me down gently. Saying he was sorry, but he was having more fun with other people, and that maybe we should just break it off.

  Instead, I scrolled through a list of messages that were getting more and more worried. They started with

  Hey, I must have missed your call. Everything good?

  And progressed to

  Are you there?

  Can I call?

  Hey, we just broke for lunch. Still haven’t heard from you.

  And finally

  Dylan, just let me know you got this, please. Please?

  I should have answered his messages or picked up when he called yesterday. He’d spent the whole day trying to check I was all right just becau
se I missed our usual telephone date.

  I hadn’t even realized it, because they weren’t the type of dates where you held hands, or took long romantic walks, or shared plates of spaghetti so huge that you kissed in the middle of a pasta strand, but maybe we’d been dating all along. Not the way it was supposed to happen, but our way. Every day, we’d met up for at least a few minutes on the phone.

  Until I’d stood him up.

  The last messages had been sent late last night.

  I called your dad. He said you were sleeping and you’re probably stressed about the match. You shouldn’t be. I know I can’t be there, and I know Kayla’s not into it, but I’m your biggest cheerleader, OK? So just picture me with pom-poms, and you’ll be fine. Promise.

  Talk tomorrow, I hope.

  Miss you.

  I’d been so stupid. No matter what else he was doing, or who he was with, he always took the time for me. Looking at his number on my phone, I held my breath, and pressed call.

  Then listened to it ring and ring at Leo’s end.

  No one answered.

  And for once, my brain told me it was probably because it was 7 a.m., and not because he was ignoring me to have his morning muesli with a chorus line of imaginary dancers. I sent a message instead.

  Hey. I’m sorry about yesterday. I’ll tell you about it soon. This morning’s going to be a bit mad, but I promise I’ll call when it’s all over. You never told me, by the way, when your big show’s on? Or what it is, exactly? Miss you too.

  I hoped the messages would be the first thing he’d see when he woke up.

  Then I hoped the messages didn’t wake him up. I couldn’t cope if I’d made him spend the day sleep-deprived. What if he got dizzy in the middle of a pirouette and ended up snapping some important dancing bone?

  On second thoughts, I really should have sent an email instead.

  After a few minutes without getting a text back reading OW, OW, MY LEG, MY BEAUTIFUL, PERFECT, VITAL-FOR-MY-FUTURE-CAREER-PLANS LEG, I let myself relax a bit.

  The next message I had was from Leroy, who hopefully hadn’t been awake all night trying out his insomnia plan. I smiled to myself after reading it and tapped out a reply.

  Then I looked up, startled, as the room door opened. Jude dived towards the sofa on his Rollator, with Dad in hot pursuit. They must have been down to the first sitting at breakfast – Jude liked going early so he could pick out all the best Coco Pops. His face was raspberry-red, though, and I knew he only turned varying shades of fruit when he was upset.

  ‘What’s happened?’ I asked, catching him as he threw his arms out towards me and lifting him on to the sofa at my side. ‘Ghost in the dining room again? You know it was probably only Dad making a spooktacle of himself.’

  The pun fell flat, although the weary look Dad gave me suggested he appreciated the effort.

  Jude buried his face against my shoulder, sniffing sadly, and I didn’t even complain when I realized he was using my pyjama shirt to wipe his nose. When you live with a five-year-old, everything ends up sticky at some point.

  ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts,’ Jude sputtered out. ‘The lady in reception says so. She says people always ask about it, and she doesn’t know why anyone gets so excited about things that aren’t even real.’

  ‘But isn’t that a good thing?’ I slung an arm round Jude. ‘I’ve been telling you ghosts don’t exist for ages.’

  Dad’s expression warned me I’d wandered into dangerous territory, but it was too late now. I could feel fresh sobs welling up in Jude again.

  ‘No, because, because . . . it means . . .’

  I waited as he drew in a deep, trembly breath.

  ‘Because it means I’ll never see Fluffy again!’

  I froze. First, because Dad wasn’t supposed to know that Fluffy was with us in the hotel, whether in spirit or not. Second, because I had a sudden chilly feeling that the ratbusters must have caught up with Jude’s hamster.

  One thing at a time. I’d deal with telling Dad later – first, I had to find out if Fluffy was on that heavenly hamster wheel Kayla had been so worried about. ‘What has Fluffy got to do with ghosts? Do you think he’s seen one? Has all his fur turned white?’

  That would make buying a secret replacement hamster a lot easier. Jude shook his head firmly, pointing back to the door.

  ‘He’s outside. We saw him, and now I’ll never see him again.’

  ‘What do you mean he’s outside? In the hall?’

  Confused, I looked across at Dad, who just shrugged.

  ‘Go and look.’

  I went and looked. Outside in the hallway, Rick Deathsplash was propped up against the door of his own hotel room, wearing a fake-fur coat. A fake-fur coat covered in splotches of purple and white . . . and orange.

  And I thought I understood. I looked back at Jude for a moment, then headed out to introduce myself to the lead singer of the Deathsplash Nightmares, again.

  ‘Uh, Rick?’

  He forced his eyes open and looked blearily across at me.

  ‘I mean, um, Mr Nightmares? Is everything all right?’

  Rick took a moment to reply, probably weighing up whether or not I was enough of a crazed fan to be stalking the corridors at all times of the day waiting to pounce on him, or whether I really was just another hotel guest. Finally he seemed to decide he could talk to me – pressing the back of his palm to his forehead in a dramatic swoon. ‘I just wanted to go to the vending machine – is that such a crime?’

  ‘Um, no?’ I tried, not expecting complicated legal questions this early in the morning. ‘I mean a boy at our school got his arm stuck in the tray trying to get a free Mars bar once. They had to call the fire brigade during maths, and they told him it was a crime, but he was never arrested or anything.’

  The rock god held up an empty packet of Pom-Bears. ‘Men have needs. But desire will lead to your downfall. Remember that.’

  ‘I’ll make a note.’ I scribbled an imaginary one on my palm, which seemed to satisfy him. ‘But why are you out here?’

  ‘Alonzo’s security system.’ Rick sighed. ‘All geniuses are flawed somehow. It’s locked me out.’

  I could see my chance, even if I couldn’t believe he’d actually take it. ‘Well, you look very tired. And don’t you have a concert tonight too?’

  Rick nodded wearily.

  ‘Then you should come and nap on our sofa,’ I said firmly. ‘At least until Alonzo wakes up and undoes the padlocks.’

  ‘Your sofa . . .’ Rick said, as if it were an alien concept. He looked up the hallway to where light was flooding out from our door. ‘You don’t live with that crying child, do you?’

  He tucked his arms around his chest, looking like an oversized anxious tortoiseshell cat. One wearing a genuine-looking pout. ‘Children never seem to like me. I can’t understand why.’

  It might have been all the screamy songs about the inevitability of death, and the fact that he had a spider tattooed on his face, but that was just a guess. I didn’t want to be judgemental. ‘I think I know how you can make this one like you. He’s my brother.’

  Rick looked at me dubiously for a moment, then nodded. ‘Lead the way.’

  When I walked through the door with Rick Deathsplash, both Jude and my dad made exactly the same yelping noise. Jude looked like he was ready to wail again, so I had to jump in fast.

  ‘Jude, this is Mr Deathsplash Nightmares, and he’s very tired. I told him he could sit on our sofa for a bit, but first he has to tell you his coat’s not made of hamsters.’

  ‘Hamsters?’ Rick looked genuinely offended at the idea. ‘Little boy, like my life, all my fashion is cruelty free. This coat was crafted by elderly Italian nuns. The fibres are made from recycled plastic bags collected by a charity I personally sponsor to retrieve them from the sea. This coat does more good than harm. It is not your hamster.’

  ‘Besides,’ I added, ‘did you ever see a purple one?’

  Jude shook his head slowly
. I could see him trying to figure out whether or not everything Rick had said added up to a good thing.

  ‘It’s a fake-fur coat, Jude,’ I said. ‘Not real. Fluffy’s alive and well and living . . . somewhere that definitely isn’t this hotel.’

  Dad and Rick both looked at me as I cleared my throat.

  ‘And now Rick can sit down.’

  Rick curled up at the end of the couch without further invitation, stretching his hand-made, recycled, elderly nun fake-fur coat across him for a blanket. Dad was still sitting on the coffee table, blinking between me and the rock star on his sofa.

  And Dad always did think it was rude to invite someone in without making small talk.

  ‘So,’ he started, just as Rick looked like he might be about to drift to sleep. ‘I’m Dylan’s dad, Nick Kershaw. And where are you from?’

  Rick Deathsplash opened one green eye and fixed it on him. ‘I live inside my own heart, Nick Kershaw,’ he said, and then he passed out against the cushions.

  Which looked a lot more comfortable than the floor Kayla passed out on when she came out of her room a few minutes later.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Kayla swore she’d fallen over in surprise, not actually fainted at the sight of a rock god on the sofa, but we both knew the truth. She’d recovered pretty quickly, though, and had sat watching Rick as he slept, loudly hushing anyone who made the slightest noise to disturb him. It meant me and Dad had to have ‘the conversation’ about Fluffy out in the hall.

  ‘We should have told you, but you were so sure Grandma had lost him at home. I thought it didn’t really matter where he was missing, just that we got him back. Jude knew where he was.’

  Dad raised his eyebrows. ‘Your brother thought he’d been turned into a coat.’

  ‘Well, to be honest, the getting-him-back part hasn’t been going all that well. But we’ve been trying! And once we didn’t tell you on the first day . . .’