Boy Meets Ghoul Read online

  ‘You’re just relieved you don’t have to come up with something cool to say if you run into the Deathsplashes getting cornflakes,’ I snapped.

  ‘I told you, rock stars don’t eat cornflakes,’ she said. ‘Although I suppose they could count as something crunchy.’

  I tuned her out. It wasn’t just that I’d been robbed of my fantasies of staying in the world’s fanciest hotel. That was totally rubbish, of course, but not the real problem. The real problem was that Freddie Alton was going to be even more unavoidable if we were staying in the same small hallway.

  Maybe if we just met at the football camp I could pretend I was someone gruff and aloof who was too focused on his game to have much to say. But what if we ended up in adjoining rooms? I wouldn’t be able to open the door without spending twenty minutes working out my outfit choices and gelling my hair.

  There were a thousand and one reasons I shouldn’t even be thinking about Freddie.

  He was with his parents.

  I was with my criminally embarrassing parents.

  That combination was enough to mark me out as a social pariah before I’d even said hello.

  Not that I could say hello, because as soon as he looked at me, I wouldn’t even be able to talk – meaning there was no chance we’d suddenly become friends, let alone anything else.

  Not that I was interested in anything else!

  Because I had a boyfriend.

  Or a sort-of boyfriend, which is nearly the same thing.

  And Leo probably wasn’t really trying to break up with me by never being around.

  So there was no point even thinking about talking to Freddie.

  Although technically you could kiss someone without talking to them at all.

  Though I didn’t want to kiss him either!

  Even if he did have a really nice mouth . . .

  Kayla hissed, ‘Dylan,’ and kicked me in the ankle before I realized I’d said that last one out loud. She was glaring daggers at me.

  ‘What?’ I stuttered. ‘I was thinking about . . . football?’

  ‘Football?’ she said, flatly disbelieving.

  ‘I was! Goals . . . have mouths. Mouth of the goal. I was thinking about pitch design. It’s a technical term. You wouldn’t understand.’ I was pretty sure I’d dug myself out of that hole expertly, but Kayla was still looking dubious.

  ‘Just make sure you keep your foot out of your really nice mouth this week, Dylan – OK? And keep away from anyone else’s. Leo’s worth wait—’

  ‘Boys, Kayla!’ Mum interrupted from halfway across the lobby. ‘You’d better come over here.’

  She and Dad were standing shoulder to shoulder next to a lady in a sharply tailored, official-looking suit. All three of them wore grim expressions.

  Mum folded her arms and waited for me to wheel all three of Kayla’s cases across in a convoy before continuing, ‘There’s been a terrible problem with the booking. They haven’t got our rooms.’

  SIX

  Immediately my mind flooded with relief. They didn’t have our rooms! Now we could go home, and I could spend the week pining for Leo somewhere private, like under the duvet, listening to all the songs I’d decided would be ‘ours’ once I had the chance to play them to him. Maybe I could even beg Dad (after he’d healed his broken heart and found out whether they accepted returns on customized football kit) to take me to meet Leo after a rehearsal.

  Or, if we had to stay in Manchester, maybe we’d be forced to book into a proper hotel now. Somewhere with its own linen.

  Immediately, a worse thought struck me. There weren’t any caravan parks near Old Trafford, were there?

  The manager with my parents cleared her throat. ‘The rooms originally booked are not available, no. We do have a room, which we’d like to offer.’

  My heart wasn’t sure whether to lift or sink. Why was everyone looking so distressed if all the hotel was doing was moving us a bit further down the hall?

  ‘A room,’ Mum repeated, in the same tone of voice she’d use to say a dungheap. ‘Which, if I understand correctly, Ms Toshkhani, you expect the five of us to share.’

  Kayla and I exchanged looks. That sounded way too close for comfort.

  Folding her arms, Ms Toshkhani met Mum’s disapproving look head-on. Most people had trouble making eye contact with Mum when she was angry. She could fell a grown man with a glare. Her blinks were like bullets.

  ‘Unfortunately, as I explained, the accessible floor of our outbuilding has experienced some . . . pest-control issues.’

  ‘They’ve got rats,’ Dad whispered, deafeningly loud.

  ‘The matter is being taken care of,’ the manager went on, cutting him off before his ‘subtle’ comments sent anybody out screaming. ‘However, we’ve had to reallocate any bookings made in association with the wheelchair football group.’

  That was Whizzy Wheels, the kids club Jude was meant to attend while I was at Feet of the Future, and which Dad was treating like a training ground for elite Paralympic athletes.

  ‘We have a limited number of accessible rooms within this hotel, and they are all now allocated,’ Ms Toshkhani said. ‘Except one. One of our suites. That’s what we would like to offer to you today.’

  ‘To share,’ Mum reminded her.

  ‘Yes – but it does have three rooms,’ Dad put in, helpfully. ‘That’s one more than we actually booked.’

  We were being moved to a suite with three bedrooms? I shot a disbelieving glance at Kayla. ‘They have suites in the outbuilding?’

  ‘No,’ Ms Toshkhani said, offering me a small smile. ‘But we have several on the penthouse floor of this hotel. In addition to the bedrooms, you’ll also find an accessible wet room, a living room with home-cinema facilities and a small kitchenette.’

  Mum looked dangerously like she was about to turn down the offer, all because it came with only one room number.

  ‘Mum, that’s bigger than anything you’d get at a caravan park.’ I staged my counter-protest before she could. ‘And I bet the home-cinema facilities have more than three working TV channels and one fuzzy one where you can occasionally hear somebody reading the news. Right?’

  Ms Toshkhani nodded. ‘You’ll have full access to all the subscription channels, including film and sport.’

  ‘Sport . . .’ Dad murmured softly, and I could tell he was sold.

  Mum still seemed to be wavering.

  ‘Ms Toshkhani,’ came Kayla’s voice from behind me. It was the special tone she used for talking to adults she wanted to impress. The one that made her sound exactly like them. She called it her lawyer voice: just one of the tools that would make her a success in her dazzling future legal career. ‘I think we can all agree that this is a generous offer, in the light of our preferred accommodation becoming unavailable. Just one question, regarding bedding. If we prefer, would it be acceptable to use our own linen?’

  A sudden light shone in Mum’s eyes.

  Ms Toshkhani blinked a little but managed not to look too confused as she nodded. ‘If that’s your preference, then of course, that’s quite all right.’

  Mum stuck out a hand to shake. ‘Then we accept. On this occasion.’

  As if we got offered budget-price stays in luxury suites at mega hotels all the time. Mum probably avoided even strolling past the Ritz in London for fear of a concierge running out and begging her to take a room. If they did, she’d probably only accept on the condition that she could fill the fridge with supermarket closing-hour-discount sandwiches.

  The penthouse floor even smelt expensive. Like the perfume hall of a department store, but without assistants trying to spray things in your face. A gentle waft of something fragrant drifted down a hallway where the floors looked like marble, the wallpaper swirled with silver designs, and little tables holding vases of flowers had been placed into alcoves. I wanted to rub my thumb over a petal to check if they were real.

  And I probably would have if we weren’t being followed by two porters – one pu
shing all our stuff, the other dragging Kayla’s.

  ‘What have you actually got in those cases?’ I asked her, while Dad pulled out the key card we’d been given for our room and showily swiped it in the doorway. Then turned it around so that the magnetic strip actually faced the lock and swiped it again.

  ‘Oh, just the essentials,’ Kayla replied breezily. ‘Oh my . . .’

  ‘What?’ I asked, just as I turned my head to see the door swinging open. ‘Oh my God.’

  The suite was huge. When I’d told Mum it sounded bigger than the caravans we usually stayed in, I hadn’t realized you’d be able to park at least two of them in the living room alone.

  Everything was cream, from the polished floors to the heavy, draped curtains, except for one wall, which was set with a huge black screen almost as big as you’d get at the local Odeon. Arty prints featuring cryptic-looking paint splodges hung on the walls. The sofa was a huge letter L big enough for all of us to sit on at once, and the windows were six feet high and doubled as a door on to the balcony.

  In short, the room was totally amazing. It was dripping with so much luxury, it looked like a Kardashian had exploded all over it.

  The bedrooms were amazing too. Kayla had made us pick before we went inside, just in case we ended up in a vicious legal dispute over who had the better view and comfier cushions, but they turned out to be an identical mix of white sheets (Mum wasn’t getting near my bed with her decrepit cotton racing cars – I didn’t care if they’d been my favourites when I was five) and floor-to-ceiling views over the city.

  I hadn’t seen much of Manchester yet, but it was pretty beautiful from this angle. I could see the splay of rooftops in a way most people never get to, unless they happen to be a superhero and are contractually obliged to spend most of their time either brooding on one or leaping from building to building. Even the pigeons looked pretty from this high up.

  Mum and Dad delivered a stern lecture that the first rule of the minibar was that nothing ever left the minibar (not even the M&Ms, not even if we were starving, not even in the event of a nuclear apocalypse when all other food was rendered radioactive). Dad was convinced they had spy cameras adding an extra fifty quid to the room bill every time someone so much as looked hopefully at a bottle of Perrier.

  After we promised not to even think about snagging a pricy snack, they headed back down to the car for the Rollator walker, which Jude could use instead of his chair around the hotel, and a few extra bags.

  Everything was peaceful. Serene. I looked around, and it was like this was exactly where I’d been meant to be all my life. Somewhere with soundproofed windows and piped muzak tinkling gently in the hallway. Somewhere I could take amazing photos for social media.

  I whipped out my phone to take one as I thought of it. Kayla was already livestreaming a full room tour to her dad.

  Inside the little square of my screen, the room looked perfect: sofa, deep and comfy; the huge TV, gleaming and bright. And my little brother, silhouetted in the doorway of the main bedroom, holding a cardboard box upside down over his lap . . . and looking completely horrified.

  I blinked up from my phone as Jude started yelling, ‘He’s gone! He’s gone. Shroodimmer ate my hamster!’

  SEVEN

  ‘Who did what?’ I said, rushing across to Jude and almost colliding with Kayla doing the same thing.

  ‘What did Schrödinger do?’ she asked.

  ‘Shroodimmer ate my hamster!’ Jude wailed again.

  ‘But Fluffy’s at home with Gran, being overfed carrots and having his fur set in curlers at night.’

  ‘No, he’s s’posed to be here – I put him in this box!’ Jude waved the evidence at me. ‘And when I opened it to make sure he wasn’t dead, he wasn’t there at ALL.’

  Giving me a grim look, Kayla edged past Jude into the bedroom. We both knew what this meant. Jude had smuggled Fluffy along for the ride, and somehow the little creature had made a break for it when Mum and Dad had unpacked the car.

  The hamster would be halfway across Manchester by now. I hoped the northern rodents wouldn’t give our soft southern one a hard time. I also hoped we’d be able to find a local pet shop stocking orange hamsters with little smudges of white on their noses, or we’d be in a lot of trouble.

  Poor Fluffy.

  Trying to look positive, I crouched down next to Jude. ‘Don’t worry – nothing’s eaten him. That thing Kayla said about Schrödinger’s cat was just nonsense.’

  ‘It was a thought experiment!’ Kayla called back.

  ‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘So you don’t need to think about it. Fluffy’s just gone to do . . . whatever hamsters do for fun when they’re on holiday. Taking tours of people’s allotments, getting to know the local mice. I’m sure he’s fine—’

  ‘Or he might not be,’ Kayla’s voice cut in.

  I could have murdered her; I’d almost got Jude to calm down.

  ‘I’m sure he is,’ I called back. ‘Almost a thousand per cent sure.’

  Jude looked back and forth between us, moving his chair back into the room to stare at Kayla where she stood beside the bed. I followed him in.

  ‘Well, you’d be almost a thousand per cent wrong,’ she told me, gesturing to the pile of clothes on my parents’ bed. ‘About Fluffy being off sightseeing, anyway. The only sight he’s seen so far is the inside of Jude’s pants. Can you pass me that box?’

  That’s when I saw it. A pair of Twinkle the Talking Train underpants was creeping slowly and silently along the side of the bed.

  ‘FLUFFY!’ Jude yelped delightedly.

  I hurriedly threw Kayla the box and ran to crouch down in front of the runaway underwear. Kayla approached from behind. Slowly, carefully she lowered the box over the pants.

  They dashed away.

  Unprepared, I yelped and fell over as the hamster-powered pants rampaged towards me.

  ‘Dylan!’ Kayla yelled, climbing over me and aiming for the underwear again.

  She slammed the box down, just missing the speeding pants as they turned in a skidding circle towards the door. I grabbed a shopping bag and gave chase too. We almost got Fluffy in the living room, as the pants tore across the couch, before he finally emerged through a leg hole and flung himself down into the furry rug.

  First, Kayla tried to drop the box over him.

  Then I nearly scooped him into my bag.

  Finally, right by the suite door, Kayla threw the box to me and tossed herself down on the floor as a human barrier. With one last, desperate effort, I dropped the box and managed to trap the fuzzy little speed demon.

  We lay there, gasping at our own success.

  Until the door opened, abruptly knocking the box over as Mum and Dad staggered through it with Jude’s walker and a collection of other bags.

  Behind them, a streak of orange disappeared at warp speed down the hallway.

  ‘MY HAMSTER!’ Jude wailed. ‘I LOST MY HAMSTER!’

  Looking up from where I lay, despairing, I noticed an uncharacteristically anxious twitch tug at the corner of Mum’s mouth before she replied.

  ‘Not this again, sweetheart. We’ve just had a call from Gran, and she says Fluffy’s fine.’

  ‘They’re having a great time together,’ Dad added quickly. ‘Eating salads. Watching soaps.’

  Kayla looked at me. I gave her a mystified shrug in return.

  Jude was looking more confused than anyone. As Mum swept over to him and ushered him back into their room to unpack, she was still telling him how wonderfully the hamster we’d just seen dash off to eat one of the hotel’s expensive floral displays was doing back at home.

  Once the bedroom door closed, Dad crouched down beside us, apparently not thinking to ask what we were doing lying on the floor with a shoebox, a shopping bag and a pair of my brother’s pants. ‘Don’t let him hear about it, but the hamster’s gone missing,’ Dad hissed. ‘Gran’s just called in a flap.’

  Oh. Oh.

  I sat up. ‘We know the hamster’
s missing, Dad. We—’

  ‘Got a call too, did you?’ he interrupted. ‘Well, never mind – she’s calmed down now. I’ve got her emailing pet shops with a photo, looking for one he’d pick out of an identity parade.’

  ‘No, Dad – the hamster just—’

  I fell silent in the face of my dad putting his finger to his lips and blowing a long, loud SHHHHHHHHH at me.

  Well. I supposed if nothing else, this meant Grandma would be buying the fake Fluffy, not Kayla and me. Hopefully Mum would be in there bamboozling Jude into believing he’d never smuggled the hamster out to begin with.

  Dad started to get up, holding out a hand to Kayla, who’d managed to get a leg stuck in the bag I’d been using for a makeshift hamster net. Once he’d straightened her up, he picked up his bags and headed into the bedroom, looking back to add, ‘Oh, and there was a load of fuss in the hallway when we came back. Some fight about keeping a drum kit in the bathroom. Looks like your Nightmares are a couple of rooms down the hall.’

  Kayla fell straight back over again.

  From the look on her face, Dad had no idea how right he was.

  EIGHT

  ‘It’s not that I don’t want to be near the band. In fact, being near them is exactly what I want,’ Kayla was saying, as we climbed out of the car and waved Jude and my parents off the next morning, after a long night of not being allowed to order room service because they were both totally stingy and unfair. ‘It’s just the pressure of having to be prepared to impress them at all times. I like to know precisely when I need to be ready to dazzle. I like a regime. That’s why Summer and I didn’t work.’

  Summer was a girl Kayla had dated for a bit recently. They’d got together on the last night at Starcross Sands, the same holiday park where I’d met Leo. Summer had liked flower crowns and yoga, and had liked Kayla more than Kayla had been able to like her back.

  ‘Because she didn’t understand the spreadsheet you made, Tabulating Potential Date Locations by Proximity, Financial Viability and Romantic Possibility?’ I asked.