The Time of the Ghost

  That meant they had taken all the bicycles and gone somewhere, just as Fenella had said. It had clearly not been her idea, after all. But where had they gone? The Dream Landscape meant nothing to her, although the Back of Beyond did seem to bring a misty memory. Come on, Oliver, she said, and set off again.

  Oliver went, too, with his face set in a blurred look of protest. Together they went round the side of the School, and round a farther corner, and arrived at the long shed where the boys’ bicycles were kept. Dutifully Oliver plodded along the row of cycles until he came to the bright red one at the end. There, he sketchily raised a leg and peed on its red back wheel. Having done that, he sat down. He had done enough.

  The ghost hovered up and down, nearly screaming. Yes, I know the boys went, too. WHERE? Oliver, show me, please! She had been cheated. She was sure of it. Monigan had kept her talking to Fenella to make sure that she came back too late to catch them all. Which meant it must be terribly important that she did. Oliver—please!

  Oliver saw he was being pestered. The only way to get some peace seemed to be to keep moving. Grudgingly he heaved up and set off. This time he went along the path round the kitchen garden and down the school drive to the big metal gates. There outside was the road. Oliver looked at it with distaste—it was hard on the feet—and stopped again.

  Which way, Oliver? To the right was the way to Chipping Milton, where they went to school. Country lanes turned off that to right and left and ran to a hundred remote places. If they had gone that way, she would need every bit of help Oliver could give. To the left was Audrey’s farm, and the downs were beyond that. Show me, Oliver.

  With a long-suffering grunt, Oliver shambled out into the road and turned left. Oliver, are you sure? She was certain he was wrong.

  To show he was sure, Oliver broke into that peculiar gait of his, which Imogen said was like a camel, that was the nearest he ever came to running. His front legs swung round and out, round and out, and his huge body swayed. Up the hill he went, and the ghost kept pace with him, until they came to the entrance to Audrey’s farmyard. Oliver slowed to a loiter. This time he really had gone far enough. Somewhere behind a barn a sheepdog sensed he was there and burst out barking. The dog seemed the only living thing in the yard. It looked dead and empty in the gray light, as deserted as the rusty harrow propped up in a corner.

  This can’t be right, Oliver, she said. There’s no one here.

  The unseen dog heard her and barked frantically.

  The noise fetched a lady out of the stable where Audrey’s pony lived. She seemed a total stranger, youngish and darkish and pretty—but then she would if I’m Imogen, the ghost thought—but she was clearly Audrey’s mother. She saw Oliver slouching in the gateway. She knew Oliver. Everybody did. Once you saw Oliver, you never forgot him.

  “Hallo, Oliver, old boy,” she said, and she came over and rubbed Oliver’s head. The ghost had to jerk back from the lively, energetic tingle of her. “Did they leave you behind, then?” said Audrey’s mother. “It’s no good looking here for them, old fellow. They’ve all gone off to the downs. They called for Audrey and Sally quarter of an hour ago. You’ll never catch them now. You go home.”

  Oliver sighed. The ghost darted on up the road. This way, Oliver!

  “Go on home, Oliver,” said Audrey’s mother.

  Oliver decided. Not even for company was he going any further. He had already had a huge walk—nearly a mile. He turned round and shambled home down the hill.

  She was forced to go on alone. She had no idea of the way. There were at least three places where the road forked, and her only hope seemed to be to catch them before the first fork. In a panic she went faster and faster. That was one good thing about not having Oliver with her: She could go at an inhuman speed. The hedges whirled by. The whitish road hurtled under her. She was going as fast as a bicycle—faster—as fast as that car when she was thrown out. No. She had to slow down. She could not go as fast as that awful car. It brought it all back, and this time she saw it as it had happened to her, not as a spectator. The road rushed under her eyes. The door was pushed, and so was she, until the road came up at her face. She had to stop.

  But there they all were, thank goodness! They made a big group of bicycles, with people standing astride them, just beside the first fork, where the signpost said “MANGAN DOWN ONLY.” All of them looked drab in the dull, ominous light. Fenella was brightest in her shrill green sack, and she looked a dismal little urchin. She was on a fifthhand kiddie cycle, which had long ago been repainted baby blue when it was Sally’s turn for it. With her was a hot-faced Howard on a smart gray bike. Ned Jenkins was beside him on a much more battered cycle. It had “FILBERT” painted on its back mudguard. She wondered if he had asked Nutty before taking it—probably not.

  Imogen was a little aside from them, looking irritable and frightened. A lot of Imogen’s irritation must have been due to the fact that she had been forced to ride the second smallest bike, the one which would have fitted Fenella better. But nobody ever wanted to ride that one. Its chain kept coming off. Imogen had had to have it, though, because Sally had taken the one reasonable secondhand bike when she went to visit Audrey and was riding it now. And Cart was the only one who was big enough to ride the other remaining bike. It was a vast black one called the Atomic Heavy Bike—with good reason.

  In fact, apart from Howard’s, there were only two decent bicycles in the group. One was Audrey’s. It was the kind with small thick wheels, which Himself had roared were far too expensive for children. The other was Julian Addiman’s. The ghost looked at it, and at Julian Addiman, in dismay. She had no idea how he came to be there. But there he was, with his trousers in shining cycle clips, leaning on the handlebars of a gold-colored lightweight cycle, which had so many gears that the chain seemed to turn a dozen corners before it reached the back wheel. Julian Addiman, with a superior sarcastic smile, was listening to Sally, who was arguing, typically enough.

  “But you haven’t told me a thing!” Sally was saying. “I don’t move a step further until you do.”

  “You’re not stepping, you’re pedaling,” said Fenella.

  “But I have told you!” Cart said angrily. She was bright red from the work needed to move the Atomic Heavy Bike. “We’re going to Monigan’s Place because we’ve had a ghost all the time you’ve been away.”

  “I still don’t see why you need me,” Sally argued. She seemed quite untroubled by the mention of Monigan, and Julian Addiman did not turn a hair either. “What has a ghost got to do with me?”

  “It may be your ghost,” Howard called from the rear. “We saw it. It looks a bit like all of you. And it kept saying ‘Help’ and ‘Monigan.’”

  Even this did not trouble Sally. She tossed her fair hair. “You all have too much imagination. Or you invented it. You made up Monigan, after all.”

  “We did not!” Imogen shouted indignantly.

  “So we decided,” Cart said, in a patient way which usually maddened Sally, “that one of us must have got into Monigan’s clutches in the future somehow and come back to now to tell us.”

  “We thought it came back because there’s something we can do,” Ned Jenkins added. “And now we’re going to try and do it.”

  Sally looked at Cart in exasperation and at Ned uncertainly. Julian Addiman laughed and pointed to the handlebars of the Atomic Heavy Bike. “Is that the ghost there?”

  “No,” Cart said gruffly. The mildewy Monigan doll in its gray knitted dress was tied there with string.

  “So,” said Ned, “shall we go?”

  Sally still looked uncertain. She could not think of a dignified way to say either yes or no.

  “Let’s go, now we’ve started,” Audrey suggested. “It makes something to do. I’m bored.”

  “And I’m dying to see a real live goddess,” laughed Julian Addiman.

  “All right,” Sally said wearily.

  “Don’t sound so keen, will you?” Cart said. She stamped heavily on one
pedal to get the Atomic Heavy Bike moving. As always, it stood on the spot, trembling. “Someone might think you meant it,” she added as she balanced. The bike moved at last, as if it had been designed for doing something else completely and was only moving as a by-product. Cart pedaled it, clanking, into the road marked “MANGAN DOWN ONLY,” leaving Sally glaring after her.

  The rest pedaled after her. It was a fairly narrow road, winding uphill, and they made a crowded and toiling procession of it. It was understood by everyone that Cart was leading them, so nobody liked to pass her, despite the fact that the Atomic Heavy Bike had not been designed to move. Even so, Fenella and Imogen were left in the rear. The legs of both flashed round and round furiously. Both zigzagged from side to side. This was partly to help them get up the hill and partly because both bikes were so dreadful that it was impossible to ride them straight.

  The ghost followed the procession, feeling deeply grateful. They were all being so kind, even Audrey and Sally—though she was not so sure about Julian Addiman.

  Audrey was moving smoothly beside Sally, tick-tick, tick-tick. “It’s a nice idea to rescue a ghost, isn’t it?” she said.

  “Very nice,” Sally said curtly. “If Cart hasn’t made it up.”

  “You will keep criticizing!” Audrey complained.

  “So what?” said Sally.

  It looked as if Sally and Audrey were not getting on together. Sally put on a spurt and caught Cart up. Julian Addiman was gently and easily pedaling beside Cart as Cart puffed and clanked in the lead. Cart was plainly finding his gentle superior cycling an irritation. “Why don’t you go on in front?” she snapped as Sally came up. But Julian Addiman stayed, gently pedaling beside them both.

  Sally gave Julian Addiman a look which meant that she, too, wished he was not there, but he took no notice of that either. Sally turned to Cart, and they exchanged a look of annoyance. “How’s the Plan going?” Sally asked, in as near a whisper as one can manage while pedaling a middle-aged cycle uphill.

  “Not at all,” Cart puffed. “Neither of them has noticed a thing.”

  “Not even Fenella’s knots!” said Sally.

  “Nope,” puffed Cart. “Himself came and told us off, and he went through your name in the list as usual, and he still didn’t notice you weren’t there. And he looked straight through Fenella.”

  “Oh, well, it was worth a try,” Sally said. She pretended to consider. It had plainly only been important to her to spend just that one night away. “Let’s scrap the Plan,” she said. “I might as well come home.”

  Behind her Audrey had heard. Her face showed nothing but plain relief. She smiled, and letting herself be caught up by Ned Jenkins and Will Howard, she cycled between them, talking in a polite, social sort of way. She had not met either of them often. “Have you got the afternoon off School?” she asked.

  “No,” said Ned, who was annoyed by her social manner.

  “’Fraid not,” said Howard, who did not mind it. “We’d got games this afternoon, and we sneaked off.”

  “Won’t you get into trouble?” Audrey asked Ned.

  “Only if we’re caught,” Howard answered cheerfully. “Then it’ll be hours in detention at least, I suppose.”

  Here everyone except Imogen and Fenella reached the top of the hill. Imogen and Fenella, pedaling furiously back and forth, tried to go faster in order not to be left behind. The result was that each zigged when the other zagged. And of course they collided. The chain of Imogen’s bicycle, with the ease of long practice, promptly fell off. Imogen stood in the road, looking from the chain to the black oil on her trousers, and swore her strongest swearword.

  “Oh!” she said. “Bloody!”

  Everyone stopped.

  Julian Addiman laughed condescendingly. “Hey,” he said. “Let the expert.”

  Imogen looked at him consideringly. In spite of what Cart had said seven years in the future, Imogen at least seemed quite immune to the charm of Julian Addiman. “Since you think yourself so superior,” she said, with considerable dislike, “I defy you to get this censored chain back on.”

  “Easy,” said Julian Addiman. He leaned his beautiful cycle on the hedge and got down to work. The rest of them stood round and watched. The chain fell off as soon as it was on. And again. And yet again after that. Julian Addiman got steadily oilier and steadily more annoyed.

  While Julian Addiman worked, Cart was standing on the bank where the hedge grew. “We’re quite near Monigan’s Place now,” she announced. “Down there, there’s the Hole of Moldy Dough, and there’s the Nasty Tree, with the Nasty Place underneath it.”

  The ghost rose up there to see what Cart was pointing at. There was a dip in the field behind the hedge, where the ground was the color of putty. The other thing was a twisted oak tree growing in the hedge. The ghost looked at both with consternation. She had forgotten that Cart had this habit of enlivening the landscape by giving everything names. No doubt it showed Cart had a vivid imagination, but it was nothing at all to do with Monigan. Have you dragged us all on a wild-goose chase? she demanded. I thought you were doing something real to help me!

  At this the chain fell off Imogen’s bike for the tenth time. Imogen tried not to laugh. “Oh, I give up!” Julian Addiman said disgustedly.

  Fenella gave her most booming chuckle. “Let the expert,” she said.

  Imogen knelt down beside Julian Addiman and took hold of the bicycle chain in both her large, clumsy-looking hands. She gave the chain two clumsy flicks and wound the pedal of the bicycle. The chain went on and stayed on. Everyone laughed.

  Julian Addiman was viciously annoyed. He knelt and glared at Imogen. It was hardly a human look. It was more like the stare of a dangerous wild animal. The ghost backed away from it, behind Ned and Fenella. He had looked like that in the car, before he threw her out.

  “The ghost’s here,” Fenella remarked.

  Imogen stood up and wiped the oil off her hands onto a gray handkerchief with little jerky, disgusted movements. “It’s no good looking at me like that, Julian Addiman. I’m not one of your worshiping girlfriends!” She looked meaningly up the hill, where Sally and Cart were now leaning, with their elbows on their handlebars, talking quietly and eagerly together. They looked glad to see one another again.

  Julian Addiman’s face went deep red. He stood up, snatched his cycle from the hedge, and rode off.

  Everybody else got on their bikes again and rode after him. The road dived down and round a corner.

  “Here we are in the Dream Landscape,” Cart announced.

  They saw what she meant. The road led through unreal-looking rounded hills—the sort of hills you might draw by penciling curves on paper. Each hill had a clump of trees somewhere on it. Some had a ring of trees right at the top. Some had the same sort of ring on one side. The rest had a line of wood precisely halfway up. The hay had just been cut here, so that each hill was striped gray and green, like corduroy, and the stripes made a swirl round each different clump of trees. As the procession of cycles came round the corner, the sun felt out in long fingers from behind the gray clouds and touched round knobs of green grass, which stood out of the cut hay on the lower slopes of every hill.

  Sally said, “If I were to paint this, everyone would think I’d made it up.”

  Audrey said to Cart, “How imaginative you are! It is just like a dream!”

  Cart looked irritated, and more irritated still when Julian Addiman rode to and fro in front of the rest of them, cackling with laughter. “Dream Landscape!” he said. “I’ve never had a dream like this.”

  “I have,” said Howard. “Often. Those clumps of trees.”

  “Those,” said Julian Addiman scornfully, “are planted on purpose to act as windbreaks. They’re called hangars.” And he continued to ride scornfully backward and forward, laughing rudely at anything anyone said.

  Not that anyone spoke much. There was a curious stillness about the Dream Landscape, which no one liked to interrupt. Even Julian Ad
diman’s laughter and the clanking of the Atomic Heavy Bike did not disturb the stillness much.

  Behind the last hill the road just stopped. There was a white fence across the way and, behind that, a long wood standing against the sky. There was nothing behind the wood. It looked as if it was standing on the edge of the world.

  “And this is the Back of Beyond,” said Cart.

  “Very interesting,” laughed Julian Addiman. “Shall we go home now?”

  “We have to leave the bikes and walk,” said Cart.

  They laid their bikes down in a heap beside the notice on the white fence. Howard said nervously, “It says ‘Private.’”

  “There’s never anyone about,” Cart said, ducking under the fence with the Monigan doll clutched to her chest. There was a chalky path leading round the left edge of the wood, under the hillside. As they all followed Cart, the wood was beside them on their right, rustling and surging with a wind no one could feel.

  “It sounds like the sea,” Ned Jenkins remarked, looking at the wood. This close, you could see nothing but leaves, tossing and rustling.

  “All this land used to be under the sea at one time,” Cart said. “When the wind blows, it remembers.”

  “Yeah, yeah!” said Julian Addiman.

  “I find that boy very irritating,” Imogen said to Fenella. “Why did he come?”

  “He always skives off games,” said Fenella. “Then he has to find something to do.”

  Though it looked as if they were walking straight into the frowning gray sky, the path led them down a gentle slope beyond the wood. It was thick and still and hot there. On one side was a field with three bright chestnut horses in it. On the other, the ground was broken into more of those round grassy knobs—a whole crowd of them. Each one was a small hill higher than anyone’s head. The ghost looked at them, terrified. Audrey gave an expert exclamation at the sight of the horses and loitered, staring.

  “I think she’s really a horse herself,” Sally whispered to Cart. Julian Addiman laughed loudly, but the sound seemed to get buried in the hot, heavy silence.