Top-Secret Grandad and Me Page 2

  “Rubbish? I know.”

  Grandad sniggered. “Do you remember the time he did that act where he pulled the white dove out of the hat?”

  “Yeah,” Now I sniggered too. Dad kept the dove hidden under his shirt, so he could switch it into his top hat at the last moment. Except this time the dove got free, and started flapping about like crazy underneath the shirt.

  We both burst out laughing. “He was thrashing around like a madman,” said Grandad, “shrieking, trying to catch it.”

  I nodded. “The feathers were flying everywhere, out of his collar, his sleeves. To be fair, the audience loved it.”

  “They thought he was a comedian, not a magician,” added Grandad. Then, after a moment, he added, “But where can he have got to?”

  “Grandad,” I said, after a pause, “you’re a ghost. Can’t you see things we can’t?”

  “Well, I tell you one thing,” He pointed to the sky. “He is not up there. I would have seen him if he was.”

  I felt a spark of hope. If he wasn’t ‘up there’, that meant he was still down here… somewhere. Then I remembered I was talking to an illusion, an image I was seeing of my dead grandfather. If it wasn’t food poisoning, or some kind of gas, I don’t know – I was probably just dreaming the whole thing. Maybe in a minute I would wake up, having nodded off on the couch.

  Grandad looked at me through narrowed eyes. “Hmm… so that is what you have been doing, with all the string and the maps and papers. You are trying to find him.”

  “The police stopped looking,” I said. “So I started doing it myself.”

  Grandad scratched his forehead. “Oh dear, I am sorry, boy. Have you found any clues?”

  “I’ve gone through everything – all his papers, his e-mails, his phone messages. I’ve spoken to everyone who knew him… The only thing I have to show for it is this.”

  I unzipped a pocket on the arm of my parka and pulled out a small rectangular stub – a subway ticket.

  Grandad tried to take it between his pinched fingers, but they just went through it. He tutted. “Oho! I cannot get used to this ‘being a ghost’ business at all.”

  “I found this in his dressing room after the magic show. It was the only thing he left behind.” The ticket was for a station called St Enoch at one minute past twelve on the day he disappeared.

  I flipped it over to show him the writing on the back. “It’s a name I think.”

  It was scrawled in blue ink in my Dad’s own hand. “I’ve never been able to find out who he was, or how my Dad knew him. That’s if it is a name. Maybe it’s not a man at all. Maybe it’s a company, or a place name. Who knows?”

  Grandad stared at it for a while, shaking his head. He groaned. “Haayy! All I know is that I am back here for a purpose. I wonder if it is to help you find your father?”

  The school appeared on the left. My stomach lurched as Granny swung the car off the road and mounted the kerb.

  “Come OAN!” she croaked, jumping out of the car and racing around the front, before leaping up the school steps two at a time.

  “Ahh!” said Grandad warmly. “She is just as speedy as the day I married her. Never underestimate a speedy woman.”

  I rolled my eyes as I got out. “I’ll remember that.”

  Chapter 5

  The Fierce Stooshie

  I burst into the school library behind Granny, to find Mum at the centre of a fight. No, correction: she was the fight.

  Katie Patel was wearing a long, flowery dress and a pair of burgundy Dr. Martens. Mum called herself an ‘innocent child of nature’, but that’s not how she looked right now, with her face scrunched up into a snarl and a man in a headlock. Judging by the suit the man was wearing, his freckles and sandy hair, I took it to be Mr Kessock, our head teacher. “Mum was yelling, nostrils flaring: “How DARE you! How DARE you! Calling me a liar!”

  Mr Kessock was shrieking in his panicky nasal voice: “Help! Someone help me! She’s got my head!”

  The school secretary, Mrs Cravat, was a prim lady with blonde hair tied in a bun, a black-and-white twin-set and a beaded necklace. She was half-heartedly trying to wrest Mr Kessock’s head free. “Oh, do let him go!”

  There were also two police officers in the fray. One of them was a plain-clothes detective. From the investigations into Dad’s disappearance, I’d come to recognise the sort: grim-faced to the point of serious illness, and wearing a cheap navy suit. This one was a woman. She was trying to separate everyone, without much success. “Release that man, madam, and MOVE AWAY!”

  The other policeman was in uniform. He was dancing about like a boxer, his truncheon raised and a look of relish on his face. “Can I hit them, Boss? Oh, go on! Can I?”

  Mum’s boss, Mrs McCleary, was sitting behind a desk with her feet up, chewing gum and watching the kerfuffle unfold. She was enjoying herself, nodding and applauding. “This is brilliant!”

  Now Granny got in on the action. She may have been little but she was fierce. She leapt onto the detective’s back, with an ear-splitting war cry: “STOOSHIE!”

  “Aaargh!” The detective swung round and round, trying to throw her off. “What!? Get off me!”

  “WHEEEE!” cried Granny.

  “The world has gone mad since I left,” said Grandad.

  Fortunately, I had a plan. Mum’s bag was lying open behind the counter. I delved inside and fished out her panic alarm.

  HHHHONNNNKKKKKKK!

  Everyone stopped. The detective froze with Granny still on her back. Mum blinked around the room as if emerging from a trance. She let Mr Kessock go, beamed and stretched out her arms toward me: “Dearie!”

  Mr Kessock reeled back, choking and clutching his throat.

  “Uch, don’t be such a drama queen,” joked Mrs McCleary.

  Mrs Cravat rubbed his back. “Are you alright, Mr Kessock?”

  The head teacher steadied himself against a bookcase, screwed up his face to a weasly scowl and pointed an accusing finger at Mum. “That woman… ASSAULTED me! She needs to be sacked.”

  Mrs McCleary had by this time picked up a magazine, and was flipping through it. “No way! I’m the boss in this library, not you. Besides, this is the best entertainment I’ve had in weeks.” She turned and gave me a wink, before licking her index finger and flicking a few pages.

  “What!?” croaked Mr Kessock. “You’re taking her side?” He gave a slack-jawed look of appeal to the detective, pointing his finger now at Mrs McCleary. “She’s got it in for me as well. I’m up for Head Teacher of the Year, you know.” He smoothed his wispy ginger hair and screwed up his face even more, if that was even possible. “She hates that.”

  “Mrs Patel is a wee bit emotional, detective,” replied Mrs McCleary. “Her husband disappeared, remember?”

  “What’s going on?” I asked, even though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  Granny sprang to the ground like a mad frog. The detective turned and ogled her, then looked embarrassed as she realised she’d just been jumped by a tiny old lady. She straightened her jacket, then turned and ogled me instead. “Who are you two?”

  “Want me to frisk them, Boss?” said the constable, swinging his truncheon about. “That old lady attacked you, and that wee boy looks like a troublemaker if I ever saw one.”

  Mum thrust an accusing finger right back at Mr Kessock. “He called me a liar.”

  Mr Kessock’s voice was hoarse with annoyance. “There is NO body!”

  “A body?” I said. “What body?”

  “It’s OK, there is no body,” said the detective, exasperated.

  “There was a body,” replied Mum. “Right here.” She jabbed her finger at a spot on the floor.

  “She’s demented!” cried Mrs Cravat.

  “She ASSAULTED me!” repeated Mr Kessock.

  “WHIT?! WHIT?!” snapped Granny, staring from one face to the other.

  “Shall I handcuff her, Boss?” asked the constable. “Ah, go on! Can I?”

  Grandad
laughed out loud. “The world really has gone mad!”

  Mum pointed to a spot on the floor right in front of where she was standing. “A dead body, it was right here, I’m telling you.”

  “A dead body?” I asked. “In the school library?”

  Chapter 6

  The Invisible Body

  I gazed at the spot on the floor where Mum was pointing. There were no clues, no strange marks, no suspicious bloodstains. It was just an ordinary bit of an ordinary floor in an ordinary school library.

  “I saw him, I touched him. I took his pulse,” said Mum. She turned to the detective. “I even described him to you.”

  “Yes.” The detective flipped open her notebook and read from it. “You said you came into the library alone, to find a man of about five foot eleven, with ginger hair, a goatee beard, and a brown suit with a navy-blue shirt and tie lying on the floor.”

  “Yes,” said Mum.

  “You found him not to be breathing. Whereupon you screamed and ran into the office next door.” The detective turned to Mrs Cravat. “And then you called the police.” Mrs Cravat nodded. The detective looked round at Mrs McCleary and Mr Kessock. “While the rest of you all rushed back in here, where you found the alleged body to be gone.”

  “Alleged?” snapped Mr Kessock in his whiny voice. “Non-existent! She’s making it up!”

  The detective raised her hand firmly then continued. “How long were you out of the room in total?”

  “A minute at most,” said Mum.

  The detective shrugged her shoulders and flipped her notebook closed. “So where could a dead body have gone in the space of a minute? We’ve searched the building, haven’t we, Constable?”

  She glanced at the constable, who huffed. “Yeah, and we found nothing. I’d flippin’ love to see a dead body.”

  The detective grasped Mum by the elbows. “We found nothing, do you hear? Now, are you sure you’re feeling well today? Have you forgotten to take any important medication?”

  “No!” said Mum.

  The detective eyed her up and down, taking in the eccentric way Mum was dressed. She raised an eyebrow. “Are you quite sure?”

  Mum scowled. “Quite sure? I am totally positive.”

  There was a burst of static from the detective’s radio, and a muffled voice came over it. She turned away to exchange a few words with the controller on the other end, before turning back and signalling to the constable. “We have to go.”

  The constable’s shoulder’s drooped. “Uch! I was hoping for a right good rammy there.” He turned to me, explaining, “This is my first week in the job, and there hasn’t been much action.”

  “Well, we have an actual police incident to attend to now, not an imaginary one. The seagulls are shoplifting from the newsagents again. Come on.” She stopped beside me on her way out the door, and whispered, “Are you her carer, son?”

  Grandad burst out laughing. “Oh-ho-ho, that is a good one.”

  “Eh, kind of,” I said. It wasn’t far from being the truth.

  “He is my son,” called Mum from the other side of the room.

  “She’s my mum,” I said.

  “Look, you seem like the most sensible one in your family,” said the detective. “Your mum’s lucky I’m not charging her for wasting police time.” She turned and eyed Granny again. “As for that old lady – who’s she, your granny?”

  I nodded.

  She looked at me with what could only be described as pity. “She’s lucky, too, I could have charged her for attacking a police officer.” She leant closer still and raised a finger at me. “My name is Detective Inspector Dawn Graves, and I do not want to hear from your family again. Please try to keep them under control. Is that clear?”

  The police left, while Mr Kessock stormed off into the office next door, followed by his secretary.

  “Bravo! That was absolutely brilliant!” Mrs McCleary closed her magazine and stood up. “How could you fail to see the funny side of Mr Kessock getting a doing? Now, let’s all have a cup of tea to celebrate.”

  She put the kettle on, and Mum and Granny went to help. While everyone was distracted I pushed through the door of the library and headed off down the corridor.

  “Hey!” It was Grandad’s voice, following behind me. “Slow down, will you?”

  “You’re a ghost!” I said. “Can’t you just float quicker?”

  “Do not disrespect me, boy,” he said. “I may be a ghost, but I am still your grandfather. Now where are you going?”

  “To find out if Mum’s right.”

  Chapter 7

  The Carpeted Corpse

  Mum had imagined quite a lot of things in her time: fairy paths, ley lines, even leprechauns. But she’d never imagined anything as realistic as a dead body. It just wasn’t her thing. And if there really was a corpse, how could it just disappear in a matter of seconds?

  Big Davie was the school caretaker. I found him at his desk, which was in a cluttered office in the school basement. He was attacking the inner workings of a printer with a big screwdriver.

  As soon as he clocked a school uniform walking through the door he panicked. “Children! Out!” He held up a small bottle of disinfectant and sprayed it frantically in my direction. “OUT!”

  “Hm, what is the idea with this guy?” said Grandad.

  “He hates children,” I said. “Thinks they carry disease.”

  “OUT, I said!”

  Grandad chortled. “Haaay! He is working in the wrong place!”

  I held up my palms to show I meant no harm. “Davie, it’s only me.”

  “Patel?” He glanced at his watch. “Here, school finished over an hour ago. Why are you still here?”

  “I did go home, Davie, but I had to come back.” I explained what happened with Mum.

  “I see.” He nodded. “Well, I’d be at home the now as well, except the music department’s moving buildings, so I’ve to oversee the shifting of Mrs Murray’s grand piano. They’re lifting it through the window by a winch in half an hour.”

  I propped myself on the edge of his desk, the one bit that wasn’t taken up with tins of paint or bits of machinery.

  “OFF, OFF, OFF!” he cried, aiming his bottle of disinfectant at me.

  “Davie, I’ve got a favour to ask you. Can I check the school CCTV for the west exit?”

  “Clever boy,” said Grandad. “Here, should the police not be doing that? I mean, what do we pay our taxes for anyway?”

  “You don’t pay taxes,” I said, “you’re dead.”

  Davie looked at me quizzically for a second before saying, “The answer’s no,” and shooing me off. “Don’t come too close, I told you before. Don’t come within one metre.” He held up his thumb and forefinger in front of his face. “See that? That’s how far a tiny miniature virus can travel on average. And children are full of tiny miniature viruses.”

  “This guy is one crate short of a lorryload,” said Grandad, before leaning forward. “That is an old cash-and-carry joke.” Grandad used to run a cash-and-carry business when he was alive. No, he never made it as a professional comedian.

  I picked up a piece of the printer Davie had been working on and toyed with it, making sure I smudged my fingerprints all over it. I did this just to annoy him. “Davie, have you forgotten you owe me a favour?”

  He snatched it off me. “What favour?”

  “Like when I helped you track down the bike thief, or when I discovered who was spraying graffiti on the bike sheds, or…”

  “Aye, OK, OK,” he cut in. “You can check.” Davie ushered me over to a bank of old-fashioned dusty screens. “I rarely look at them myself.” He tapped the screen on the bottom left. “This is the one you’re looking for.” He showed me how to rewind and play, then he left, doing a sort of chirping whistle that he always did.

  “Weird man, your jannie,” said Grandad. “Now what do you see?”

  It didn’t take me long to find him: the man with the ginger hair, goatee beard
and brown suit. He entered the building about fifteen minutes before Mum said she saw him lying dead on the floor of the library.

  Grandad gasped. “So she was right, eh? Well, it looks like we have got a mystery on our hands.”

  I forwarded the recording ten minutes. “If you’re a ghost,” I said, as it wound on, “can you not see other ghosts? As in, the recently deceased? As in, the ghost of the man from the library?”

  Grandad shrugged. “Not always. Most people go straight on up. Only a few hang about or come back down, like me.”

  “Well, that’s about as helpful as a slap in the face,” I said. About eight minutes passed on the video, and a van reversed into the corner of the picture. I couldn’t see much, just a logo on the side. I paused it, and gazed closer. I could just make out the wording: Duke’s Laundry, Govanhill.

  Two men got out. One was short and fat, the other was tall and thin. They wore white overalls and masks, the kind of thing you see crime-scene investigation people wearing. Strangely, though, they were wearing beanie hats, which are definitely not the kind of thing you see crime-scene investigation people wearing.

  The two men entered the building, then I forwarded the recording to the fifteen-minute mark and let it play. A moment later they reappeared, carrying between them what looked like a rolled-up carpet.

  “Look!” I said, as they bundled the carpet into the van.

  “What?” said Grandad, unable to see anything.

  “Oh, aye!” It was Davie this time, who’d come back in.

  “What?” said Grandad. I can’t see it.

  “Wait, I’ll rewind ten seconds,” I said.

  “Aye, go back,” said Davie.

  I rewound a bit and let it play again.

  “Now freeze,” I said. I hit pause, just as the two men turned slightly, pointing the end of the carpet towards the camera.