Top-Secret Grandad and Me Read online

  ***

  By the time lunch came, Grandad was well on the way to screwing up my education. We’d done English, maths and drama, and he’d declared all of them equally ‘yawnamundo’. It was difficult to concentrate on anything. He kept making stupid comments, or talking over the teacher, or looking over my shoulder when I was working and then sucking air sharply through his teeth when he read my answers.

  Not to mention my social life. Anton kept turning round in his chair and glaring at me. “What do you keep tutting at, loser?” Others joined him.

  I hadn’t realised I’d been tutting, but I had good reason – if only the rest of them knew what I had to put up with. Was this going to be my future, I thought? Was he going to follow me around all day every day messing up my life?

  “Phew! School is hard,” Grandad said when the bell went.

  “It’s a lot harder today than it’s ever been before,” I grumbled. “Now come on, we don’t have much time.”

  As we arrived outside the jannie’s office, Grandad introduced me to a side of himself I’d not yet seen: being useful.

  “Why do I not go in first, check if the coast is clear?”

  “Wow, good idea,” I said. And for the first time I began to see the advantage of having a ghost on my side. Someone who could go places unnoticed, and sneak and snoop around without anyone seeing. Ask any great detective what’s the one special power they’d like, and they’d all answer the same thing: invisibility.

  Before he could go inside, the door pushed open. I slid behind a filing cabinet and hid.

  I was fine there, except I soon found my ghostly grandad trying to squeeze in beside me. I felt a cold and damp sensation as his greenish skin pressed into mine.

  I mouthed at him, “Go!” and shooed him away.

  “Ha! Sorry, I forget I am a ghost sometimes. I do not need to hide.”

  A set of footsteps was walking in the other direction. No, two sets. “It’s OK,” said Grandad. “It is safe to look, they are going away.”

  I peeked over the top of the cabinet to see two men, a fat man and a thin man. They were wearing blue boiler suits. One was carrying a large toolbox and the other a holdall with something large stuffed inside. “It is the two men from the CCTV,” said Grandad, and he was right. They were both wearing the same beanie hats for a start. Now I was almost positive – Big Davie’s death was no accident. It was linked to the body in the library. And what’s more, if those two men had been in his office, it was for a reason. Well, there was one sure way to find out.

  Grandad went in to case the joint, although I had to hold the door open for him first, which kind of defeated the purpose. I really hoped he would soon learn to just walk through things, like normal ghosts are supposed to do.

  He called out from the other side, “The coast is clear.”

  The jannie’s office was as messy as ever, but it wasn’t hard to see that it had been thoroughly ransacked. All the drawers were half-open with documents and papers sticking out. I made a beeline for the CCTV.

  At first glance, the bank of monitors looked just the same as they had the day before, but it didn’t take me long to figure out what had changed. The hard drive was missing.

  “Those guys must have taken it! The recording is gone,” I said.

  At that moment, the door behind us pushed open.

  Chapter 11

  The Sixth Sense

  Grandad barked a warning: “JAYESH!”

  I ducked under the CCTV control panel. My worst fear was that those two men had returned. If they were murderers, then they’d struck twice already, and what would stop them murdering again? I was sure I could talk my way out of pretty much anything, but I didn’t want to take the risk.

  It wasn’t them. It was a man and a woman, chattering. I quickly recognised their voices.

  “Oh, it’s the guy your mother had in a headlock yesterday,” said Grandad. It was the head teacher, Mr Kessock, along with the office manager, Mrs Cravat.

  “There’s nobody here! There’s nobody here!” said Mr Kessock in his panicked nasal voice.

  “Well, the stand-in janitor is probably off dealing with something else,” replied Mrs Cravat.

  “Oh, but what will I do?” he squeaked. “The new school handbook is being delivered. There are boxes and boxes of them, and the lorry’s waiting outside. Police are swarming everywhere. If word gets out about our janitor ‘problem’,” he punched the air with his fist, “I’ll NEVER win Head Teacher of the Year!”

  Mrs Cravat sighed and made a calming motion with her hands. “Don’t fret, Mr Kessock, we’ll ask the delivery men to move the boxes into the strong room. It’ll do for now.”

  They turned and left, and I crawled out from under the control panel.

  “Boy, is that guy stressed!” said Grandad.

  I gazed at Big Davie’s desk. The printer he’d been working on was still sitting there, the screwdriver lying beside it.

  “Poor Davie.” Someone came after him because of what he knew; I was sure of it. What we’d found out together had made him a target.

  All of a sudden I began to feel dizzy. I rushed outside, and didn’t stop until I got into the fresh air. My legs wobbled on the school steps. I had to steady myself against the wall.

  Grandad followed me out. “Ah, Jayesh,” he said. He tried to put his arm around me, but it just passed straight through. The strange thing was that I felt it. It felt weird, like a small icy wave rushing through my body. “Yuck! Please don’t do that, Grandad.”

  “Sorry,” he said. The printer’s lorry had backed up to the entrance, and men were wheeling off sealed boxes on dollies down a ramp. “We should go to the police.”

  “Are you joking?” I said. “They don’t want to hear from me. As far as they’re concerned there hasn’t even been a crime. We’re the only ones who saw that tape. And you don’t count because you’re not really here.”

  He shrugged. “Thanks a lot.”

  Something in the corner of my eye drew my attention. Call it instinct. Call it sixth sense. Call it my detective training. Call it what you will. I glimpsed a man across the street. An olive-skinned man wearing a black raincoat, fedora hat and dark glasses. And he was clearly watching the school.

  I know when someone is trying to look inconspicuous. Some people make so much of an effort they look the exact opposite, and this guy was one of them.

  He raised an object to his face. Was it a phone? Yes, and his fingers tapped on the screen. He was taking photos. But of what?

  “See that?” I asked.

  Grandad looked over, just as the man turned away and disappeared down a side street. “What? I did not see anything.”

  “Nothing,” I said, for whoever he was he would have to wait; I had other things on my mind.

  “What do we do now?” Grandad asked.

  Two people had died in my school, one of them partly because of me. And my mum and granny had nearly been arrested. It was time to put my detective skills to good use. Plus, I had an invisible sidekick who might actually, if he really tried, be quite helpful.

  The deliverymen wheeled out another stack of boxes. Their white lorry reminded me of the Duke’s Laundry van we’d spotted on the CCTV. It wasn’t the same vehicle of course. It was a different size, and had different branding: Big A Printers, Pollockshields.

  But I knew where the trail led now. “We’re going to Duke’s Laundry.”

  Chapter 12

  The Elvis Gorilla

  After school, I took Grandad to the bus stop.

  “This will be great!” he declared, rubbing his hands. “I have not been on a bus in years.”

  “You haven’t done anything in years, Grandad. You’ve been dead.”

  On the way, I stopped in at the local library to google the address for Duke’s Laundry. Mum says I can have my own phone when I get to high school. She doesn’t want me becoming a ‘slave to screens’ just yet. Have I mentioned how annoying she is? I made Grandad wait outside. />
  The address was in Govanhill, which wasn’t far.

  When I got back outside, I found Grandad standing outside the Pound Shop. He seemed to be talking to someone and was bending over, laughing. Someone who was not there. He waved me towards him.

  “Jayesh, look, it’s my pal, old Jock.”

  “There’s no one there, Grandad.”

  “Oh…” He paused for a second, as if he was listening to someone. “Right. He says all I need to do is blink, like this.” Grandad blinked his eyes forcefully. All of a sudden I could see who he was talking to. Another ghost. A sad-looking old man wearing a cloth cap and a Mackintosh raincoat. “Can you see him?”

  I exchanged nods with the ghost of the old man, which was quite awkward really, and something I’d never thought I would be doing in a million years.

  “Ah, that is a great trick. So, I can blink and Jayesh can see other ghosts?”

  The old man spoke in a faltering voice. “That’s right, and you can blink them away too.”

  “Well that is just great,” said Grandad. “And how are you keeping, Jock?”

  “Well, I’m deid, as you can see.”

  “Ah, shame, that. And how is your Elsie?”

  Old Jock raised his eyes heavenwards. “She’s still alive. I’m supposed to be haunting her, but I think it’s the other way about. She’s in the pound shop. Pff, shoppin! I thought being deid I’d get a break from it, but no. Being deid is just the same as being alive, except hardly anybody can see you. The only good thing is you don’t feel the cold.”

  “Why the Mac then?” said Grandad, nodding at old Jock’s coat.

  The old man shrugged. “It’s what I kicked the bucket in. I’ve never cared for it, to be honest. I was on my way to the bookies and it was raining, so I just flung it on. Now I’m stuck wearing it forever.” He sighed, and looked Grandad up and down. “Here, I like your jacket though.”

  “This?” said Grandad, lifting his tweed lapels. “It has never quite fitted right.” He stroked his transparent chin. “Here, how about we swap?”

  “I don’t see why not,” said Jock. “Your tweed for my Mac?”

  The two men swapped jackets. Grandad ran his finger down the seams and sized himself up in a shop window. “This is much better. I am starting to feel like a detective.”

  Old Jock leaned forward. “You better skidaddle before Elsie comes out the shop. She doesn’t like me talking to other ghosts.”

  “Right you are, Jock,” said Grandad. “See you around.”

  “Cheerie-bye,” said Jock as we were moving away. “And don’t forget to blink again, or your boy will be seeing ghosts everywhere.”

  “Right, OK,” said Grandad, and he gave another firm blink.

  With that, Jock was gone.

  Surely my life couldn’t get any stranger?

  I hoped there wouldn’t be any more delays, but I was wrong, because when we got to the bus stop, he saw someone else he recognised.

  “Ha! Look! It is Winkie MacFadgeon!” he said. It was a decrepit old man of about seventy-five, with wispy white hair, who was resting on his walking stick and staring into a puddle. “Ah, Winkie! He was one of my best customers. Used to run a corner shop in Crossmyloof.” Grandad leaned into the man’s face, grinning. “How are you keeping Winkie? He doesn’t look well.”

  Winkie didn’t respond. Unfortunately for Grandad the man was still alive, though only just. Grandad scowled, then turned to me. “Ask Winkie how his piles are. He always suffered terrible piles.”

  I shook my head firmly. No chance was I going to open a conversation about problems with old men’s bottoms among complete strangers at a bus stop.

  “Oh, come on. It will be funny.”

  I mouthed at him: NO.

  Grandad flew into a huff, and was in a bad mood after that. On the plus side, it meant he shut up for a few moments. The bus pulled up, and we got on.

  I dropped my money into the slot and took my ticket. Grandad stepped up to the driver after me. “Do you have a discount for the deceased?” he said, laughing at his own joke. The driver of course didn’t respond. He just shut the door and drove off.

  Now Grandad was in a good mood again. He sat down next to me, rubbing his hands. “One of the benefits of being dead: free bus travel.”

  In spite of all this, Grandad was still acting like he was alive and everyone could see him. At one point, he got up to give his seat to a lady carrying heavy shopping. “There you go, Madam,” he said, showing her the seat and smiling. Even though she was halfway through plonking herself down on the seat anyway.

  ***

  Duke’s Laundry was a double shopfront on the ground floor of a red sandstone tenement. It was grotty on the outside: boarded up windows, cracked walls and flaking paint. I dreaded to think what it looked like inside.

  “You would think a laundry would be cleaner,” said Grandad, and he was right. Why would anyone take their clothes to be cleaned in such a place?

  I pushed open the door. There was a woman behind the counter. At least, she might have been a woman. She might also have been a gorilla that had been shaved, plastered in make-up and dressed in human clothes. But, I reckoned the chances of her being a woman were more likely. She also had pointy glasses and an Elvis haircut, which I didn’t think would be the fashion choice of a sensible gorilla.

  “Hello!” I gave her my widest, most winning smile.

  The woman belched.

  BAAARRRP!

  Or was it a growl? I couldn’t be sure. Either way, she sounded like a bear with a sore throat. And an attitude problem. And, probably, a bad case of indigestion.

  I stared around at the place, making sure to keep a well-meaning grin on my face. But there wasn’t much to look at, just bare walls and a counter with a stack of paper on it. There wasn’t even a price list on the wall that I could pretend to be interested in.

  “What do you want?” Now she definitely was growling.

  Grandad slipped behind the counter and stared at the woman in horror. “Jeezo, I would not like to meet her on a dark night.”

  I nodded in the direction of the open door behind her. Grandad winked, gave me the thumbs up and ducked through it. He was off to check out the back. This was good, I thought. Maybe the beginning of some kind of teamwork. I could definitely see how useful it would be having a ghost about, if only Grandad could be that useful.

  I stepped towards the counter. Up close, I could see that she had a wart the size of a fifty pence piece on her cheek. I had to think of something to say, but what? “Er, is this a laundry?”

  “You tryin’ to be funny?” She grunted.

  “May I speak to Mr Duke, please?” I asked.

  “Deid,” she said.

  “Are you the manager?”

  “Whit’s it to you?” She pulled a two-litre bottle of cola from behind the counter. It had a double straw poking out of the top. She wrapped her lips around the straw and started slurping. She took about half the bottle in one go. The sound of it running down her gullet was like water escaping down a plughole. She finished with another loud belch.

  BLUUUUURRRP!

  “You don’t like customers very much, do you?” I asked.

  Another door opened nearby, and out stepped two men. The same two men from the CCTV. One fat, one thin, both wearing their white overalls from the day before, and their beanie hats.

  The short one was flat-nosed, round-headed, with one of those mouths that was constantly turned down in a frown. The tall one had ginger hair and freckles, and a pair of eyes that were too close together for their own good, or anyone else’s. This made him look terrifying. He was glaring at me. They were both glaring at me. Glaring like a pair of misshapen hawks eyeing up their latest snack.

  Chapter 13

  The Dirty Laundry

  The woman laughed. If you could call it a laugh. It sounded more like a walrus at feeding time. “No, we don’t like customers here, do we boys?”

  At the moment, I was just buy
ing time. I didn’t fancy my chances of getting any answers out of these people; they were too hostile. But there were ways of needling information, even out of the likes of them. And I was going to have to needle, because this place was definitely knee-deep in whatever shady business was going on at our school.

  “Right, so, er, Mrs Duke?” I said.

  “The name’s Cleggan.” She jabbed her thumb at the two men. “And these are Fred and Ginger.”

  This was good. I had names now.

  The thin man, Ginger, sneered at me. “You call her Maw Cleggan.”

  “Maw?” I said, still trying on the charm. “What a lovely name. Is it Welsh?”

  “Naw!” she honked. “Maw, as in, your maw! You daft twit.”

  “Right,” I said, eyeing up the back door. How long was Grandad going to be? “It’s just that I’m doing a project at school, and I was hoping you could help?”

  Doing a project at school was a gamble I used a lot. It was a good excuse to ask lots of questions. After all, who is going to suspect a schoolboy doing a project?

  Maw Cleggan screwed up her face at me. “A project?”

  “Yes.”

  “Whit, on dry cleaning?”

  “Er, Yeah, that’s it.”

  “Son, you’ve got to get out more.”

  I shrugged. She took a second slurp from the bottle, draining another third. “OK, shoot!”

  I went through a bit of a panic. I hadn’t thought this bit out. I was going to have to come up with some daft question, but what?

  “So, uh, do you use water?”

  She screwed up her face again. “For dry cleaning? Naw, that’s how they call it dry, son.” She gazed at Fred and Ginger and shook her head.