Dial a Ghost

‘Here we are,’ she said. ‘This is the place.’

Oliver stared through the plate glass windows at the knicker shop.

‘Is this really where you lived?’ he asked. ‘Honestly and truly?’

‘Honestly and truly,’ said Grandma. ‘Eric slept up there above the bikinis and Henry was in with the Footsies and we put Adopta in the office – that’s through that door there.’

Oliver was amazed. ‘I didn’t realize it was so small.’

‘Small and stuffy and daft,’ said Grandma, snorting at the Wonderbras, and they crossed the arcade and made their way towards the bunion shop.

Mr Hofmann sat in his wheelchair as he had done every day for years. His eyes watered, his chest wheezed, his head wobbled. Above him was a picture of a stomach with lumps on it. Bowls for spitting into and rubber tubes for pushing down people’s throats and packets of bandages were piled round him. The leather bunion was still there, but dusty, and he was extremely sad.

Then the door opened and a boy came into the shop. He was a nice boy and he looked healthy and Mr Hofmann was sure he had come to the wrong place. But the boy came forward and smiled and said: ‘I’ve got a surprise for you!’

And then there she was, slowly becoming visible, his dear friend, the only woman who understood him and his suffering! There were the cherries trembling on her hat, there were the kindly wrinkles, the umbrella . . .

‘Is it you?’ croaked the spectre. Tears sprang to his eyes; he tried to get out of his chair. ‘Is it really you?’

‘Now, Mr Hofmann, you’ve let yourself get in a dreadful pother,’ said Grandma. ‘Just look at you, you’re the colour of cheese and you shouldn’t be sitting under that stomach, I told you before.’

‘Ah yes . . . but I am so weak … I am so useless . . . what matters it if I sit under stomachs or no.’

‘It matters a great deal,’ said Grandma sternly. ‘And now listen, because I’ve come to take you away. This nice boy lives in a beautiful house in the country and he’s invited you down to live with us. For good.’

But Mr Hofmann only shook his withered head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Such things do not happen to old useless German professors who are dead. I shall stay here alone and suffer. It is my fate.’

But Grandma wasn’t having any of that. ‘That’s quite enough, Mr Hofmann. I’m coming back the day after tomorrow to take you down, so make sure you’re ready. Pernilla’s invited too, so we’ll make a party of it.’

They found the Swedish ghost drooping over her harp in the music store. She was overjoyed at the thought of living where there were forests and fresh, clean air, but she was worried about the jogger on the A12. They had become friends and tried to Keep Fit together, and she felt bad about leaving him alone.

Of course Oliver soon settled that. ‘He can come too, honestly,’ he said. ‘There’s plenty of room,’ – and the smile that came over her face was wonderful to see.

When they got back to the Home, Grandma thought she might have a little lie down or perhaps have a go with the Space Invaders games she’d learnt the day before, but it didn’t turn out like that. The children clustered round her and pestered her for stories.

‘Tell about the time you held down the Nazi parachutist with the tip of your umbrella,’ said Trevor.

‘And the one about how you pushed Mrs Ferryweather into a flower bed because she wouldn’t draw her blackout curtains,’ begged Nonie.

‘And the one where the bomb fell and you found you were a ghost,’ said Tabitha.

‘Yes, tell about that,’ cried all the children. That was their favourite.

Oliver, meanwhile, had been called into the office, where Matron and the two adoption ladies had been having a meeting.

Miss Pringle and Mrs Mannering had been frantic when they heard that the Shriekers had gone to Helton. They thought that if anything had happened to Oliver they would have to shut the agency and go and save whales or start a cat shelter, so when Grandma called in and explained that Oliver was safe, they were overjoyed. But like Matron they did not feel that Oliver should be at Helton with only the ghosts to protect him from Fulton Snodde-Brittle.

‘Of course we could get hold of the police,’ said Matron. ‘But it’s a strange story and suppose we hit on someone who doesn’t believe in ghosts? There’s no doubt in my mind that Fulton’s a villain, but you can’t really arrest someone for giving a home to spooks. I think we must somehow keep Oliver here till his guardian comes. That lawyer seems to be worse than useless. It’s monstrous that the boy should have been alone there without an adult all this time.’

‘Is there no news of the Colonel yet?’

‘Well, yes. I sent a fax to the British consul in Costa Rica and it seems he’s on his way back to Britain. Till then Oliver will be safe here and the children will love having him.’

But when she told Oliver what had been decided, he shook his head. ‘I can’t stay away that long; I just can’t. Helton’s my home now and Addie needs me.’