Toby Ibbotson - Mountwood School for Ghosts

Daniel shook his head.

‘Well, there’s a surprise.’ And Charlotte walked off. But before she was out of earshot she stopped and turned round, and as a sudden gust whipped her hair around her tear-streaked face she shouted, ‘Use your head, Daniel. What else is there to do?’

Daniel sat in misery for a while on General Markham’s pedestal. Charlotte was wrong about one thing. They didn’t have a nice place to move to.

As he wandered slowly home Daniel thought about the conversation over breakfast that morning. His father had tried to be cheerful, but Daniel knew him well enough. The great big house they lived in had been bought years ago, when nobody wanted to live in that kind of place. Now it was worth much more money, but it was in an awful state, particularly the bathroom, and they had borrowed a lot of money from the bank that would have to be paid back. They would never find anywhere like it.

When he got home his mother and father were in the living room, having one of those conversations that stop when someone comes in.

‘Hello, Daniel, we were wondering where you had got to. Could you tell Aunt Joyce that supper is on the table?’

‘No.’

‘Daniel, for heaven’s sake, this isn’t easy for any of us, you know.’

Daniel said nothing, but turned and left the room, ran upstairs and threw himself down on his bed. They would have to move to some horrid place miles out of town, on a busy road, two bedrooms and a kitchen and a little living room where you couldn’t even talk to each other because of the noise of the traffic outside. He knew very well that he was acting spoiled. He knew that lots of people lived very happy lives in small houses that they thought themselves lucky to have. But they didn’t have Aunt Joyce. There would be a ‘granny flat’ built on top of the garage, and there she would be, forever — a plague, a pestilence, the Black Death — making all their lives a complete misery. And there would be no Charlotte to escape to, no General Markham, no Mr Jaros, no Swedish cinnamon buns, no Tompkins and no Jessie.

The next day the local paper carried a big headline on the front page: ‘JOBS FOR THE REGION.’

Charlotte sat at the kitchen table and read it aloud to her mother, who was making breakfast and dressing Jonathan and George and wiping the baby’s nose all at the same time.

‘The local chamber of commerce predicts that the new Markham Park Retail Centre will create at least five hundred new jobs,’ it began.

Then there was an interview with Jack Bluffit, Head of Planning, who talked a lot about regeneration, and getting things done, and bringing business to the city. The retail centre would have eco-friendly panels on the roof and there would be upmarket outlets. A chef who was famous from the television for using rude words and bullying people would open a restaurant.

‘What’s an upmarket outlet?’ asked Jonathan.

‘A place where a handbag costs more than a nurse earns in a year,’ said Charlotte.

‘Is it made of gold and diamonds?’

‘No, it’s made out of the skins of endangered animals, by children your age who get paid nothing at all,’ said Charlotte crossly.

She was very unhappy. She knew that Daniel was as miserable as she was about having to move, and she wished she hadn’t lost her rag yesterday. He was probably right. Nothing ever seemed to stop the demolishing and polluting and destruction of the city, or of the planet, if it came to that. She went up to her room and shut the door behind her. She was reading a book called Slavery and Child Labour in Global Society and it was doing nothing at all to cheer her up.

Daniel hadn’t even got up that morning. It was a Saturday, so no school, and there didn’t seem to be any point in getting out of bed. But as he lay there looking out of his window he felt something happening inside him.

He had woken with a sick feeling of despair, but it seemed to be fading away and being replaced by something else. Anger. Not just anger. Rage.

‘What else is there to do?’ That was what Charlotte had shouted at him.

He thought about the doctors and nurses who operated in tents, trying to save the lives of children whose arms and legs had been blown off by bombs. They knew that there would be more bleeding children tomorrow, and the day after that. But what else was there to do? Then he remembered a girl he had read about who had been shot in the head just because she tried to go to school. It was in a country where some people thought girls shouldn’t learn anything except how to cook and look after babies. She survived, and went on fighting for the rights of girls to go to school. What else was there to do?

Charlotte was wrong to think they had a chance. He was sure about that. But she was absolutely right that if you had to choose between fighting or lying down to be trampled on — well, it was a no-brainer.

Daniel got dressed and ran down the stairs. In the hall he bumped into Great-Aunt Joyce, who was coming out of the kitchen.

‘Really, Daniel, you are so thoughtless. I must say…’ Her voice trailed off. She had seen a look on his face that she had never seen before.

Daniel ran out of the house and across to number nine. He rang the bell. George opened the door.

‘Hello, George. Is Charlotte in?’

‘She’s in her room. But I’m not allowed in. She’s grumpy.’

‘I’ll risk it.’

Charlotte’s door was firmly shut.

‘Charlie, it’s me. We have to talk.’

In her room Charlotte looked up from her book with a nice feeling in her stomach. If Daniel called her Charlie that was a good sign. A very good sign.

‘Come in.’

Daniel started in as soon as he was in the room.

‘I’ve been thinking. About Hector.’

‘Hector?’

‘Well, not only Hector, but he came into my mind when I was coming over here. Do you remember when we were doing the Greeks and the Trojans and Helen of Troy? Well, Hector is going out to fight Achilles, and his wife weeps and cries and says that he will surely die, and Hector knows that he will die and he points at his little son and says, “When he walks down the street, people will say, There goes the son of Hector the warrior .” That’s what mattered to him. Not winning. Winning doesn’t matter.’

Charlotte smiled. She looked at him standing there solidly, with his mop of uncombed hair and his hazel eyes glaring at her. She should have known better. Daniel was a slow starter. He needed time to think. But once he had decided, he was like a badger. He bit hard, and he didn’t let go until he heard bones crack.

‘All right. If you are going to be Hector, who shall I be?’

They thought about that for a while. Charlotte considered Joan of Arc, but she was burned at the stake, and that was just too much. They decided on Boudicca, queen of the Iceni, who faced down the might of the Roman legions, and lost.

When that was settled, Charlotte said, ‘The first thing is to talk to everyone on the street. We have to make sure there are objections, and as many people as possible must register a protest.’

Jack Bluffit was in a frightful temper. His temper was partly caused by the ache in his backside. Every time he sat down he yelped and had to stand up again. And to make matters worse, there was going to be an inquiry. He took some deep breaths. Just more work to do.

‘Snyder!’

Frederick oiled his way into the office. ‘Did you call, Mr Bluffit?’

He knew very well that Jack had called. Everyone on the top floor had heard him.

‘There shouldn’t be any serious problems with this blasted inquiry. As far as I can see, there’s only a bunch of old biddies and arty-farty types and benefit scroungers to deal with.’