Eva Ibbotson - Dial a Ghost

‘Even before we became ghosts we had become hermits in the castle,’ Sabrina went on. ‘And we decided that if our little girl was lost to us for ever, no other children should sleep unharmed in their beds. But now everything will be quite different if only you will come into my arms and call me “Mother”.’

‘And come into my arms and call me “Father”,’ Pelham put in.

Addie twitched her nightdress out of his hand. ‘You must be mad,’ she said. ‘Do you really think I want parents who tried to kill my best friend? Not to mention what your beastly snake did to the budgie.’

The de Bones sidled up to Oliver. ‘We are really very sorry, dear boy. Very sorry indeed,’ said Lady de Bone.

‘On the other hand,’ put in Pelham, ‘you must remember that we were particularly asked to come here and do our most sinister haunting. We were told to go to the tower room and pull out all the stops. Mrs Mannering said that the gentleman who ordered us most particularly wanted evil ghosts.’

Everyone now looked at everyone else. The de Bones might be loathsome, but they seemed to be telling the truth.

Someone — and it had to be Fulton — had wanted Oliver harmed or even dead.

‘ Now do you believe me?’ asked Adopta, turning to her friend.

But Oliver still had trouble believing that anyone who had sent him the Wilkinsons could be totally evil. ‘You don’t think he guessed that the Shriekers were your parents and wanted to give you a surprise?’

‘Oh for goodness sake ,’ began Addie.

But she caught Uncle Henry’s glance and said no more. Clearly something would have to be done about Fulton Snodde-Brittle, but not till Oliver could be got away to safety.

‘Mr Tusker thinks Oliver’s drowned,’ said Eric when Oliver had fallen asleep at last. ‘I heard him going round the lake with Miss Match before he left. He’s going to tell Fulton.’

‘Good,’ said Uncle Henry. ‘In that case it won’t be long before Fulton’s back.’

‘And we’ll be ready for him,’ said Sir Pelham — and this time the Wilkinsons were glad to hear the crack of his whip and see the hatred in his hollow eyes.

To decide that Oliver should be got out of the way was one thing; to get him to go was another. He didn’t want to leave Helton even for a couple of days. He knew how worried Aunt Maud was about losing Adopta, and how Addie fretted about the budgie, and he wanted to be with them and help.

It was Grandma who persuaded him to go. ‘I’m worried sick about Mr Hofmann,’ she said. ‘And if you mean it, I’d like to ask him down to Helton — and Pernilla too. But I want you to come too, so it’ll seem like a proper invitation.’

What Grandma started, Trevor finished by writing to ask Oliver if he’d come up for his birthday. So they took the housekeeping money which Miss Match had left in the kitchen drawer and set off for London, and everyone in the Home was so pleased to see him, and so excited to have a ghost to stay, that Oliver couldn’t be sorry he had come.

Now they were on their way to Mr Hofmann, but there was something Grandma wanted to show him first.

‘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.’