Sunny and the Ghosts Page 2

  ‘And what’s his name?’ asked his dad.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Sunny.

  His dad shook his head, and frowned at the coat in the wardrobe. He lifted it out on its hanger and hung it instead on the clothes rail on the far side of the shop.

  Sunny’s mum’s voice came down the stairs: ‘Tea’s ready!’ she called.

  ‘Come on then, Sunny,’ said his dad. ‘Teatime.’

  Sunny waited until his dad was on the stairs and then moved the coat back into the wardrobe, where he felt it belonged.

  On his way out of the shop, he stopped at the blanket box, lifted the lid and found the ghost inside. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

  ‘Herbert,’ said the ghost.

  ‘I’ve got to go now, Herbert,’ said Sunny. ‘It’s time for my tea.’

  ‘Is it the end of the day already?’ asked Herbert. He pulled a miserable face. ‘Now Walter will start playing the piano again, I know he will, and I’ll have to listen, all night long, just like last night.’

  ‘Couldn’t you sleep last night?’ asked Sunny.

  ‘No,’ said Herbert.

  ‘When I can’t sleep, I count,’ said Sunny. ‘You could try counting.’

  ‘What should I count?’ asked Herbert.

  ‘Anything you like,’ said Sunny. ‘Sheep, green bottles . . .’

  ‘Bananas in pyjamas . . .’ said Herbert.

  ‘Bananas in pyjamas . . .’ said Sunny.

  ‘All right,’ said Herbert. He closed his eyes. ‘One banana in pyjamas, two bananas in pyjamas, three bananas in pyjamas . . .’

  Sunny closed the lid of the blanket box and went upstairs for his tea.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Second Ghost

  On Monday, Sunny’s dad went out early and came back before breakfast with a vanload of rather fine things. There was a crystal chandelier, a silk rug, and a leather trunk which Sunny’s mum admired. She opened the lid of the trunk, looked inside, and closed it again. ‘We should put it near the window,’ she said, ‘where someone’s more likely to see it and want to buy it.’ They moved the blanket box aside to make space for the handsome trunk, in front of which they placed the rug and above which they hung the chandelier.

  While Sunny was at school, he kept thinking about the ghosts. He told his friends about them, but his friends said that ghosts were not real, that they were only in stories.

  ‘But I saw one,’ said Sunny. ‘He’s living in a blanket box in the shop. His name’s Herbert.’

  His friends looked doubtful. They were so doubtful that Sunny started doubting it himself. Perhaps, he thought, he had only dreamt it, or had just imagined it. He wanted to go and look inside the blanket box again, to see if Herbert was there. But after school, Sunny had football club, and as soon as he got home it was time for tea.

  He was in the kitchen, getting three sets of cutlery out of the cutlery drawer, when his dad came in.

  ‘That box of books I gave you yesterday,’ said his dad. ‘I thought you’d put them in the bookcase. You were supposed to put them on the shelves.’

  ‘I did,’ said Sunny.

  ‘Well,’ said his dad, ‘when I looked this morning, they were all over the shop. Two of the Shakespeares were on top of the piano. I found one of the Brontës down the back of the chaise longue. Nothing was in the right place. And I can’t find A Christmas Carol anywhere.’

  ‘I put the books on the shelves,’ said Sunny. ‘I put them in alphabetical order.’

  ‘Well, then,’ said his dad, ‘it must have been those ghosts of yours.’

  ‘What ghosts?’ asked Sunny’s mum, bringing a big dish of spaghetti to the table.

  They all sat down and Sunny’s dad said, ‘There are ghosts in the shop. They’re in the furniture, aren’t they, Sunny?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sunny.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said his mum, spooning spaghetti onto Sunny’s plate. ‘Is that who was playing the piano on Saturday night?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sunny.

  ‘He lives in the blanket box,’ said Sunny’s dad. ‘His name’s Walter.’

  ‘No,’ said Sunny. ‘That’s Herbert in the blanket box. Walter’s in the wardrobe, but I haven’t seen him yet.’

  After tea, it was bathtime, and then bedtime, and Sunny was so tired he fell asleep in the middle of a chapter of his book. But during the night, he woke up. He could hear the piano music again. He got out of bed and crept out of his room. He had his night light with him and left the landing light off. He went down the stairs as quietly as he possibly could. When he opened the door to the shop, he found, sitting on the piano stool, a ghost, which looked up at him in surprise. It was not the ghost from the blanket box; it was another one, a younger man, smartly dressed in not just a shirt and trousers but also a waistcoat with the chain of a pocket watch showing.

  ‘Are you Walter?’ asked Sunny.

  ‘Yes,’ said the ghost.

  ‘Where’s Herbert?’ asked Sunny.

  ‘He’s in the blanket box,’ said Walter. ‘He’s counting.’

  Sunny went to the blanket box and lifted the lid.

  ‘Ninety nine thousand, eight hundred and fifty four bananas in pyjamas,’ said Herbert, ‘ninety nine thousand, eight hundred and fifty five bananas in pyjamas . . .’

  ‘Didn’t counting help you sleep?’ asked Sunny.

  ‘No,’ said Herbert with a sigh. ‘I don’t think ghosts can sleep.’

  ‘Herbert, Walter,’ said Sunny, ‘do you know why the books were all over the shop? Yesterday, I put them on the bookshelves, but this morning my dad found Hamlet and Macbeth on top of the piano, and one of the Brontës down the back of the chaise longue.’

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ said Walter.

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ said Herbert. ‘Which Brontë is it?’

  ‘Wuthering Heights,’ said Sunny.

  ‘Really?’ said Herbert, climbing out of the blanket box. ‘That’s my favourite.’

  ‘It’s back in the bookcase now,’ said Sunny. ‘You can read it if you like, as long as you put it back on the shelf when you’ve finished with it. We can’t find A Christmas Carol anywhere.’ To Walter, he said, ‘You play the piano very well.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Walter. He looked pleased but a bit shy. ‘I think I’ll get back in the wardrobe now.’ He left the piano stool and went back to the wardrobe, slipping into the winter coat, settling down inside it so that Sunny could not see Walter’s head, not even his tufty hair.

  ‘Are you all right in there?’ asked Sunny. He heard Walter’s muffled but cheerful reply. ‘Night night, Walter,’ said Sunny, closing the wardrobe door. ‘Night night, Herbert.’

  Herbert was sitting by the window now, reading the first page of Wuthering Heights by moonlight. ‘Night night, Sunny,’ said Herbert. ‘Have a nice sleep.’

  Every day that week, Sunny woke up wondering if it was Saturday yet. He wanted to spend some time with the ghosts. He wondered how they were doing and what they were getting up to.

  On Wednesday, at teatime, Sunny’s dad said, ‘One of the ornamental pigs is missing. Do you know where it is?’

  ‘No,’ said Sunny.

  ‘You would say, wouldn’t you, if maybe you’d cleaned it and broken it by accident?’ said his mum.

  ‘I haven’t touched it,’ said Sunny. ‘I’ll see if the ghosts know anything about it.’

  ‘Did they own up to scattering those books?’ asked his dad.

  ‘Walter said it wasn’t him,’ said Sunny, ‘and Herbert said it wasn’t him, but I did tell Herbert he could read the books as long as he puts them back on the shelves when he’s finished with them.’

  ‘Well,’ said his dad, ‘just as long as he does. I don’t know how they got into such a mess.’

  ‘It’s a mystery,’ said Sunny’s mum.

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nbsp; ‘Yes,’ said Sunny’s dad. ‘It’s a mystery.’

  A little after midnight, Sunny was once again woken by the piano music. He reached for his night light and went downstairs and into the shop. Walter was at the piano, on top of which there was now only one pig. Herbert was by the window, reading. Sunny said to the ghosts, ‘One of the pigs is missing. Do you know where it is?’

  ‘No,’ said Walter. ‘I haven’t touched it.’

  ‘Me neither,’ said Herbert. ‘It’s bound to turn up though. It won’t be far away.’

  Sunny yawned and wished the ghosts goodnight, and while he was climbing the stairs, Walter played a lullaby.

  The following morning, while Sunny was getting ready for school, his dad went down to the shop. A minute later, he came back upstairs and said, ‘It’s full of cats.’

  ‘What’s full of cats?’ asked Sunny’s mum.

  ‘The shop,’ said Sunny’s dad. ‘It’s full of cats.’

  They all went together down to the shop, which was full of cats. There were dozens of them: black ones, white ones, black and white ones, grey ones, ginger ones, tabby ones, big ones, little ones, fat ones, skinny ones; they were sleeping on cushions and table­tops and shelves, and on the windowsills, in amongst the pots and pans, and in the pots and pans; or they were wandering around, jumping up, jumping down, batting things, chasing things, chasing their own tails round in circles; they purred and miaowed and yowled.

  ‘How did all these cats get in?’ asked Sunny’s mum.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Sunny’s dad. ‘The door’s locked, and the key’s right where it ought to be.’ He went to fetch the key and opened the door, and they herded the cats out, waking the ones that were sleeping, finding them in all sorts of unexpected places. The very last one was found in the leather trunk.

  At school, Sunny told his friends about the shop being full of cats.

  ‘First it was ghosts,’ said his friend Ellie, ‘and now it’s cats.’

  ‘It’s both,’ said Sunny.

  ‘I’ll stop off at the shop on the way home from school,’ said Ellie. ‘I’d like to see the cats.’

  ‘Well,’ said Sunny, ‘they’ve all gone now.’

  ‘What about the ghosts?’ asked Ellie.

  ‘They’re still there,’ said Sunny.

  After school, Ellie walked home with Sunny. They went in through the front door, into the shop. ‘Look in there,’ said Sunny, pointing to the blanket box.

  ‘Has it got ghosts in it?’ asked Ellie, walking over to the blanket box.

  ‘It’s got a ghost in it,’ said Sunny.

  Ellie lifted the lid and looked inside. ‘Wow,’ she said.

  ‘See?’ said Sunny.

  ‘There are dozens of them,’ said Ellie. ‘Fat ones, skinny ones, some sleeping, some running around, chasing their tails . . .’

  ‘What?’ said Sunny. He went over, took hold of the lid and looked inside the box. Herbert wasn’t in there; the blanket box was empty.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ said Ellie, heading for the front door, going home.

  Sunny was still standing there, holding the lid of the blanket box, when he heard the wardrobe door creaking open behind him. He looked, and saw Herbert coming out of the wardrobe.

  ‘What were you doing in there?’ Sunny asked him.

  ‘Walter invited me over to his place for the afternoon,’ said Herbert.

  ‘I wanted you to meet my friend Ellie,’ said Sunny.

  ‘Well, I am popular today, aren’t I?’ said Herbert, and his ghostly face looked very pleased. ‘I’ll be needing a calendar,’ he said, ‘to keep track of all my appointments.’

  Finally, Saturday came, when Sunny could spend the day helping out in the shop. Sunny and his mum were sitting at the kitchen table, starting on their breakfast, while Sunny’s dad was on the phone in the hallway. Sunny saw him go down to the shop, and he heard what sounded like every note on the piano being played, from the deepest note at one end of the keyboard to the highest note at the other end. Sunny’s dad came back upstairs and into the kitchen and said, ‘Mr Ramsbottom wants to buy the piano.’

  ‘No!’ said Sunny. ‘Walter loves playing the piano.’

  Sunny’s dad sat down at the table, and his face settled into a frown. ‘I just went down to take a look at it,’ he said, ‘and while I was down there I found the other pig.’

  ‘Oh good!’ said Sunny’s mum.

  ‘I found it on the floor,’ said Sunny’s dad, ‘broken into pieces.’

  ‘Oh no!’ said Sunny’s mum.

  Sunny realised that both his mum and his dad were looking at him. ‘It wasn’t me!’ said Sunny. ‘I didn’t touch it!’

  ‘No,’ said his dad. ‘I didn’t see the breakage when I locked up yesterday, so I know it can’t have been you, unless you’re in the habit of wandering around the shop in the middle of the night.’

  Sunny’s mouth was full of toast, so he didn’t say anything; he didn’t mention that he did sometimes go down to the shop in the middle of the night to talk to the ghosts.

  ‘But how did it happen?’ said his dad. ‘It wasn’t me, and it wasn’t you,’ he said to Sunny’s mum, ‘and it wasn’t Sunny. Who can have done it?’

  Sunny, who had swallowed his toast now, said, ‘It won’t have been Herbert or Walter.’

  ‘Maybe another cat got in,’ said Sunny’s mum.

  ‘But it wasn’t there to get knocked over by a cat or anything else,’ said Sunny’s dad. ‘It’s been missing since Wednesday.’

  ‘It’s a mystery,’ said Sunny’s mum.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sunny’s dad. ‘It’s a mystery.’

  When they got down to the shop, Sunny saw the pig lying on the floor in at least half a dozen pieces. His dad picked the pieces up very carefully and went to put them somewhere safe for gluing back together. While his dad was out of the shop, Sunny went to the wardrobe and said to the winter coat, ‘Somebody wants to buy the piano.’

  A big ohhh came out of the coat. ‘But I love playing the piano,’ said Walter. ‘Now I’ll have nothing to do.’

  ‘You can read the books,’ said Sunny. ‘We’ve got lots of good books.’

  ‘But I can’t read,’ said Walter. ‘I never learnt. I didn’t go to school.’

  ‘You didn’t go to school?’ said Sunny. ‘Not ever?’

  ‘No,’ said Walter. ‘When I was five years old, about two hundred years ago, I started working in the pit.’

  ‘In a coal mine?’ said Sunny.

  ‘Aye,’ said Walter. ‘I worked there all my life. I always wanted to learn to read, but I never did.’

  Just then, there was a banging at the door of the shop, and Sunny turned to see what the noise was. He saw Mr Ramsbottom standing there, hammering his fist against the glass door. Sunny looked at the time – it was only half past eight. His dad came into the shop and sighed. ‘All right, all right,’ he said, going to the door and opening up for Mr Ramsbottom.

  ‘You’ve got to unlock the door if you want to sell anything,’ said Mr Ramsbottom. ‘You can’t keep a customer waiting out in the cold like that.’

  ‘We don’t open until nine o’clock,’ said Sunny’s dad.

  Mr Ramsbottom came inside, pushing past Sunny’s dad, who closed the door behind him. The two men went over to the piano.

  ‘It’s very old,’ said Mr Ramsbottom.

  ‘It’s an antique,’ said Sunny’s dad. ‘It’s in excellent condition.’

  Mr Ramsbottom grumbled about the price, but he paid and Sunny’s dad said that he would bring it round in the van later that morning.

  While Sunny’s dad was phoning someone who would help him to move the piano, Sunny opened the blanket box and said to the ghost, ‘Herbert, the pig turned up but it’s been broken.’

  ‘It wasn’t me!’ said Herbert.
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  ‘It wasn’t me!’ said Walter, who was listening through the wardrobe door.

  ‘It’s a mystery,’ said Sunny.

  While Sunny’s dad was busy getting the piano into the van, Sunny’s mum came downstairs to mind the shop.

  ‘Mum,’ said Sunny, ‘please can I get something out of the stationery cupboard?’

  The stationery cupboard was a big, walk-in cupboard in which they kept the shop’s supply of paper and envelopes and so on, but there was more in there than just stationery. The stationery cupboard was also where they kept a vacuum cleaner, and polish and dusters, and Sunny’s drawing and painting things for when he felt like drawing or painting, and there was packaging, like rolls of bubblewrap and empty boxes.

  ‘Of course you can,’ said his mum, taking the key out of the drawer of the cash desk. ‘What do you need to get from the cupboard? Are you going to do some drawing?’

  ‘I need a box,’ said Sunny.

  ‘A box? An empty box?’ said his mum.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sunny. ‘Please.’

  ‘What do you need a box for?’ asked his mum.

  ‘I want to teach Walter to read,’ said Sunny.

  His mum gave him a curious look, but she unlocked the door to the stationery cupboard. The empty boxes were up on the highest shelf. She got one down and gave it to Sunny. ‘OK?’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sunny. ‘Thanks.’

  His mum was straightening the remaining boxes before locking the cupboard, and Sunny was walking back through the shop, when Walter stuck his head out of the wardrobe door and said, ‘You want to teach me to read?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sunny. ‘Do you want to try?’

  ‘All right,’ said Walter.

  ‘Wait there,’ said Sunny.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ said Walter.