The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue Page 2

He started guiltily. ‘Who?’ He stopped then sniffed. ‘Can you smell...?’ but the question tailed off when he saw a wisp of smoke in the hall. He shoved the photo in his pocket and hurried out of the library with Gloria close behind.

  ‘Boys love chips, don’t they?’ Gloria called after him. ‘Do you suppose they’re done?’

  Judging from the dense black smoke that was billowing through the kitchen door, Ralf supposed the chips were very done indeed and his first instinct was to run and dial 999. There were two problems with this, though. The first was that, unlike every other house in London, Janus Gate did not have a phone and the second was that Gloria, upon seeing the smoke, had not done the sensible thing and made for the door, she had instead galloped, shrieking, right into the smoke filled kitchen. Ralf dashed after her. He caught her just as she was about to chuck a bowl of water on to the flaming chip pan. Ralf was only ten, but even he knew that this was an incredibly stupid thing to do, and he grabbed at her, screaming.

  ‘NO! It’ll explode!’

  He managed to knock the bowl from her grasp but some of the water splashed on to the blaze. There was a popping roar and a drop of blistering fat connected with Gloria’s hand.

  ‘Aiiyeee!’

  ‘Stand back!’ he yelled.

  ‘Stop! Stop!’ Gloria screamed. ‘You mustn’t!’ She danced around the kitchen getting in Ralf’s way and cursing him as he switched off the gas.

  ‘If you’ll just let me –’ Ralf started, in what he hoped was a soothing voice, but Gloria shrieked again as he dampened a tea towel and lowered it over the flames.

  ‘If you could just sit –’ he tried, but Gloria was not to be calmed. She hopped around and wailed until Ralf realized at last that he must take charge. He seized one of her spindly arms and thrust her in to a chair.

  There she watched as the fire winked out, tut-tutted as Ralf opened all the windows and muttered for the full five minutes he made her hold her hand in a bowl of cold water. By the time he’d found a medical kit, she’d stopped making noises. She gave an approving nod as he wound a bandage over the burn but said only a very stiff ‘Thank you’ when he handed her a cup of sweet tea.

  Half an hour later, after wiping over the rather blackened kitchen in tense silence, they made a replacement lunch of bacon, brown sauce and marmalade sandwiches. These were not mad, Ralf thought, but so delicious they were genius.

  The social worker arrived at three and Ralf persuaded a still subdued Gloria that, this time, the woman really must be allowed in to the house. Grudgingly, Gloria served tea and more sandwiches (baked bean, this time) in a vast conservatory overlooking the tangled garden. Jade accepted the tea, wrinkled a pert nose at the sandwiches and turned to face Ralf with a pretty smile and a questioning expression.

  ‘So how are you settling in?’

  ‘Well, I – er –’

  Jade’s forehead creased into the tiniest of frowns. ‘Because if either of you is uncomfortable… if it’s too much for Ms Osborne to manage…then perhaps other arrangements could be made?’

  ‘Too much?’ Gloria snapped with a disdainful snort. ‘When I was your age I was parachuting into Occupied France! I think I can manage a small boy!’

  Ralf blanched. The image of her in the photograph came back to him with a jolt. 1940? Parachuting into France? That couldn’t be right, surely? He’d been told she was in her sixties, not ninety-something. He glanced nervously at Jade but she appeared not to have heard. She touched his arm. ‘Well?’

  For a second Ralf lost himself in dizzy longing. He thought of escape and a nice, sane foster family with a TV and central heating, but caught sight of Gloria’s bandaged hand as, muttering, she reached for her fifth sugar lump. Their eyes met. She looked at him quizzically and Ralf knew he could not leave.

  The photograph in his pocket felt like it was about to burn through the fabric. Those kids. Who were they? Who was that boy who looked so much like him? And why did that picture of young Gloria look so shockingly familiar? He had to know what was going on. Besides, Gloria might be nuts but she was still family and he couldn’t bring himself to hate her. The chips had been for him, hadn’t they? How would she manage without him? She’d probably burn the house down.

  Faintly nauseous, and for reasons he would never be able to explain he took a huge bite of sandwich and, chewing stickily, forced himself to smile.

  ‘It’s great here,’ he lied. ‘I absolutely love it!’

  He and Gloria exchanged a look. So began their life together.

  If Ralf had believed staying would earn him any leeway with Gloria he was sadly mistaken. As soon as Jade left, he showed her the photograph but her answer left him wanting to scream.

  ‘The boy?’ she smiled mischievously. ‘Why, that’s Ralf Osborne, of course!’

  ‘But how? Who –?’

  ‘Oh no, dear,’ she said. ‘You’ll get no answers from me. A worthy man would find out the answers for himself.’

  No amount of badgering could make her say more on the matter.

  Removed from the warmth of his childhood home and all the familiar comforts it might have provided, Ralf was friendless and alone. He missed his dog. His eleventh birthday passed without card or comment and as time went by he became more and more lonely. Confused and restless, he would bring out the photograph and stare at the boy who was Ralf Osborne, wondering...

  Gloria didn’t notice his turmoil. She spent long periods shut up in her room, during which time Ralf was forbidden to make any noise. At other times, however, she would kick cancans in the sitting room, tap dance in the kitchen or sing along to crackling old records in the dining room. (Ralf particularly hated it when she did this because all her favourite songs seemed to involve trumpets and the words ‘boogie-woogie’ being repeated every ten seconds.)

  To avoid her, he spent a great deal of time in the library and by the end of summer he had a pale complexion to match his hair. He still looked at the photograph, but over time the urgency of finding out the other Ralf Osborne’s story faded, diluted in the mix of everyday existence. He started to forget the past and look forward to the future.

  Everything would change when he started secondary school, he thought. All the Year Sevens would be starting at the same time and he would be just like everyone else. He’d make friends. Things would be better.

  Fate willed things differently, however, and on his very first day, things got significantly worse.

  He was thirty minutes early, munching a sausage roll and watching the first few kids make their way through the school gates when he noticed the two women on the corner. They were standing in the shade of a tall garden wall and the younger was absent-mindedly rocking a pram back and forth as she talked. Ralf’s neck prickled and the sausage roll suddenly felt like flour on his tongue. His eyes flickered in panic from the pram to the side road and back again.

  ‘Hey!’ He shouted across to them but they didn’t even look up.

  Ralf dropped the sausage roll as the fear of what was about to happen was replaced by a feeling of complete terror that he was going to be too late. His breathing quickened. His pulse raced. He could almost hear the rush of blood through his veins. He sprinted across the busy road, cars missing him by inches, barged between the two women and grabbed the pram.

  ‘My baby!’ the woman shrieked and darted after him. He could hear two sets of feet clattering behind him as he ran. He was sprinting with the bouncing pram, a curly-haired baby staring up at him with wide, curious eyes, when the lorry thundered out of the side road. It skidded, careered up the pavement and crashed into the wall where only a few moments before the pram had stood. Bricks and dust exploded in all directions.

  It took Ralf a second to register what had happened but then he stopped running and turned to witness a scene of devastation that he had known about, somehow, seconds before it happened. He was scared stiff that he could easily have been so wrong and was utterly petrified that he wasn’t.

  The baby was crying now. There was a
riot of sound, screeching tyres, shouts, cries of shock, and the continuous blast of the lorry’s horn as the driver, his face blank with shock, stared at the ruined wall in front of him.

  There was a sobbing cry and the mother, tears streaming, snatched the baby to her chest. The woman stared fiercely at him and, for a moment, Ralf thought he was going to get a slap but then he was dragged, one handed, into an awkward embrace. The baby bawled against him as she choked, ‘Thank you. How did you…? Oh, thank you!’ Ralf stumbled free and half ran to the corner.

  Kids were clustered at the school gates, staring – not at the wreckage or the screaming baby – but at him. In the centre was an aristocratic looking boy with dark hair and a mocking smile. His eyes met Ralf’s and the smile curled into a sneer. Face burning and eyes on the ground Ralf hurried away. He didn’t see the whispering crowd gather on the other side of the road, or behind them in the shadows, the tall, dark figure of the hooded man.

  Ralf truanted his first day at secondary school. It was not the best start but he didn’t feel he could face anyone. The accident was all over the local papers that evening and had been picked up by the tabloids the next day. A reporter made the mistake of calling at the house but was soon seen off by an irate Gloria who, for reasons unknown, threatened to have him arrested for treason. For once, Ralf was glad Janus Gate did not have a phone.

  He made the effort to go into school the next day but was soon wishing he hadn’t. ‘BABY GEORGIA SAVED BY SCHOOLBOY HERO.’ The sight of the headline on the newsstands and in people’s hands on the bus made Ralf feel sick.

  At the end of the day, he went to the school library. He’d intended to start his homework but found himself drawn to the computers and, before he could talk himself out of it, he’d searched the baby’s name. The results came up and he blinked in surprise.

  TRAGIC DEATH OF BABY GIRL

  Georgia Hayward, 4 months, was crushed in her pram when a lorry skidded off the road in Brook Street this morning…

  He nearly laughed. She didn’t die! What were they on about? How could they have got it so wrong?

  He looked for the name of the paper but his eye caught something else and for a second he thought that he might be sick. The date on the article was September 5th 1963. Exactly the same thing had happened, on the same day, in the same place, fifty years before.

  Coincidence? Ralf didn’t think so. In the middle of the article was a photo of the same huge eyed, curly haired baby who’d gazed up at him the previous day. He scanned the article. Everything was identical except that in 1963 Georgia Hayward hadn’t been so lucky. Of course she hadn’t. Ralf could almost feel the blood draining from his face. In 1963, he hadn’t been there to save her.

  He felt a presence at his shoulder. He quickly hit the back button and looked up to see the dark haired boy from the day before regarding him curiously.

  ‘How did you know?’ the boy asked.

  Ralf knew exactly what he was getting at. ‘I heard it coming.’

  ‘You were on the other side of the road!’

  ‘I heard it.’ Ralf looked directly into the tall boy’s eyes, willing him to believe. He shrugged. ‘And I happened to be looking the right way.’

  The boy’s face was curious but there was something else there too – something that he was trying hard not to show. ‘Okay, so you heard it. How did you know there was anything wrong? The paper says the lorry’s brakes failed. You were running before he even tried to stop.’

  ‘I heard it, okay? The engine sounded funny.’

  The tall boy’s mouth twisted. ‘Yeah. Right.’

  ‘Right.’ Ralf got up, slammed his books into his bag and headed for the door. On the way he worked out the look on the boy’s face. It was the kind of expression you get when you open a cupboard to find something inside that’s rotten – or dead. It wasn’t surprise – it was a kind of fascinated disgust.

  That night Ralf dreamt about clocks. There were lots of clocks in the nightmare and they were extremely scary. They had pale, blank faces, waving hands and accusing murmurs. They invaded the dark in ticking armies and made Ralf shudder.

  They were a warning.

  They noted the seconds and marked the hours of time that was fast running out.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Waking of Ralf Osborne

  The horrifying death from which he’d saved little Georgia Hayward didn’t play on Ralf’s mind as long as you might expect. After only a few days, the memory had faded until he almost believed it had happened to someone else. Besides, he very quickly had other things to worry about.

  School was a problem – a big problem – and he rarely went. He tried, he really did, but each day as he attempted to leave Gloria invented something for him to do. He spent hours playing chess with her, reading aloud from dull history books or sitting politely while she reminisced about a war she couldn’t be old enough to remember. When he did eventually get in to school he got in to trouble for truanting (Gloria never wrote him a note) or was given detention for being late.

  He also had the pupils to contend with. The other kids thought he was a freak. Everyone knew where he lived and to whom he was related.

  ‘See that kid?’

  ‘With the mutant hair?’

  ‘Yeah. He lives with that mad woman. You know, from the Heath?’

  ‘Gaga Gloria? My Dad says she ought to be in a Home.’

  ‘He ought to be in a home. If he’s related to her, he’s got to be a nutter.’

  Ralf pretended not to hear. He couldn’t blame them, though. Gloria was a standing joke. She wandered aimlessly up and down the High Street, singing to herself. She picked up people’s litter and followed them in order to give it back. She didn’t just feed the pigeons; she wrung their necks then took them home to cook for tea.

  She was also dead set against having other children in the house, so on the two occasions Ralf did hit it off with someone he was faced with the prospect of telling them not to come round (looked weird) or sneaking them in (looked even weirder). By the end of his first term though, other people’s opinions of Gloria were the least of his worries. He was starting to think they might be right – about him.

  He got home one evening and was halfway to the kitchen, in search of a snack when he heard voices. Gloria was in there and, surprisingly, had company. Ralf could hear her talking to someone and, though he knew he shouldn’t, he tiptoed to the door to listen.

  ‘I’m not even sure it’s him,’ she snapped.

  The voice that answered belonged to a man but it was faint and Ralf couldn’t hear his reply.

  ‘Oh, he looks similar, I’ll grant you that. Apart from the eye.’ Gloria continued. The man responded. Ralf pressed his ear to the door but Gloria was talking again. ‘He found the photograph…Yes, of course I intended him to… I shan’t tell him a thing. If it’s him, he should be able to work it out for himself!’ There was another murmur and a kind of static crackle like a radio not tuned in properly.

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen them too! Romans in the garden! Cavaliers on The Common! There was even a Mammoth by The Ponds on Friday. But that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s in any immediate danger.’

  Danger? What on earth was she talking about? Ralf still couldn’t hear the other person, but Gloria obviously could and she was getting annoyed.

  ‘Things were different then and you know it!’ she said waspishly. ‘He had no idea what he was doing when he made that promise! None of them did. And how will that make it any better?’ There was more static.

  ‘You think he’ll be happier knowing the truth about Scathferox? Better off remembering the slaughter? Content to know he’s cursed?’

  Scathferox? Ralf’s brain jangled as he tried to make a long dead connection. Slaughter? Curse? He strained to hear the man’s reply but it was no use. The next person he heard was Gloria again.

  ‘Power? I’ve seen precious little evidence of that! He’s completely different from how I remember. He spends all his time inside with
his head in a book. He’s so pale he looks like a ghost!’

  It was only then that Ralf realised something he should have worked out minutes earlier. They were talking about him! Flushed with indignation he yanked on the door handle and strode into the kitchen.

  His head swept from left to right, searching the room for the visitor but there was no one there. The back door was closed and bolted. Something flickered in Gloria’s eyes but then she brandished a half plucked mallard at him. ‘Duck for supper?’ she sang.

  Confused, Ralf stared at the swaying webbed feet. ‘Oh, sorry, I...’ Face chalky, he backed away. ‘Duck. Er – thanks, Gloria.’

  He hung on to the doorframe as he left, knees weak. Gloria must have been talking to herself. Even as he thought it, he couldn’t quite believe it. He had heard someone. He was sure of it. A terrifying suspicion grabbed him as he stumbled back upstairs; what if he was going mad too? It wasn’t like it didn’t run in the family.

  When Ralf had gone, Gloria slammed the duck back on to the table and stared pointedly into the corner of the room.

  ‘See?’ she hissed. ‘He can’t even see you!’

  On the first day of the Spring Term things got worse. Ralf suddenly, and for no apparent reason, forgot how to speak. Well that’s not quite true, actually he could speak. It was just that, sometimes, what came out of his mouth was complete gibberish. He was in the lunch queue at school, his mind wandering, when suddenly he realised everyone was staring at him. The dinner lady, holding a large spoon and an empty plate, looked baffled because Ralf had asked for ‘taten ha wy’. He had no idea what these words meant, if indeed they meant anything at all, and clearly neither did the dinner lady.

  ‘Are you trying to be funny?’

  ‘No – er – sorry. Egg and chips, please.’ Ralf’s cheeks flushed scarlet.

  There was sniggering from behind him in the queue. ‘Loser,’ someone snorted. Ralf hurried off with a plate of food he no longer felt like eating.