Jay, Lizzie and the Tale of the Stairs Page 7

  Chapter 8

  Lizzie Again

  During teatime the next day I pushed my fish fingers around my plate and mixed them up with the beans and mashed potato I hadn’t eaten. Dad wasn’t impressed.

  “What’s wrong with you now?” he asked, pointing his fork at my plate, “you normally like fish fingers.”

  I shrugged my shoulders and felt myself drawing in because of Dad’s tone-of-voice. There was a long pause whilst Dad put away the last of his beans. He chewed once or twice, swallowed then clattered his cutlery onto his plate. This is so annoying. Why does Dad always have to make a ceremony of finishing every meal?

  I felt his eyes on me. “C’mon, Jay, you’ve been right miserable these past few days.” He collected our plates and moved towards the sink. He put the plates down then turned and leant against the worktops.

  “Do you fancy a trip to the hospital tomorrow?”

  ‘Now how do I answer that question?’ I asked myself. The truth is I miss my Mum. Miss her more than anything. And I really did want to see her. But I hate hospitals. It’s the smell of them. Clean and disinfected and full of sick people. And when you're caught looking at them you don’t know how to react.

  Example.

  One of the times we went to visit Mum there was a man with a kind of hole in his throat. The nurses had to come and clean it every now and then and once I caught a glimpse of some slimy stuff on the big pads they used to clean it. But it was the gurgling noise that came from him that was the worst. When he breathed there was a horrible, wet, bubbling sound. It reminded me of a dirty plug hole. I seemed to remember an awful smell but I probably imagined that. But the gurgling I never forgot.

  Funny though. All the time we were sat at Mum’s bed we never once referred or talked about him. He was just there, a few feet away, laid on his back with his eyes loosely shut and mouth wide open.

  Gurgling.

  He was gone the next time we went, replaced by a little old lady reading a TV mag. I was glad.

  So, I’m not that keen on hospitals. But I wanted to see my Mum. In the end I didn’t have to answer because Dad made the decision for me.

  “Yes,” he said, turning on the hot water and spraying the dirty dishes in the sink with Apple Quake Fairy Liquid, “I’ll take you to see your Mum tomorrow.”

  Later Dad went to see Mum himself. He goes most nights and he got back at about nine. I was glad because I couldn’t stop thinking about Lizzie again and whether I dreamt her visit the other night and whether I’d dream about her again tonight. I was getting scared and wasn’t looking forward to going to bed.

  Dad got some beer from the fridge and we watched TV and he talked about how Mum was looking.

  “She looks better today, “he said. “Fresher. She had had a good bath in the afternoon. Had washed her hair and even put a bit of make-up on. She was sat up reading a book when I got there.”

  “How long’s her hair now?” I asked. Mum’s last bought of chemotherapy had left her with none.

  “Yeah, it’s looking good. About an inch long all over now.”

  I was pleased. But I had to ask the question. “Who’s she next to now then?”

  Dad smiled when he replied. “No-one. The bed’s empty.”

  Lizzie did come again during the night. I couldn’t sleep and kept hearing things so I snapped my bedside lamp on. I laid tired and still scared, looking at the spot where she had sat two nights before.

  I watched as first the top of her grey head appeared from the floor near my computer, then her whole head and shoulders, still in pig-tails and still wearing the beret-type hat. She looked exactly like she was climbing some stairs as she bounced upwards with every step. Finally she reached the top and smiled when she saw my wide eyes peering over the top of the duvet. The rest of her clothes were the same as the other night and she still shimmered in the same ‘poor signal’ way, still talked out-of-sync with her mouth.

  She climbed quickly onto my swivel chair and took up the same position, hands on knees, smiling politely.

  “Hello, Jay,” she said as if visiting a strange boys’ bedroom from another time in the middle of the night was the most natural thing in the world.

  “Alright.” My voice was muffled by the duvet.

  “I told you I’d be back didn’t I?” came out of her mouth before it moved.

  “Yes you did.”

  “I can’t hear you. You’ll have to take the blanket from over your mouth.”

  I did as I was told.

  “Now, what was it you said?”

  I blinked. I was angry again. I was fed up with having to worry about voices and visits from little girls in the middle of the night. I wanted to go to sleep. I was knackered.

  Lizzie sensed this.

  “You’re cross with me, aren’t you Jay?” she said cautiously.

  I sat up. “Yes, I am.”

  Lizzie looked hurt.

  “Lizzie, what are you really and what do you really want?”

  “I told you last night. I’ve come for your help.”

  I was getting used to her. Getting braver quicker.

  “How can I help you, Lizzie? I’m only a boy. What if we asked my Dad? He’s a bit noisy and makes a lot of bad decisions but he’s a grown up and will know what to do.”

  I stopped as Lizzie put a finger to her mouth and smiled in mischief.

  “Dad can’t hear us again, can he?” I asked.

  Lizzie shook her head. “That’s the point, you see,” Lizzie said, “grown-ups can’t help.”

  I was confused. “Why?”

  “Because, silly, they can’t go through time like we can.”

  I was still confused. “Well, I’m not being funny, Lizzie, but I didn’t think anybody could go through time. I thought it was only in films.”

  Now Lizzie looked confused. “What films?”

  “You know, on TV, DVD and that.”

  Now Lizzie looked really confused. “TV? TTV? What’s that?”

  This wasn’t making sense at all.

  “You mean you don’t know what a TV or DVD is?” I asked her.

  But Lizzie looked hurt, as if I was making fun of her. “No I don’t,” she said quietly.

  I couldn’t believe it. Everybody and their dog had a TV and DVD player. But then that made sense if it was true what Lizzie was saying, that she came from another time. And her clothes! Although shimmering grey – the ‘poor signal’ effect – if you pasted colour onto them using your imagination then they did look old. They were like something from one of the old black and white movies that I sometimes saw in the afternoon when I was sick from school. And for the first time I had caught a glimpse of a necklace which Lizzie had on. She wore it outside her jumper and it hung down to her chest. It was sometimes covered by her scarf. But I recognised what was on the end. It was Jesus Christ on the cross. This was important because no-one at school ever wore anything like that.

  Gran sometimes wore one though. And Mum had one very similar, placed safely in the jewellery box on her dressing table. I’m not sure who that used to belong too.

  “Lizzie,” I said seriously, “can you just tell me who you are, where you come from and what kind of help you want? You’re in my bedroom in the middle of the night. If you want my help I’m going to need to know these things.”

  “Yes. Righto. So where do I start?”

  “I know you’re Elizabeth Raynor with an ‘O’. But where do you come from?”

  Lizzie sighed and smoothed down her skirt.

  “I live here!”

  “What do you mean you live here?”

  “I live in this house but in 1946,” Lizzie said matter-of-factly.

  “1946? Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I have a Dad called Albert and a Mum called Maureen and a sister called Pauline who’s very pretty and a big brother who’s…who’s…”

  Lizzie suddenly looked sad. Like a puddle, a frown spread across her face. She looked for somewhere to look, if yo
u know what I mean. She didn’t want to stare right at me. There was no window and it was night and the curtains were drawn so she had no choice but to look at me. Her grey eyes were wet. I pulled back my duvet protection and placed my bare feet on the carpet.

  “A big brother who’s what?” I asked.

  “Who’s missing!”

  Lizzie spat these words out as if it was my fault. I thought I saw a tear. All in glorious black and white.

  “Missing?”

  “Yes. He’s been missing these past two years.”

  “Where?” I asked. “Did he run away or something?”

  Lizzie looked shocked. “Run away? You are silly. Of course he didn’t run away.” Then she became thoughtful again. “It was the war. He was reporting missing only a few days after us and the Yanks landed in France.”

  My brain tried to recall what I learnt about the war in history. I know there were planes and tanks, big ships and bombs. But that was about it.

  “He had been sent home from Africa when I was six or seven. He had caught some shrapnel in the leg from flying in a bomber. His job was to shoot at Germans shooting at them, you see. He had been sent back a few months later, when he was better. It had been great having him home. Ernie could be so funny and all the girls loved him. He looked just like Clarke Gabel. Dad was glad he was home too as there was so much to be done. What with a war on an’ that. Then came the day he got the letter. I remember the day so well. The 8th of January 1944. It was cold and just after Christmas and we all expected bad news. You know what it’s like after Christmas. Dreary and grey with nothing to look forward too. We went to school but there was no heating so we had to wear scarves and gloves.”

  “Didn’t your school just shut?”

  “Don’t be silly. We weren’t to be beaten, you know. Even by the weather. Besides, Dad said education was important and we shouldn’t let Adolf stop that.”

  “Well, I think that’s stupid. You might have all caught the flu or something.”

  “Maybe,” continued Lizzie. “Poor old Sydney Skelton did. His family was really poor and couldn’t afford new clothes for him. He came to school in a tattered shirt and a grey old jumper that had holes in. His shorts were old and sometimes he had nothing on his feet.”

  I couldn’t believe this. “No shoes? In January?”

  “A lot of people had no shoes.” Lizzie was suddenly in fierce defence of the people she knew. “It was hard. There was a war on.”

  I nodded but I still couldn’t imagine going to school with ripped clothes, shorts and no shoes.

  “Anyway, Sydney died of pneumonia. That was sad.”

  “I’m not surprised,” I said but then realised that I was being selfish.

  “I remember the day Ernie returned to his squadron. It was awful. Dad never liked to be showing emotion but I saw him really cry that day. Ernie had to catch an early train and was so upset about leaving us that he told us not to wave him off at the station. Mum and Dad held him tightly. Mum had been crying for most of the night. When Ernie left she nearly feinted. Father had to put her in the armchair.”

  Lizzie paused for a bit and her hand moved to the cross around her neck. Like Mum and Dad had held their son, Lizzie gripped it tightly.

  “I couldn’t stay in the house with all that upset. Me and Pauline had said our goodbyes. Pauline had gone upstairs to read to take her mind off things. But I had to see Ernie again. I had a bicycle but the back wheel was buckled after I tried riding it through a bomb site so I ran all the way to the station. It was a good way, and no error.”

  She stopped again. Stared into space. I waited for ages.

  “Did you manage to catch him?” I asked eventually.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “No. The train was crossing the bridge at the end of Station Road as I turned the corner. I just missed it.”

  Instantly I felt pity for her. I could picture little Lizzie stood alone in her hat and skirt looking lost, looking lonely, staring after the train that carried her brother off to fight the Germans.

  I think that was the point that I began to really like her.

  “And you haven’t seen him since?”

  Again Lizzie shook her head. “Father got a telegram about a year ago. It said that he didn’t return from a mission and was reported missing.”

  There was quiet in the room again. I didn't like silence. I felt I had to say something to reassure Elizabeth.

  “But he’s not been killed.”

  “No, he hasn’t,” she said flatly.

  “But, Lizzie, I still don’t understand how I can help.”

  After I asked this question Lizzie looked hard at me, her eyes glimmering greyly from under their lids. “You really don’t know do you?”

  I was confused. “Know what?”

  “That you could find him.”

  I smiled. This was just plain silly. “And how can I do that?”

  But it was Elizabeth’s turn to smile.

  “You, Jay Webber, have special powers.”