The Great Blue Yonder Read online

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Fair enough. I’ll just hang on here a while anyway, just admire the scenery. You just don’t want to get stuck here, that’s all. A bit of haunting’s all right for a laugh, but you don’t want to get stuck here, and have to do it for ever.’

  ‘I’ll be OK. Don’t worry.’

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Well, I’ll be here anyway for a while. If I’ve gone by the time you come back, I’ll see you later.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, and I went to hop down from the gatepost and to make my way on into the school. I remembered then that he had been about to warn me of something a while earlier. He seemed to have forgotten it now. But that didn’t matter. I wasn’t bothered.

  I jumped down to the ground.

  Arthur peered down at me. He looked like an overgrown garden gnome up there in his top hat. All he needed was the fishing rod and the picture would have been complete.

  ‘Harry,’ he said, ‘don’t expect too much, will you?’

  ‘What?’ I stopped and looked up at him.

  ‘Don’t expect too much – of other people. Life goes on, Harry. People are only human. So just don’t expect too much. That’s all. I went back myself once, you see, to have a look around, shortly after I got the fevers. I went and had a look round all my own haunts and stomping grounds, just to see how everyone might be getting on without me, how they’d be missing me and . . .’ he trailed off, and stared ahead, as if looking far back into the past.

  ‘And what, Arthur?’ I said. ‘And what, exactly?’

  He looked down at me again and gave a faint smile.

  ‘Just don’t expect too much, Harry,’ he said. ‘And then you won’t be disappointed.’

  I didn’t know what he meant, really, but I couldn’t be bothered to stay and ask him. I was impatient to get back into my old school and have a look around, and see what kind of a difference my not being there had made.

  I could hardly wait to see how they were getting on without me. Or rather not getting on without me. In fact, I wouldn’t have been surprised if the whole place hadn’t ground to a halt. Because it wasn’t just the football team that relied on me, I was quite an essential cog in the classroom too. I was always one of the first with their hands up whenever there were any difficult questions. Not that I’m saying I always got the answers right – or that I ever got the answers right – but at least I’d have a go. But now I wasn’t there, who’d be keeping everything going, that’s what I was dying to find out.

  So I went on into the playground, to see how they were all coping without me. And as I did, the bell rang, and the doors flew wide open, and everyone burst out of the school – just as if it had erupted – for the morning break.

  They all ran past me, all my friends and classmates. I think some of them might even have run through me. I got a bit excited and I think I must have called out their names.

  ‘Terry! Dan! Donna! Simon! It’s me, look, Harry, it’s me! I’ve come back on a visit. I’ve come back to see you! It’s me!’

  And then Jelly Donkins came out – big, fat, horrible, smelly Jelly Belly Donkins who used to pick on me. He was carrying a plastic football under his arm, and he seemed like he might be trying to get a game up. Well, nobody would be playing with him! I could have told him that little simple fact and no worries. Nobody would be playing any football with Jelly Donkins. Not now that I was dead. Not when they all knew how he’d picked on me when I was alive. No one would ever play with him again, not ever. It would be like – what do you call it? – that’s it – violating my memory.

  I just hoped he felt bad about it, that was all. I really did. I just hoped he had a bad conscience that kept him awake at nights. And serve him right too. I’d probably be there, preying on his conscience for the rest of his life, even when he was a big fat smelly old man, and for the rest of his death too.

  I put my tongue out at him.

  ‘Smelly Jelly Belly!’ I jeered.

  But he walked right past me, bouncing his football on the ground, then he gave it a kick and ran after it, and disappeared into the throng of boys and girls.

  Mr Diamond was on playground duty. Out he came, as tall as ever, with his long droopy moustache.

  ‘Hello, Mr Diamond. It’s me! Harry! How are you?’

  But of course, he couldn’t see me or hear me. I knew that full well. I knew no one could see me or hear me. But that didn’t stop me from crying out and shouting and waving like mad at everyone I knew.

  And then Pete came out. Pete Salmas. My best mate. Well, bestest mate, really. We’d known each other for years and years. We’d been at the same nursery and then at the same school. Right back from the very beginning, from the very first class. And I can remember that so clearly, even now, years on. I can remember my mum leaving me behind, worried that I wasn’t going to let her go quietly, that I was going to cling on to her and start to cry. But I didn’t, because Pete was there, and he was the one friendly face among all that was unfamiliar.

  We sat next to each other near the front of the class, me and Pete, we usually had our lunch together, and often both walked home from school.

  ‘Hiya, Pete,’ I called – knowing that he couldn’t hear me, but wondering if perhaps I might still get through to him in some way. I mean, if I could get leaves to fall off trees, maybe I could somehow communicate with people who were still alive. Put thoughts into their minds, maybe. It might be possible.

  ‘Turn round,’ I thought at him. ‘Turn round, Pete. I’m right behind you.’ And I thought at him as hard as I could.

  But no. He didn’t turn round.

  So I went and stood beside him. He had his hands stuffed into his pockets, and he was staring out over the playground, as if looking for someone to talk to, someone to play with.

  I knew that Pete would be missing me. If anyone missed me, it would be Pete. In fact, I’d have bet any money that it was me he was thinking of right then, even as he looked out over the playground. I’d have put any amount of pocket money on that.

  ‘I’m here, Pete, right beside you.’

  But he just went on looking with that faraway look.

  ‘It’s Harry, Pete. It’s me. Harry.’

  He shuffled his feet a bit. Took his hands out of his pockets, cupped them, blew into them to warm them up, then folded his arms so his hands were under his armpits.

  We’d have been playing football usually, me and Pete. That was the routine for morning break. A bit of a kickabout, or maybe a game of handball, or rounders. But there’d always be something. Even when it rained. We’d stay in class then and have a game of Battleships or Hangman or something like that. But there was always a game going on.

  He’d be stuck now, poor Pete. You could see it. It made you feel a bit sorry for him, the way he didn’t have anyone else, not like he’d had me. I was touched. I was, honest. He looked so on his own, and a bit lonely. Everyone else had their friends and their games, but Pete just seemed out of it, almost as out of it as I was. Except that he was still alive, of course, which made a big difference. So he just stood there, like a reserve on the touchline, waiting to be called onto the field of play, only no one called him. And then—

  ‘Hey, Pete!’

  Pete looked up to see who was shouting to him. So did I.

  ‘Pete! Pete Salmas!’

  It was Jelly. Flipping Jelly Donkins.

  Pete didn’t answer. And I didn’t blame him either. But Jelly called again.

  ‘Pete! Hey! Cloth ears!’

  And that was typical of Jelly. He could never say anything really nice. Even when all he wanted was your attention he still had to be a bit insulting about it.

  ‘Whadda you want, Jelly?’ Pete shouted back.

  Jelly was about twenty feet away from him. He was bouncing his football on the ground with his hand, bouncing it like it was a basketball and he was just about to lob it through the hoop. Obviously nobody wanted to play with him. He was such an obnoxious pain in the neck it was hardly surprising. You’d ha
ve to be pretty desperate to want to play football with Jelly Donkins.

  Jelly stopped bouncing the ball.

  ‘Fancy a kickabout, Pete?’ he said. ‘You up that end, me at the other?’

  Pete didn’t reply.

  But I knew what he was thinking. I knew what was going through his mind, the same as was going through mine. The nerve of it, that’s what he was thinking. The sheer nerve of Jelly Donkins, who’d been my sworn enemy all my days, and here he was now, trying to get all pally with my best mate Pete.

  I just prayed that Pete didn’t go over there and knock his teeth out, that was all. I mean, I knew he was capable of it, and I wouldn’t really have blamed him if he had. I just didn’t want him getting into trouble on my account, that was all.

  Pete swallowed. Plainly trying to control himself and not let his anger and indignation get the better of him. Then he swallowed again and he opened his mouth to speak, to tell Jelly Donkins what to do with his football. To tell him in no uncertain terms exactly where he could stick it.

  I could hardly wait.

  ‘OK, Jel, kick it over.’

  What? I had to be hearing things.

  But no. Jelly had kicked the ball over and Pete was running towards it. And a moment later, they were off down the playground, and Jelly was trying to tackle Pete and to get the ball off him – which he did. And then Pete was after Jelly, and he got the ball again in his turn. Then he sprinted for the two trees which were the goalposts for break-time football.

  Jelly ran to get into the goal mouth before Pete could score one, but Pete’s shot rebounded off the tree trunk and it hit Jelly smack bang on the backside. But instead of getting all mad and huffy about it, like he usually did when things went against him, Jelly just sat down on the football and started to laugh. And then Pete started to laugh, and he went over and kicked the football out from under Jelly, and banged it between the posts. But Jelly just lay there on the ground, staring at the sky, going, ‘Ahhh! Ahhh!’ and pretending to be a world-class footballer, feigning injury. So you know what Peter did? He went over and sat on him, just like they were two good mates having a carry-on. And instead of getting really mad, Jelly just pretended to get angry, and then Pete was off again with the football. And in a couple of minutes, there was a full five-a-side going on, and all sorts of people – who normally wouldn’t have touched Jelly’s football with a bargepole – were joining in. And all, in a way, because Pete had sort of given him the seal of approval.

  And all I could do was to stand there, unable to believe it, my best mate and my sworn enemy, playing football together, and seeming to be enjoying it all. And me, barely cold in my grave. It didn’t seem right, somehow. It didn’t seem right at all.

  I turned and looked towards the gates, to see if Arthur had been watching, and hoping that he hadn’t. But he had, from his perfect viewpoint up on the gatepost, and he gave me a kind of sympathetic, almost pitying look, as if he knew just what was going on. Though he couldn’t have really, as I’d never told him that Pete was a special mate of mine, so how would he know?

  I looked right through Arthur – not difficult seeing he wasn’t really there – and pretended I hadn’t noticed him, and I turned back to watch the game.

  It was hard to take, my best mate and my worst enemy getting on like the greatest of friends, just like they’d both forgotten all about me, just like I’d never even existed. I felt a bit disgusted with Pete, to be honest, and a bit betrayed by him, like he’d gone and done the dirty on me when I wasn’t looking. Only I was looking, and I’d seen the whole thing.

  I turned my back on the game, and went wandering through the playground. I went over to the nature patch and looked for my earthworms in the old fish-tank. But someone must have upended it, or maybe they had died, just like me, because the tank was clean and empty and my earthworms had gone.

  I looked all over for traces of my old self. I looked for all the things I had left behind me that people might remember me by. I stood by the climbing frame and recalled how I was one of the first in our year to get to the very top of it and do a complete roly-poly around the top bar. But there was no means of knowing that now, and my famous roly-poly had vanished like mist in the morning.

  I went round the playground, standing in between people who were having conversations, staring deep and questioningly into their eyes. Vanessa and Mikey and Tim and Clive – did any of them still think of me, did any of them remember? I even asked them outright, I shouted in their ears, yelled it to their faces.

  ‘It’s me!’ I said. ‘It’s me! Old Harry, come back on a visit. Don’t you know me? Don’t you remember me? Don’t you know who I am?’ And then most of all, ‘Don’t you miss me?’

  But the only person who could hear me was old–young, one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old Arthur, sitting perched up there on the concrete globe above the gatepost, with his top hat stuck on his head, looking at me with those awful kind and sympathetic eyes. Yet I still couldn’t bear to meet his gaze. I couldn’t accept his sympathy. What I wanted was some recognition from my old friends and classmates, the people I had played with and fought with and argued with and had gone to birthday parties with and on outings with and all the rest. Didn’t one of them miss me? In a few short weeks, had they all forgotten me? Didn’t one of them think of me still?

  Well, it didn’t look like it, and the playground games went on, just as they always had. And it seemed to me then that it was only the games that mattered, and as long as the games went on, it didn’t really matter who played them, just as long as they went on for ever.

  It was creepy. Eerie. It spooked me a bit, even though I was a ghost.

  But then I thought back to other children – Fran and Chas and Trevor – who’d all left to go on to different schools. And I remembered how I’d thought about them and missed them for a while. In fact I’d even written a few letters to Chas at his new place, which was miles away. And he’d written back to me for a time, and he’d told me all about his new house and his new school and how they were getting on there.

  But then writing the letters got to be a chore, and so I stopped writing to him. And he must have felt the same because he stopped sending anything to me. And then I gradually thought about him less and less, until finally I hardly thought of him – or Fran, or Trevor ever at all. And then I realized I hadn’t thought about a single one of them for ages. Not until today.

  And maybe that was how it was for Pete. Maybe he’d missed me something terrible at first, and then, as every day went by, he thought of me less. And maybe that was only right. Maybe I’d have been the same too. And it would have been pretty selfish of me to expect Pete not to ever have any other best mates for the rest of his life, and always to be on his tod, just because I’d gone on.

  I thought of Chas again and remembered something else, that although he was a friend of mine, Pete couldn’t stand him. Just the same as I couldn’t stand Jelly Donkins. But I’d never really asked Pete how he felt about Jelly, I just assumed he felt the same as me and didn’t like him either. But maybe he did. I’d not thought of that before.

  So I suppose that was it, really, it was just like I’d gone on to another school, and little by little everyone would forget about me, and then one day no one would think of me at all. Not one of all the people I’d known. And it made me sad. It did.

  I decided to give it one last go – one last go at trying to communicate. Maybe one of the teachers might be remembering me and missing me and thinking what a fine pupil I’d been and how you wouldn’t find another one like me in a hurry. I was sure that at least one of them must be thinking that. Because, like I said, I was always the first with his hand up in the air. Sometimes I’d even shout out the answer before the teacher had even finished asking the question. Not that they always appreciated this. In fact a lot of the time my answer was completely wrong. Or it was the right answer, only it was the right answer to a different question, and not the one they’d asked.

  ‘You’re alw
ays jumping the gun, Harry!’ they’d say, and, ‘Try not to be so impulsive.’

  And maybe if I wasn’t, I’d still be alive today. But I am. And I’m not. And there you are.

  I went across the playground – more flying than walking – over to where Mr Diamond stood, trying to keep an eye on everyone and to maintain order and to nip any bullying in the bud.

  ‘Mr Diamond,’ I began, ‘it’s Harry, come back on a visit and—’

  But he plainly couldn’t hear me and wasn’t thinking of me either, because as I spoke he glanced down at his wristwatch, rummaged in his coat pocket, took out his whistle and gave it such a good hard blow that he went bright red in the face.

  For a moment I was afraid he was going to have a heart attack.

  But then I thought that if he did, I’d be able to help him. I got quite excited and almost started to look forward to it happening. Because if he dropped down dead, right there on the playground, I’d be able to give him a few hints and a few tips about being dead and stuff. I thought he’d probably appreciate that. Because it’s nice to see some familiar faces when you’re having a strange experience and he’d probably enjoy the company. In fact I could introduce him to Arthur and we could take him up to the Desk and get him checked in and then show him round the Other Lands, give him a bit of a guided tour and point out the Great Blue Yonder.

  Mr Diamond blew his whistle again. He was more beetroot than letter box coloured now. He definitely looked on the way out to me. He’d be keeling over clutching at his chest any second, I reckoned. Probably be dead within the minute. Might even whack his head on that paving slab just by him as he fell. That would definitely do for him, even if the heart attack didn’t.

  I mean, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t that I wished him dead or anything, far from it. I was just so set on giving him a big welcome and on seeing the surprise and delight on his face when he realized it was me, that I could hardly wait for it to happen.

  He blew the whistle a third time. He was looking really bad now. His bald bits had gone red too, it wasn’t just his face.