The Great Blue Yonder Read online

  ‘Come on, everyone!’ he shouted. ‘End of break time! Let’s get to our classes!’

  He half raised his whistle back to his lips. One more blow, that was all it needed, just one more little blow and he’d be with us.

  But no. The children in the playground stopped playing, the games of catch and football fizzled out, the skipping ropes were rolled up and put away, the hopscotch stones were kicked aside, everyone started to file back into school, another blast wasn’t needed.

  Mr Diamond lowered his whistle and put it away in his pocket. He’d been spared for another day. He probably didn’t even realize what a narrow escape he’d had. But then no one ever does. Mostly you never do notice your narrow escapes, you only notice it when you’ve been caught.

  The Peg

  I turned and looked back at Arthur. He was still there, perched on top of the gatepost, quite happy, looking like he was in no hurry and had all the time in the world – which he did, in a way. I mean, it wasn’t as if he had any urgent appointments, or as if he needed to get his homework done for the next morning.

  ‘I’m just popping inside for a mo, Arthur!’ I called to him, and I pointed towards the school. ‘That all right? You don’t mind waiting? You all right up there?’

  He made a face and gave a shrug, as if to say he didn’t much care one way or the other and it was all the same to him. I thought that maybe he was getting a bit huffy at being left on his own, so I said, ‘Do you want to come in with me?’

  But he shook his head.

  ‘No thanks, Harry. I’m all right here. I’ll wait.’

  ‘Won’t be long then,’ I called. And I turned and I followed the others into school.

  It hadn’t changed much, the old place. But then you’d hardly have expected it to in a few weeks. There were some different posters and paintings up on the wall and some new bulletins on the bulletin board. I stopped to read them, but there was nothing there about me. I was sure there must have been, but it had probably been taken down.

  It had probably been quite a big business at first around the school, me winding up dead. I dare say that they’d have had some prayers and some special mentions for me at morning assembly, with Mr Hallent up at the front telling everybody what a credit to the school I’d been and what a terrible loss it was not to have me cluttering the place up any more.

  He had to say that really, true or not. Because you can’t go saying nasty things about people, not when they’re dead, or at least not until they’ve been dead a fair old time – it’s looked on as rude.

  He’d probably have taken the opportunity to say a few words about road safety too. And he’d have told everyone to be extra special careful whenever they went out on their bikes.

  To be fair though, as I’ve said already, the accident wasn’t my fault. And although I did maybe have a reputation as being a bit of a nutter for certain things, I was always careful on my bike. Because, after all, who wants to get flattened by a ten-ton lorry? Certainly not me. But that’s what happened. Which only goes to show that you never know what’s coming round the corner.

  So I thought of that assembly, and all the prayers and hymn-singing and everyone saying what a nice bloke I’d been, and not a dry eye in the hall. I was sorry to have missed it, to tell the truth, because it would have been nice to have eavesdropped on that.

  I was sorry I’d missed my funeral too. I was more disappointed about that than anything. Because if there’s one thing you really don’t want to miss out on, it’s your own funeral. I’d have loved to have seen all the kids from school there, and all my friends and all our relatives and all the neighbours and everyone, and Mum and Dad and Eggy. I know I’d have been upset, and it would have upset me even more to have seen Mum and Dad and Eggy crying for me, but I’d like to have been there all the same – if only to have said goodbye.

  Sometimes it does you good to cry, I reckon, and to feel sad. And if I’d been there, I could have said a proper goodbye to them all, just like they were saying to me. I could have gone around the church and whispered a few words to everyone in person. I know they wouldn’t have been able to hear me, but the thought would have been there.

  ‘Goodbye, Uncle Charlie, thanks for all the book tokens,’ I could have said.

  ‘Farewell, Auntie Peg, thanks for all the hankies at Christmas. No one uses hankies now, it’s all paper tissues. But they came in useful for making little parachutes for my plastic soldiers when I used to chuck them out the bedroom window, so thanks just the same.’

  I’d have said a proper goodbye to them all, especially to Mum and Dad and Eggy. I’d have put my ghostly arms around them and told them how much I loved them, and how sorry I was to have left them, but they weren’t to worry, as I wasn’t suffering and wasn’t unhappy and I was OK. I’d have apologized for all the trouble I’d caused them whenever I was having one of my difficult days (I had a fair few of them too.) And I’d have thanked them for having me. And I’d have said that just because my life was a short one, that didn’t mean it hadn’t been good, and I’d enjoyed it on the whole, and we’d had some good laughs and some good times, and I had no complaints.

  No reproaches and no complaints and a big ‘Thank you’ and a big ‘I love you’ to them all. And a special word to Eggy too, apologizing for what I’d said to her those few minutes before the lorry got me. And she wasn’t to feel bad either about what she’d said to me, because I knew she hadn’t meant it, and it was just one of those things that people say in the heat of the moment.

  Yes, I wished I could have been there. I wished I could have been at the church for my funeral.

  Mind you, I don’t know if I’d have followed them on to the cemetery. I’m not so sure about that. It would have felt just a bit too odd, that would. I might have had trouble with that. It would have been bad enough seeing my coffin in the church there, with me inside. But to go along to the cemetery with it and to see what was left of me being stuck in a hole, and to see Mum and Dad and Eggy crying something terrible, that would have been more than I could bear. That would have broken my heart. I’d probably have started crying real tears myself, ghost or not. No, it was probably just as well that I’d missed it really, best thing.

  In fact, I did wonder if things weren’t arranged so that you couldn’t ever actually get to your own funeral. The way time passes on Earth and the way it passes once you’ve passed on are very different. Once you’re dead, it seems that you’ve only spent a couple of hours standing in the queue at the check-in Desk, but in Earth time it must be days, or even weeks. And you’re not supposed to go back anyway. You’re supposed to stay where you are or make your way to the Great Blue Yonder. It’s only people like Arthur and me who’ve been a bit sort of nutterish in their lives and who’ve still got a spot of unfinished business, we’re the only ones who even think of nipping back to see what’s going on and to maybe do a bit of haunting.

  So on reflection, I wasn’t so disappointed that I had missed the trip to the cemetery. But I did wish I’d been able to go to the church service and that I’d been there for the morning assembly at school, when they’d all talked about me and said what a nice bloke I was. I’d have liked that bit. It would have been all right. And I maybe could have clapped at the end.

  I went on into the school building, trooping along with the others, just like my name was still on the register. There I was, striding along with the rest, with them all nattering away around me, twenty-seven to the dozen. The only difference was that I was a sort of spirit now, invisible, inaudible, and probably inedible as well.

  As we headed for the classroom we passed the line of pegs for the coats, the one with the bench beneath it that you leave your lunch box on when you bring sandwiches instead of having school dinners.

  Anyway, as we walked past the coat pegs, I stopped to have a look and see what had happened to mine. I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. They’d probably have put a brass plaque up there, that would have been the most likely thing. One of those
little brass ones, like they have outside solicitors’ offices, with names on them like Bunkley, Snort and Wampsnurkle, Solicitors and Commissioners For Oaths.

  So that was what I imagined, a brass plate underneath my old peg. Or maybe one of those other types of plates, like the ones they have outside old houses where famous people used to live, stuck to the wall. Yeah, I thought, that would be a nice touch, to have a plate up there by my old peg. Only instead of staying something like Albert Einstein lived here it would have said Harry Decland hung his coat on this very peg. Harry was a famous pupil at this school.

  But when I looked, I couldn’t find my peg there at all. I thought at first that my memory must have gone, or maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me. There had to be some kind of a mistake, surely. You couldn’t have a peg one day and then not have it the next. Pegs didn’t just disappear. So I looked closely, I peered everywhere, but it was nowhere to be seen. And yet I was sure it had been there, right there between Harriet Wilson’s peg and Ben Jutley’s. Right there, slap bang between them, right where this new name was, this ‘Bob Anderson’ or whoever he was. I couldn’t understand it, I simply could not understand where—

  And then, of course, I did understand. But even then, even when the penny finally dropped and when the cogs all clicked into place, I still couldn’t believe it, I simply couldn’t take it in.

  They’d gone and given my peg to somebody else!

  No plate, no brass plaque, no mention of the famous Harry and how tragic it all was, nothing of the sort. They’d given my peg to Bob Anderson.

  Bob Anderson, eh? He had to be a new kid, because I’d not heard of him before. So maybe there was some excuse for him on those grounds. He probably hadn’t known any better. That meant it was more likely all Mr Hallent’s fault. Yeah! Mr Hallent, the headmaster, he’d be behind it. This Bob Anderson wouldn’t have just gone and helped himself to my peg just like that. Someone in authority had told him to do it. Mr Hallent, it had to be.

  Well, of all the – the nerve. I felt betrayed. Betrayed and let down and bitterly disappointed. To give somebody else my peg to hang their coat on, and my spot on the bench to park their lunch box on too. It didn’t bear thinking about. It almost made me turn in my grave.

  I’d spent so long standing there gawping at my old peg that it was several minutes before I realized that I was alone. The corridors had emptied, save for a few stragglers and latecomers, the doors had all closed, and the lessons were underway.

  I gave my old peg one last look to make sure I hadn’t made a mistake. But no. It was someone else’s now. There was no doubt about it.

  Mr Hallent, the headmaster, came along the corridor then, in a tearing hurry, same as usual, probably off to stand in for a teacher who was ill.

  ‘Mr Hallent,’ I said. ‘Excuse me. I don’t mean to complain, but was it you who changed my peg?’

  But he didn’t stop. He just looked right through me. And then he walked right through me as well.

  I stood there seething a bit. I surprised myself at how ratty I got. You’d never imagine that being dead could put you into such a horrible mood. Only it wasn’t being dead that had done it so much as feeling – well, dishonoured. I thought they’d remember me always. But they seemed to have forgotten about me in five minutes flat.

  When I’d calmed down, I went on along the corridor to find my old class and to take a peek inside. It would be different in there, I knew that. It would practically be a shrine. They’d have dedicated the whole room to my memory. They weren’t like Mr Hallent in there, not my old friends and classmates, nor my old teacher Mrs Throggy (Mrs Throgmorton in full). She was all right really. Strict but fair. Good and kind and with a sense of humour (not like some headmasters I could mention).

  As I went on down the corridor, I peered into 4B to see how they were getting on. They all had their heads down and Mr Collis was giving them a spelling test. Serve ’em right, I thought. I was sure they hadn’t learnt their words either. And I bet they wouldn’t have had any warning. It was one of his surprise tests, you could tell.

  I went on. I glanced in on 5A, who seemed to be doing Geography, then I prepared myself for what might await me. Because my old classroom was next in line, and I wasn’t really sure what to expect.

  Then it suddenly came to me – black armbands! That’s what they’d be doing. They’d all be sitting in there wearing black armbands and talking in hushed whispers. That would definitely be it. That’s what Mrs Throggy would have them doing. Whenever they came back to class after break time, they’d have to put black armbands on and talk in hushed whispers, in honour of my memory. And maybe even wear dark glasses too, so’s you couldn’t see how much they’d been crying. And big hankies as well, for blowing their noses on.

  That would be it. I could hardly wait to see it.

  I put a spurt of speed on and hurried down the corridor.

  In Class

  As I got to the classroom door, I slowed down, and then stopped altogether. I made myself not look inside straight away. I stood there, savouring the moment, sort of postponing the good bit, kind of saving the best for last, like you do with your dinner sometimes, when you get the carrots and the cabbage over with so that you can really enjoy the chips.

  I decided that before I went inside I would hold a minute’s silence in my memory. Not that I could really make a noise, even if I’d wanted to. But as a lot of the time silence is more inside you anyway, that didn’t seem to matter, because, like people say, it’s the thought that counts.

  So I stood there, looking down at my shoes, and I slowly counted up to sixty, giving each second its full value, and not rushing any of them, but pacing them properly, going, ‘A thousand and one, a thousand and two, a thousand and three . . .’ just like you’re supposed to.

  As I bowed my head and had my minute’s silence, people passed me in the corridor. I saw big feet and little feet, men’s shoes and women’s shoes and girls’ shoes and boys’ shoes go by. But I didn’t look up to see who they belonged to. I just went on with paying myself my last respects. Because you should, really. You should be at least be a bit sorry that you’re dead. If you’re not, who will be?

  They must have held quite a few of those minute’s silences since I’d been gone, I thought. They’d probably had one at morning assembly, all standing there with bowed heads and trying not to fidget or to get the giggles – like you do, even when it’s serious, or in some ways just because it is so serious, though I don’t know why.

  I could see them all, the whole school, all the pupils, all the teachers, Mr Hallent up on the podium, his head bowed so that you could see where he was losing his hair.

  I felt sorry for them all, and a bit sad, and I felt a bit distinguished too, and that it was all pretty special that I should be the cause of all this silence and glumness. Because I was just a bit of a mucker-about really, in some ways, and it’s funny that even someone who did a lot of mucking about is still highly thought of when he’s dead.

  ‘A thousand and thirty-five, a thousand and thirty-six . . .’

  I was tempted to look up and peer inside, but no, I stuck to my guns and forced myself to keep staring at the floor.

  ‘ . . . a thousand and thirty-seven, a thousand and thirty-eight . . .’

  What would it be like in there? What would I see? It wasn’t that hard to imagine. I could see my old desk in there, all sort of strewn with flowers, and kind of turned into a little sort of holy shrine. Maybe Martina – who was good at art and stuff – would have done one of her paper cut-outs, like she did, with all the fancy bits on it. And then Graham Best would have written something on a paper scroll in his best italic handwriting – which was so good it was just like it had been printed out on the computer.

  Harry’s Desk, it would read. In loving memory of our dear departed classmate, Harry. Gone, but never forgotten. He will live for ever in our hearts and our homework. The football team will never be the same without him, and will in fact be dead lucky if
it ever wins another game.

  I crossed the ‘dead’ out then, in my mind’s eye, as it didn’t seem quite respectful enough. Just ‘very lucky’ would have to do instead. I also made a mental note to nip down to the noticeboard in the assembly hall later and have a quick look at the football results and to see how the team had been getting on without me. They’d have been having a bad season, obviously. Probably even have been losing by things like ten–nil or twenty–nil or even fifty-five–nil. I felt a bit bad about it, about dying and leaving them without a decent midfielder, but there you are, that’s football, I suppose.

  ‘A thousand and fifty-five, a thousand and fifty-six . . .’

  I suddenly thought about Arthur, waiting for me out there on top of the gatepost. If he was still waiting, of course. He might have got fed up and hopped it. I had a moment of panic then, wondering how on earth I’d ever get back to the Other Lands without him. But then I thought no, he wouldn’t go without me.

  ‘A thousand and fifty-eight, a thousand and fifty-nine . . .’

  I could see it all so clearly now, and it seemed so sad I almost wanted to cry again. I could see my desk there in the classroom, with a little vase of flowers on it, or maybe just a single red rose. And there would be a fresh single red rose every day. The withered one would be gone and a new one with velvet-like petals would be in its place every morning, and nobody would really know how it got there. But it would be Olivia who had done it, Olivia Masterson, who had always liked me and who had told her friend Tilly that she had been in love with me once. Only Tilly hadn’t kept it to herself and she had told Petra, who had gone and told everyone. And then all the boys found out, and they all used to tease her at break time – at least for a while, until they got fed up with it and found something else to go on about.

  ‘Olivia’s in love with Harry, Olivia’s in love with Harry!’