The Shade of Hettie Daynes by Robert Swindells Read Free Book Online Page B

‘We’ll let them dance for five more minutes, then I’ll stop the music and you can venture into the throng and lead the winner onto the platform.’
    Reginald nodded. ‘Fine.’
    ‘And in the meantime, please feel free to enjoy another of the Sexton’s batburgers.’
    He didn’t know why he felt drawn to the dancer in the long black dress. It wasn’t an attractive costume, and the child had smeared far too much mascara round her eyes. She reminded him of some Goths he’d spotted once at Whitby, there for a Dracula bash.
She stands out
, he told himself. And she’s original.
    The music stopped, prompting groans of protest. Hopwood rose stiffly, scanning the restless crowd. The girl in black had disappeared.

THIRTY-ONE
    AS THE MUSIC stopped, Alison slipped out to the cloakroom to put the finishing touch to her costume. She’d noticed the Chair of Governors watching her, and was pretty sure he meant to award her the prize.
Wait till you see this
, she thought, twisting a tap and holding her hand in the flow.
Come on water, warm up
.
    Reginald Hopwood was standing in the middle of the hall, cutting his eyes this way and that, trying to hide his irritation. Alison wound her way through the crowd, leaving a splashy trail till she stood in front of him, drenched from head to toe. A puddle began to form under the hem of the bedraggled dress, mascara scored tear tracks down her cheeks. Children gasped and stared as she stood absolutely still, pointing a long pale finger at the floor.
    ‘Wh . . . why are you wet?’ croaked Hopwood.
    Alison smiled. ‘It’s part of the costume, I’m the ghost of Wilton Water.’
    ‘There
is
no—’ The councillor seemed agitated. ‘What’s
that
to do with Hallowe’en?’ He grabbed the girl’s hand. ‘What’s your name, girl?’
    ‘Alison, sir. Alison Crabtree. I wanted something spooky – original. Nobody’s ever . . .’
    ‘N . . . no,’ stammered the Chair of Governors. ‘I mean yes, it
is
original. Very.’ He began tugging Alison towards the platform. ‘You win, of course you do.’ He half-dragged her across the floor amid a clatter of applause.
    As Hopwood thrust the prize at Alison, a camera flashed. The photographer smiled. ‘Hi, I’m Bill from the
Echo
. Can I get your name, sweetheart?’
    ‘Yes, it’s Alison Crabtree.’
    ‘Good. And who’ve you come as, Alison?’
    ‘The g . . . ghost of Wilton Water.’ She was cold, her teeth were chattering.
    ‘Has she a
name
, this ghost?’
    ‘Well . . .’ Flustered by the occasion and by Hopwood’s odd behaviour, Alison blurted, ‘Hettie Daynes, I suppose . . . she
might
have been Hettie Daynes when she . . .’
    ‘No name,’ snapped the Chair of Governors. ‘Just call her the ghost.’ He glared at the photographer. ‘I’m Councillor Hopwood. Stanley Fox is a friend. If I read that name in the paper you’re in big trouble, understand?’
    The man shrugged. ‘Sure. It’s all the same to me, Councillor.’ He pocketed the pad, hung his paraphernalia on a shoulder, nodded to the Head and strode away.
    ‘Come, Alison, you silly girl,’ said Miss Gadd. ‘Let’s get you into some dry clothes.’ She smiled at Hopwood. ‘Thank you
so
much, Councillor – I do hope you’ve enjoyed the evening.’
    Hopwood managed to smile back. ‘Very much, Headteacher.’
Like you’d enjoy having a bolt hammered through your kneecap
, he thought but didn’t say.
    Alison followed Miss Gadd to the staffroom.

THIRTY-TWO
    HER MOTHER SMILED as Bethan slid into the passenger seat. ‘Good time, sweetheart? Did you win?’
    Bethan nodded her head, then shook it. ‘Yes I had a good time, no I didn’t win.’ She smiled. ‘Aly did.’
    Christa nodded. ‘That’s what you hoped would happen, isn’t it?’
    ‘Ye-es.’ Bethan looked sidelong at her mother. ‘Didn’t quite go the way
you
wanted though, Mum.’
    ‘What d’you mean, love?’ Christa started the engine, eased out of the parking