S.O.S (5 page)

Zack shrugged. “I dunno.” He looked at her and offered her a sad, lopsided smile. “I'm dead remember? I guess it doesn't really matter where I go.”

Molly shook her head. “Yes, but...”

“But what?”

She shook her head again. “I don't know, it's odd because I can only hear all the others, but I can actually see you and you can move stuff and...”

“All the others?”

It was Molly's turn to shrug. “Maybe you're not completely dead,” Molly suddenly suggested. “And that's why you can move things and make them disappear.”

Zack laughed ironically. “Oh really?” He suddenly stood on the chair and then climbed onto the small round table. “No, I definitely think I'm dead,” he said. He began shouting. “Whoa everyone! Look at me!! Look at what I'm doing!”

Molly watched him and grinned while everyone else in the café got on with the serious business of eating cake. They were oblivious.

“OK you're dead,” she said, “and only I can see you, it seems.”

Zack climbed down and pulled his hood over his head. “Lucky you.” He turned to go, glancing down at the maths book. “Does he really read this stuff?” he asked.

“Yes,” Molly said.

Zack shook his head and laughed. He was laughing to himself all the way to the door, where he stopped, looked back and Molly and saluted. Moments later he was gone.

Dev stood at the cake counter and watched Molly. She was mouthing words and smiling and shaking her head. It looked like she was having a fantastic conversation with herself. He sighed and wished he hadn't come. She was weird.

He came back to the table and said; “Coffee cake, chocolate cake, cup-cakes, lemon drizzle cake...”

“Chocolate,” Molly said, “please.” She looked up at him and smiled and her smile was so honest and lovely that Dev forgot the fervid murmurings while he wasn't there and smiled back.

“Two chocolate cakes it is then,” he said and he went off to order.

The waiter brought them their cake and coffee and they chatted easily about all that had happened to them in that long period since they'd seen each other. Molly told Dev everything that she'd been doing. Well, not quite everything. And Dev told her all about his physics and the sort of work he'd been doing - not quite everything. They both had a secret and neither of them knew just how to explain it.

*

Father Tom sat in a small corner of the Church and sighed heavily. He was nursing a whopping black eye on the left side of his face; the swelling stretching halfway down his cheek. It hurt and he was losing concentration. He turned to the young woman sitting by his side and shook his head.

“Jenny, Jenny,” he began, “all this grief is quite normal, you mustn't think that it is odd to want something so much that you can almost imagine it.” He shook his head. He had heard the story many, many times over the past four months. His life was for his parishioners, but here he felt he wasn't helping at all; making no headway. “Losing a child is a terrible loss, one that may seem bigger than you are, so big that...”

“Father, do you believe in ghosts, or spirits?” she suddenly interrupted. “I mean, souls, walking souls?” She seemed anxious and wrung her hands as she spoke.

Father Tom frowned; why such an odd question? “Of course not,” he said, “They are the fantasies of writers and filmmakers.”

She nodded, but her gaze was distant.

“Jenny, there is no such thing,” he went on gently. “It's all nonsense. Once someone is dead, they are dead and with the Lord. I don't believe in palm readers or psychics or mediums or anyone else who claims to speak with the dead. The dead are dead and their souls are in God's hands...”

“But what if they're not...” Jenny said urgently, “What if they're nowhere and trapped and...”

“The dead are dead,” he said again, “and their souls are in God's hands.”

Jenny nodded and dropped her head down. Father Tom looked away and as he did he caught sight of the far end of the wall where he had found the symbols etched into the plaster.

“In God's hands...” He murmured under his voice. And he shivered, as if a mouse had run over his grave.

Jenny lay on the settee that evening and wrestled with her disappointment. Her meeting with Father Tom hadn't gone quite as she had hoped, but then what had she expected? He was a man bound to honour his faith, he wasn't going to suddenly admit to a belief in ghosts and spirits, was he? What he had said made sense. She was being fanciful, ridiculous. Perhaps the grief was disturbing Sophie as well, perhaps they both needed to see someone.

Jenny stood up and walked out into the hall. She called up the stairs to Sophie; “Sweetheart? Would you like to go out and have some ice-cream?”

Jenny felt that she needed to take more care of Sophie, protect her more. She had been so involved in her own grief that she'd been neglecting Sophie. She went up the stairs.

“Sophie?” Walking across the landing, she stopped outside Sophie's room. The door was open and she could hear Sophie talking in a soft voice to her dolls. She smiled and stood there for a moment listening.

Suddenly she stepped abruptly into the room. ”Who are you talking to Sophie?” she snapped sharply.

Sophie sat on the cushioned window seat. There were no dolls or toys around the room. She turned and looked at her mother.

“No-one,” she said nervously.

Jenny crossed to her. She knelt down. “Is there someone in the room with you?” she asked.

Sophie stared at her mother and then slowly she shook her head. “I was just talking to myself,” she said. Jenny put her arms around her daughter and hugged her in close. “What did you mean? I think Mummy should know.” she said gently, “What was that about Sophie?”

“Nothing,” Sophie whispered. She stopped for a moment and tilted her head up as if she were listening. “I was just making stuff up Mummy. I'm sorry.”

Jenny pulled back and looked at Sophie. “You don't have to be sorry,” she said. “Come on, let's go and get a giant
Macflurry
. I'm going to have the one with
Maltesers in.
”

Sophie slid off the window seat and took Jenny's hand. “I'm having
Smarties
,” she said. They went to the door, but as they did so, Sophie cast the smallest glance behind her and smiled. It looked to Jenny like a parting gesture.

*

An Asian City – exact location confidential.

The young man lay prone on the rooftop and waited for his target to appear. He viewed the entrance to the building through his sights, an impossible distance away, an impossible shot. Yet he never missed. He waited, calm and assured, the familiar weight of the rifle in his arms as he thumbed the trigger, waiting to release the single bullet. He only ever needed one. There was a ripple of movement behind the dark glass of the hotel lobby and his mark stepped into view.

Surrounded by bodyguards, the mark walked swiftly through the entrance to the lobby towards the car. The young man watched him from above, as a hawk watches its unsuspecting prey, his mind utterly blank as it always was in the moments before a kill. The doomed mark paused for a moment at the car door; it was the perfect opportunity. There was a silent flash of the rifle and the mark fell, dead before he hit the floor. Blood trickled down the bridge of his nose.

The assassin moved swiftly. Wasting no time he disassembled his gun and packed it into a small bag, making his way down through the building into the open street. The crowd pressed in on him and he was swallowed up, just another face in a city of millions.

*

London

It was late in the afternoon and Molly and Dev's date for coffee and cake had extended into a cinema trip to see The Woman in Black. It hadn't been a great choice for Molly.

“A bit unbelievable,” Dev said, as they came out of the Odeon, “no-one really believes in ghosts any more, do they?”

Molly shrugged and looked across the road where the dark, young boy she'd bumped into earlier stood leaning against the wall, staring at her.

“I liked the special effects though, the way that the ghost was always in shadow, never quite materialising.”

Molly nodded absentmindedly and made a little shooing gesture with her hand at the boy across the street.

“Are you OK Molly?” Dev asked.

“Oh, yeah, fine. Sorry.” She turned to face Dev. “I thought it was really good actually, and the special effects were very realistic. Ghosts are often just shadows.” She blushed. “I mean, that's how I'd always imagined them, if they were erm... real that is...”

“Yeah, if...” Dev turned the collar of his coat up and dug his hands in his pockets. “It's cold,” he said, “we could go back to mine if you like?”

Molly felt herself blush again. Was he asking her back? “Oh, erm, I...” She wanted to go, if he
was
asking her back, that is, to get closer, because she liked him, but what if he wasn't? Would she look too eager?

“You don't have to,” Dev said quickly, misinterpreting her silence. “I mean there's nothing in it, I just thought that we could chat a bit more and well, I've got nothing else to do and we don't want to be out on the streets in this weather and...” he broke off. He was gabbling and making a right twit of himself. He wanted Molly to come back because he really liked her, but he didn't want to say that, in case she didn't like him.

“Sure,” Molly said, “that'd be nice.” She looked across the street and narrowed her eyes.

“You sure you're ok Molly?” Dev said again. “Is there something across the road that's bothering you?”

If only, Molly thought, if only I could say yes, a dead boy. She shook her head and pulled her coat a little tighter round her body. “Thought I saw someone I know,” she said, “but he's gone now.” She smiled. “How do we get to yours?” she asked.

“We can get the bus,” Dev replied. “Come on, it's this way.”

Dev's house was similar to her own; a semi-detached with a front garden that Dev's Dad had converted to brick for parking off road. Molly followed Dev inside and was relieved when he shut the door firmly behind them. Inside however, it was completely different to the house she shared with her mum.

“How long have your family been in England,” Molly asked.

“I was born here,” Dev said. “My parents came over forty years ago.” He shrugged and smiled. “I know, it's very Indian, isn't it?”

Molly looked around. “It's...” she stared three hundred and sixty degrees around the hall. “Crap.” She stopped and put her hand over her mouth.

“Sorry?” Dev said. He had walked through to the kitchen to put the kettle on and popped his head back round the door. Molly glared at the dark young boy who stood just inside the front door, gawping at the ornate Hindu interior.

“Snap!” she said, “We've got the same lamp at home.”

Dev grinned. “Really? We have so much in common,” he said cheerily and Molly grinned back. This was going better than she had hoped; if it wasn't for the dead boy in the corner.

“Go away!” She hissed at him when Dev went back into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. “I don't know why you're following me, but you need to go away and leave me alone. You are REALLY getting on my nerves!”

Zack shook his head. “I'm getting on your nerves? That's choice. You two are so lame that it's making me puke.”

“Then go AWAY!” Molly snapped through clenched teeth.

“I can't!” Zack snapped back. “I don't know why, but I can't seem to move out of your aura. It's like I want to walk away, but I can't, I'm sort of stuck to you and it is REALLY getting on MY NERVES!”

“Oh God,” Molly groaned, putting her head in her heads. “This is impossible...”

“Besides,” Zack went on, as if he hadn't heard her, “I haven't got anywhere else to go.”

Molly glanced behind her at the kitchen to check that Dev was busy. “Look,” she said, “why don't you try really hard to think yourself away from here. Imagine yourself somewhere else.”

“But where? Where should I imagine myself?”

“I don't know! How about outside, across the street, in your own home?!”

Zack stared down at his hands. “I don't have a home,” he said.

“Oh.” Molly bit her lip.

“And it's freezing outside and dark and...”

“You're dead!” Molly said, “You don't feel the cold and nothing else can happen to you, I mean nothing worse – it's not like you can get murdered or anything! She looked at him. He looked young and lonely, much like he did in the café, and she felt sorry for him. “OK,” she said, “well how about you imagine yourself down here, in the front room, while I go upstairs with Dev.”

Zack raised an eyebrow. “Upstairs? To his room?”

“Yes...” Molly hissed.

“Tea?” Dev said, coming back into the hall. “Shall we take it up to my room? My mum and dad will be back soon and we don't want to have to watch Punjabi TV with them in the front room.” He smiled. “Come on.”

Molly glared once more at Zack who finally nodded and closed his eyes. He focused really hard on the front room and suddenly he disappeared. Molly let out a sigh of relief and took her tea from Dev, walking behind him up the stairs.

She followed him into his room and stopped dead; it couldn't have been more different from her own. Where hers was untidy, his was neat and pristine; his books were arranged on shelves, stacked high, rather than strewn haphazardly across the floor as her books were. His bed was neatly made, there were no odd clothes or possessions anywhere; everything was in its place. But the thing that surprised her the most was the one wall opposite Dev's bed. Painted with blackboard paint, every inch of it was covered in calculations, written up there in white chalk, the complexity of which made her head swim. She stared at it in amazement.