Ways to See a Ghost

shook her head. “That doesn’t excuse her behaviour.”
    “It’s not just me who thinks you should leave the Welkin Society!” shouted Isis, desperate. “Gray thinks the same. And Gil!” Anything to get Cally away from here, away from Philip. “He says it’s a cult! He thinks you’re stupid for joining!”
    She stopped, watching the blush rise in Cally’s cheeks.
    “I think maybe it
is
time for us to go home,” Cally said coldly.
    “Please, don’t worry about this,” said Philip. “Sometimes people react in odd ways to a cleansing. I’m sure she’ll think about it later, and see this is the right thing for her.”
    “Come
on
,” said Isis.
    Cally didn’t answer, her face was grim.
    They walked back to the car, not speaking. The trees seemed menacing now, and Isis kept looking up, watching for a shift of hue. For the leaves to change colour, and gather into a shadow.

It was Saturday evening when Stu came round. I know because Mum had only just dropped me off, and Dad was still grouchy after talking to her, like always. When the doorbell rang, he swore and said, “What else does she want to nag at me about?” yanking it open. His face morphed from cross to surprised.
    “Keeper!” he said. “What are you doing here?”
    Stu the Keeper shoved straight in, clutching this massive bag.
    “I can’t hang around out there!” he snapped, “Why didn’t you tell me this is a neighbourhood watch area?”
    Dad shrugged. “It’s only local busybodies, checking who doesn’t pooper-scoop after their dog.”
    “Don’t be fooled!” hissed Stu. “Haven’t you read the forums? You know MI6 is going through neighbourhood watch reports, checking for so-called terrorists? What they mean is people like you and me, those of us searching out the real truth in this world.” He put his bag down, shuffled out of his anorak and dropped it on the sofa. “We’re living in a surveillance state, my friend.”
    “Right,” said Dad. “And the reason you’re here is…?”
    Stu tutted at him. “The
interview
. For
The Database
.” He opened the bag and started pulling out bits of a camera tripod. “I thought we could start with your observations, and work through to your most recent calculations.”
    “What, now?” asked Dad.
    Stu nodded, pulling out this really old-looking camcorder. “Of course now.”
    Dad pointed at me. “But I’ve got Gray.”
    “And
Doctor Who’s
on in ten minutes,” I reminded.
    Stu stopped getting his stuff out, and shrugged a bit.
    “Oh, yeah,” he said, carelessly. “Well, we could watch that, then do the interview after we’ve talked about the episode.” Me and Dad looked at each other. Dad’s told me before how Stu doesn’t really have any friends; Dad’s about the closest he’s got, and they never do anythingtogether apart from UFO stuff.
    “I can interview Gray as well,” Stu said, sort of pleading, “as an additional witness?”
    I was trying to beam thought messages to Dad –
no, no, no!
But he wasn’t listening.
    “Yeah, fine,” Dad said to Stu, who looked really happy, his face going all crinkly under his grey stubble. He pulled this fat, tattered book out of his bag.
    “Doctor Who Encyclopaedia,
1978 to 1999. Let’s see if there’s any cross references in this new series.”
    “Can’t we just watch it?” asked Dad.
    Stu flicked a look at me. “Your dad’s not really a fan, is he?”
    Which made me laugh, cos Dad’s the most obsessed person I’ve ever met about aliens,
Doctor Who
and stuff. Apart from Stu.
    Anyway, we settled down to watch telly. Me, Dad and Stu the Keeper. Once the programme started, I nearly even forgot about the smell of him smoking all the way through.
    As soon as
Doctor Who
finished, Dad and Stu started talking about it. Like, all this boring stuff about what happened in the show thirty years ago, and picking holesin the science. They really got into it, and Dad ended up asking Stu if he wanted to have dinner with us. Even though I was beaming Dad the biggest thought message ever.
    Of course, Stu did want to stay, especially when Dad said it was shepherd’s pie and chips. Dad went in the kitchen, and got the shepherd’s pie out of the fridge. I heard the crackle as he sliced open the cellophane on the packet, the oven door open and close. He shouted through to Stu, “Did you ever get any further with those deaths? The ones like Norman Welkin?”
    That got my attention, but Stu shook his head. “Not