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Once in a while you have to be a little reckless; that’s a skill I learned somewhere.
That’s so disgusting.’ ‘Hey, there’s nothing disgusting about random body parts,’ the skull said. ‘I’m one myself. It’s an honest profession
‘Speed it up. A mouse could pull that pebble out.’ ‘I’m trying.’ ‘I could do better, and I don’t have hands. Put some beef into it, woman.’
‘See what I’m working with? Useless! The brain of a flea!
‘Look at you. Damp-haired, face puffy, eating fast food alone in bed . . . If I had tear ducts, I’d weep for you. You haven’t even straightened out your duvet.’
‘Ooh, careful when you cross the room that you don’t collide with any of your pals,’ the skull called. ‘I can barely see the far wall, there are so many close chums queuing up to chat with you
‘Lucy, I’m a malevolent skull without an ounce of compassion. You’ve got to be worried if I’m feeling sorry for you.’
And it was Lockwood. Lockwood. It was Lockwood standing there.
It was all going to be great. I put one hand nonchalantly on my hip, tried for an expression of airy unconcern. ‘Yes. Everything’s fine.’
Making tea is a ritual that stops the world from falling in on you. Everything pauses while you do familiar things with taps and kettles: it allows you to get your breath back and become calm.
Lockwood took his foot away and the lid clanged shut. ‘Little bit of teamwork there,’ he said. ‘Yeah. We still haven’t lost it.’ I
the ghost in the jar had fully formed. It was staring at Lockwood with an expression of extravagant disgust and derision, while mouthing soundlessly against the glass. I couldn’t lip-read, but whatever it was saying was clearly uncomplimentary.
The voice grew thoughtful. ‘What could it be . . . Not a date, surely – the boy’s got eyes.’
‘Thank goodness for you, Lucy. Holly never carries chocolate, and George has always scoffed his before we’re out of Portland Row. But I can always rely on you.’
Strange how close the darkness is, even when things seem brightest. Even in the glare of a summer noon, when the pavement bakes and the iron fences are hot to the touch, the shadows are still with us. They congregate in doorways and porches, and under bridges, and beneath the brims of gentlemen’s hats so you cannot see their eyes. There is darkness in our mouths and ears; in our bags and wallets; within the swing of men’s jackets and beneath the flare of women’s skirts. We carry it around with us, the dark, and its influence stains us deep.
I thought they’d gone slightly overboard with the bandages – my arm looked like something you might see rising from a sarcophagus
‘Personally I’ve always thought straining it through your teeth is part of the fun,’ Lockwood said. ‘You can pretend you’re a blue whale.’ He caught my look. ‘What?’
‘What have they done to your poor arm?’ ‘Oh, don’t worry. It’s just a graze.’ ‘I’m talking about the bandages. That’s simply the most incompetent bit of first aid I’ve ever seen.
If there’d been room, I’d probably have been there as well, plumping up his cushions or massaging his toes or something.
‘Can I spit here?’ ‘We’d rather you didn’t.’ ‘Pity.
‘And here’s the clincher,’ George said darkly. ‘Note how he didn’t eat his Battenberg.’ ‘We can hardly diss someone on the grounds that they turned down cake, George.’ ‘You bet we can. In my eyes, refusing cake is an immoral act. “I’m not a cakey person” – those were his actual words. Brrr.’
Flowers whose names I didn’t know were showing under the walls, and birds I didn’t recognize swooped low between the trees, filling the air with sound.
Besides, none of us really knew what to do with relaxation; it was so much more natural to just go out and stab something.
‘This looks great, by the way, Lucy. What are those shrivelled black things?’ ‘Mushrooms, I think. Oh, no – those are the mushrooms. Actually I don’t know what they are . . . Enjoy your meal.’
One spoke, one tapped his club. It was a fair bet that neither could manage both at the same time.
I went first; I didn’t want him to get into an argument with a sewer rat or anything.
‘Skull? Skull – is that you?’ ‘Let me see . . . Ooh, no, it’s another Type Three disembodied spirit who knows your name and purpose, and happens to be stored nearby.’
‘What, are you queuing now? Just how British are you people? Don’t just stand in line! Kill somebody!’
‘The place of blood? What does that mean?’ ‘Well now, I should think it’s quite a jolly spot where nice things happen and everyone’s good chums together
‘Ah! The collector! What’s he look like?’ ‘Erm . . .’ The voice grew vague. ‘Just a bloke. About yay high, neither this nor that . . . He’s actually quite difficult to describe.
‘Do I have to get up and come round to lean against the table in a cool, leaderish way like you?’ ‘That’s entirely optional.’
‘No, as it happens I didn’t take time out to taste his cigarette smoke, George. I was too busy trying to avoid being killed.’ George slouched back in his seat. ‘You could have taken a quick whiff while running for your life, Luce. Where’s your dedication?’
‘When I say “begging”, it’s the usual mix of verbal abuse and desperate fawning. But somehow that works on me, I don’t know why.
He looked at Lockwood, who hadn’t moved. ‘Look, you’re obviously doing some jolly important staring into space. I’ll just tell him to get knotted, shall
‘Like what?’ George said. ‘Art critic? Train spotter? With that rollneck you could be almost anything.’
‘The coat-hanger one?’ ‘It was a kind of garrotte thing, using hangers like those ones over there . . . Anyway, don’t worry about that. Let’s get settled in. Which bed do you want?’ ‘The one by the door.’
Lucy just mentioning all the ways the skull has thought of to kill Holly haha.
‘I didn’t sign up for this,’ Kipps said. ‘Horrific phantoms, yes. Waking up next to Cubbins, no.’
‘I don’t know what I can do to help this evening, short of being tethered by the door like a goat to lure the ghost.’
‘Rare and expensive items,’ George said, ‘which I nicked.
‘It’s all right, you don’t have to thank me. At least, not with words. Money will do fine.’
Personally I didn’t think a beggar was a very likely candidate for robbery, but then perhaps he’d been an unusually successful beggar.
leaving Kipps with a stack of scribblings before him, and George’s map looking like it suffered from chickenpox.
‘And ohh – that’s horrible. There by the fire! A gaunt, wizened thing with protruding teeth . . .’ Danny Skinner spoke with dignity. ‘That would be my grandfather, remember? He’s still alive.’ ‘Oh, yes. Got a bit carried away there.’
Hahah Kipps!
I don’t know if it was George or Holly who screamed the loudest. Either way they drowned out my own cry.
He motioned with his head; without looking at me, his fingers stole out and gripped mine.
It was another of those occasions. Those big not-thought-through/spur-of-the-moment/more-intuition-than-rational-analysis occasions. The occasions that make us who we are.
‘What have they done to you?’ I cleared my throat and scowled. ‘Not that I care, obviously.’
Her love for skully - mixed with lots of hatred <3
