Midnight for Charlie Bone. Jenny Nimmo

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ were that sort of family. Or, rather, those sorts of families.

      As Charlie ran up the steps to his front door, the tree sighed and rained a handful of conkers on to his head. Luckily his thick, springy hair softened the blows. Thick hair had its uses, though not many. Charlie was always being told to smarten himself up, an impossible task for someone with hair like a hedge.

      ‘Hullo, Grandmas!’ Charlie called as he stepped into the hall.

      There were two grandmas at number nine: Grandma Jones was Charlie’s mother’s mother, and Grandma Bone was Charlie’s father’s mother. Grandma Jones was round and cheerful and bossy, while Grandma Bone only spoke to complain. She rarely smiled and nothing made her laugh. Her hair was thick and white, and she wore long, stiff garments in shades of black, grey or brown (never pink, which was Maisie’s favourite colour). Grandma Jones liked to be called Maisie, but Charlie wouldn’t have dared to call Grandma Bone by her first name, which was Grizelda. She liked to remind people that, before she had married Mr Bone, she had been a Yewbeam. The Yewbeams were an ancient family, their history littered with artistic people, and others who had more unusual talents, such as hypnotism, thought-reading, and bewitchery.

      Charlie knew he had disappointed Grandma Bone by being ordinary. Even worse, in her eyes, he was quite happy to be ordinary.

      When Charlie came home from school it was always Maisie who plonked a wet kiss on his cheek and pushed a plate of something under his nose. Today Maisie had a large bump on her forehead. ‘Ruddy conker,’ she told Charlie.

      Grandma Bone was always sitting in a rocker by the stove, criticising Maisie’s cooking or the state of Charlie’s hair. Today the rocker was empty. That was the first unusual thing.

      It was Benjamin’s tenth birthday on Saturday and Charlie had decided to make him a birthday card instead of buying one. He’d taken a photo of Benjamin’s dog, Runner Bean, smiling or, to be more precise, showing his long, incredibly yellow teeth.

      Charlie had asked his mother to get the photo enlarged at Kwik Foto on her way home from work. He intended to stick a balloon saying ‘Happy Birthday, Benjamin!’ above Runner Bean’s head.

      The second unusual thing was about to happen.

      At five minutes past four, Charlie’s mother came in with a box of over-ripe apples and rhubarb. ‘They’ll make a lovely crumble,’ she said, dumping the box beside Charlie’s plate and kissing his shaggy head. Amy Bone worked part-time in a greengrocer’s shop, so there was always plenty of fruit and vegetables at number nine.

      Charlie leaned away from the rotting fruit. ‘Have you got my photo, Mum?’ he asked.

      Amy Bone rustled about in her shopping bag and found a large orange envelope. She put it on the other side of Charlie’s plate.

      Charlie opened the envelope and revealed – not Runner Bean – nothing like Runner Bean.

      It was at this moment that Grandma Bone appeared. She hovered in the doorway, fingering her neck, touching her silver-white hair and pulling at her stiff black skirt. She looked somehow as though she was on the brink of fulfilling her destiny. And in a way she was, though, at sixty-five, you could be forgiven for thinking it was a bit late.

      The photograph that Charlie now held showed a man cradling a baby. The man sat on an upright chair. He had thinning, greyish hair and a long, mournful face. His crumpled suit was black and his thick pebble glasses gave his pale grey eyes a lost, marble-like stare.

      Instead of pushing the photograph back into the envelope, Charlie continued to gaze at it. In fact, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. He began to feel dizzy and his ears were filled with mysterious sounds, like the hiss and swish of voices on the radio, when you can’t pin them to the right frequency.

      ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Er, what . . .?’ His own voice seemed far away, trapped behind a kind of fog.

      ‘What’s wrong, Charlie?’ asked his mother.

      ‘Is something happening?’ Grandma Bone crept forward. ‘Aunt Eustacia rang me. She had one of her premonitions. Are you a proper Yewbeam, after all?’

      Maisie glared at Grandma Bone, while Charlie pulled his ears and shook his head. If only the horrible muffled buzzing would go. He had to shout in order to hear himself. ‘They’ve made a mistake at the shop. Where’s Runner Bean?’

      ‘There’s no need to shout, Charlie.’ His mother looked over his shoulder. ‘My goodness, that’s certainly not a dog.’

      ‘Ow!’ wailed Charlie. But suddenly the mumbling voices broke free of the buzz and made themselves clear.

      First came a woman’s voice, soft and unfamiliar: I wish you wouldn’t do this, Mostyn.

      Her mother’s gone. I don’t have a choice. This voice was definitely male.

       Of course you do.

      Will you take her, then? said the man’s voice.

      You know I can’t, replied the woman.

      Charlie looked at his mother. ‘Who said that?’

      She looked puzzled. ‘Who said what, Charlie?’

      ‘Is there a man in here?’ he asked.

      Maisie giggled. ‘Only you, Charlie.’

      Charlie felt claw-like fingers sink into his shoulder. Grandma Bone leaned over him. ‘Tell me what you hear,’ she demanded.

      ‘Voices,’ said Charlie. ‘I know it sounds silly, but they seem to be coming from this photograph.’

      Grandma Bone nodded. ‘What do they say?’

      ‘For goodness sake, Grandma Bone, don’t be ridiculous,’ said Maisie.

      Grandma Bone gave Maisie a withering look. ‘I am not being ridiculous.’

      Charlie noticed that his mother had gone very quiet. She drew out a chair and sat down, looking pale and anxious.

      Maisie began to bang saucepans about, muttering, ‘You shouldn’t encourage it. It’s all rubbish. I won’t have it . . .’

      ‘Ssssh!’ hissed Charlie. He could hear the baby crying.

      The strange woman spoke again. You’ve upset her. Look at the camera, Mostyn. And please try to smile. You look so dismal.

      What d’you expect? said the man.

      A camera shutter clicked.

       There. Shall I take another?

       Do what you want.

      You’ll thank me, one day, said the woman behind the camera. If you really intend to go through with this, it’s the only thing you’ll have to remember her by.

       Hm.

      Charlie noticed that a cat peeped from behind the man’s chair. It was an extraordinary colour; deep СКАЧАТЬ