Midnight for Charlie Bone

Charlie would have been worried if he hadn’t been completely convinced that he wouldn’t pass the aunts’ test. He remembered how he’d tried to paint a picture for them and failed miserably. How he’d unsuccessfully attempted to play a violin, a flute, a harp and a piano. He had put on the masks they provided: animals, clowns, pirates, cowboys and spacemen, but only managed to act the part of Charlie Bone. Finally, it had to be admitted that he was not gifted.

So as he waited for the great aunts to arrive, Charlie was not as fearful as he should have been.

Benjamin, on the other hand, was extremely fearful. Charlie was his best friend, his only friend. Anything that happened to Charlie would, indirectly, happen to him. Sinister events were closing in on his friend. Benjamin sat by his bedroom window and watched Charlie’s house. As darkness fell the street lamps came on and lights winked in the building behind the chestnut tree: in the basement, the attic and all the bedrooms. What was going on?

The wind intensified. Thunder and lightning coincided. That meant that the storm was right above. Benjamin clung to Runner Bean, and the big dog hid his face in Benjamin’s sleeve.

The street was now deserted except for three shadowy figures. On they came, a line of black umbrellas hiding all but the hems of three dark coats and six boots: four black and two red. In spite of the wind, there was a strange rhythm in their movements, almost as if a dance were taking place beneath those wide umbrellas. The figures stopped beside the chestnut tree, as Benjamin feared they would. And then they mounted the steps to Charlie’s house.

For the first time in his life, Benjamin was glad to be himself and not Charlie Bone.

At number nine the dining-table was laid, and damp logs smouldered in the grate. When the doorbell rang, Charlie was sent to answer it. The three great-aunts swept into the house, stamping their feet on the tiled floor and shaking out their wet umbrellas. Their coats were hurled across the hall, landing on Charlie as if he were a coatstand.

‘Pick them up, boy,’ commanded Aunt Lucretia, as Charlie scrambled beneath the wet garments. ‘They’re valuable moleskin, not rags.’

‘Now, don’t be harsh, Lucretia,’ said Aunt Eustacia. ‘Charlie’s got a secret to tell us, haven’t you, pet?’

‘Erm,’ mumbled Charlie.

‘Don’t be shy.’ Aunt Venetia, the youngest, came swaying up to him. ‘We want to know, everything.’

‘Yewbeams, come in. Come in!’ Grandma Bone called from the dining-room.

The three sisters sailed through the door; Lucretia, the eldest, first, Venetia, the youngest, last. Snatching glasses of sherry from Grandma Bone, they gathered round the dwindling fire, shaking their damp skirts and patting their abundant hair. Lucretia’s white as snow, Eustacia’s iron-grey, Venetia’s still black and folded round her head like raven’s wings.

Charlie backed away and made for the kitchen where Maisie and his mother were busy round the stove.

‘Take the soup in will you, Charlie,’ said his mother.

Charlie didn’t want to be alone with the great-aunts, but his mother looked hot and weary, so he did as she asked.

The soup tureen was very heavy. Charlie could feel the glint of Yewbeam eyes, following him round the long dining-table. He plonked the tureen on a mat and ran to fetch the bowls, before Grandma Bone could complain about the drop of soup that had spilled over.

When everything was ready, Grandma Bone rang a bell, which Charlie thought was rather silly. Everyone could see that the meal was on the table.

‘Why do we need a bell?’ he asked.

‘Tradition,’ snapped Grandma Bone. ‘And Paton has no sense of smell.’

‘But Uncle Paton never eats with us.’

‘Today,’ said Grandma Bone emphatically, ‘he will.’ ‘And there’s an end to it,’ said Maisie with a grin, which soon faded when the four sisters glared at her.

Uncle Paton arrived looking irritated, and the meal began. Maisie had done her best, but ten minutes was rather short notice to devise a meal of any distinction. The soup was salty, the chicken dry and the trifle had a sad, drowned look. No one complained, however. They ate fast and heartily.

Maisie and Charlie’s mother cleared the table. Paton and Charlie helped. And then it was time for the assessment. Charlie discovered that his mother was not allowed to be present. ‘I won’t go in there without you!’ he said. ‘I won’t.’

‘Charlie, you must,’ said his mother. ‘The Yewbeams hold the purse-strings. I have nothing.’

‘It beats me why you want Charlie to go to that ridiculous academy,’ said Maisie.

‘For his father’s sake,’ said Charlie’s mother.

Maisie clicked her tongue and said nothing more.

Charlie’s father was dead, so why did it matter so much? His mother wouldn’t tell him. She gave him a little push towards the dining-room and in he went.

‘I want my mum in here, or I won’t do it,’ said Charlie.

‘My, my, a boy who wants his mother,’ Aunt Venetia cooed.

‘A boy who wants his mother is a baby,’ said Aunt Lucretia sternly. ‘Time to grow up, Charlie. This is a Yewbeam affair. We don’t want distractions.’

At this point Uncle Paton tried to slip away, but his oldest sister called him back. ‘Paton, you’re needed. Do your duty, for once.’

Uncle Paton reluctantly slid into the chair she indicated.

Charlie was made to sit on one side of the table, facing the four sisters, Uncle Paton sat at the end. Charlie wondered how the assessment would be conducted. There appeared to be no musical instruments, no masks or paint brushes on the table. He waited. They watched him.

‘Where did he get that hair?’ Aunt Lucretia asked.

‘His mother’s side,’ said Grandma Bone. ‘A Welshman.’ She spoke as if Charlie were not there.

‘Ah!’ The three great-aunts sighed, disapprovingly.

Aunt Lucretia was fumbling in a large leather bag. At last she drew out a brown paper packet tied with black ribbon. She tugged the ribbon and the packet fell open, revealing a pile of ancient-looking photographs.

Grandma Bone pushed the packet over to Charlie, and the contents fanned out across the table.

‘What am I supposed to do with these?’ asked Charlie, who had a very good idea what they wanted him to do.

The great-aunts smiled encouragingly.

Charlie prayed that nothing would happen; that he could just glance at the dusty-looking collection and look away before he heard voices. But, one quick look told him that the people in the photographs were making a great deal of noise. They were playing instruments: cellos, pianos, violins. They were dancing, singing, laughing. Charlie pretended not to hear. He tried to push them away from him, towards Aunt Lucretia. She pushed them back.

‘What do you hear, Charlie?’ asked Grandma Bone.

‘Nothing,’ said Charlie.

‘Come on, Charlie, try,’ said Aunt Venetia.

‘And don’t lie,’ said Aunt Eustacia.

‘Or we’ll make you cry,’ snarled Aunt Lucretia.

That made Charlie angry. He wasn’t going to cry for anyone. ‘I don’t hear nothing,’ he said, shoving the photographs away.

‘Anything,’ said Aunt Lucretia, shoving them back. ‘You don’t hear anything. Not nothing. Grammar, boy. Has no one taught you?’

‘He clearly needs to attend the academy,’ said Aunt Eustacia.

‘Just look at them, Charlie, there’s a pet,’ said Aunt Venetia sweetly. ‘Just for one minute, and if nothing happens, we’ll leave you in peace and just . . .’ she waved her long white fingers, ‘melt away.’

‘All right,’ Charlie said grudgingly.

He thought he could get away with it; just look at the photographs and block out the sounds. But it didn’t work. The sounds of cellos, pianos, sopranos and great gusts of laughter came bursting out at him, filling the room. The great-aunts were talking to him, he could see their thin lips working away, but he couldn’t hear their words above the dreadful clamour of the photographs.

At last Charlie seized the pile and flung them, face down, on to the table. The sudden silence was a wonderful relief. The great-aunts stared at him, quietly triumphant.

It was Aunt Venetia who spoke first. ‘There, that wasn’t so bad, was it, Charlie?’

Charlie realised he’d been tricked. He’d have to watch out for Aunt Venetia in future. She was obviously more cunning than her sisters. ‘Who are all those people, anyway?’ he said miserably.

‘Your forebears, Charlie,’ said Aunt Lucretia. ‘Yewbeam blood ran in all their veins. As it does in yours, dear clever boy.’ Her attitude had changed completely. But Aunt Lucretia being nice was just as scary as Aunt Lucretia being nasty.

‘You can go now, Charlie,’ said Grandma Bone. ‘We have things to discuss. Arrangements to make for your future.’

Charlie was only too glad to go. He leapt up and marched to the door. As he went he caught sight of Uncle Paton’s face. He looked sad and far away, and Charlie wondered why he hadn’t said a word the whole time he’d been there. Paton gave Charlie a quick smile and then looked away.

Charlie hurried to the kitchen where Maisie and his mother were eagerly waiting for the results of his assessment.

‘I think I’ve passed,’ he told them glumly.

‘Well, I’m blowed,’ said Maisie. ‘I thought you’d get away with it, Charlie. Was it the voices?’

Charlie nodded miserably.

‘Those ruddy Yewbeams.’ Maisie shook her head.

Charlie’s mother, however, was not so unhappy. ‘The academy will be good for you,’ she said.

‘No, it won’t,’ said Charlie. ‘I don’t want to go. It’s a stuffy old place for geniuses. I won’t fit. It’s halfway across the city and I don’t know anyone there. Suppose I refuse to go, Mum?’

‘If you refuse . . . all this could disappear,’ said his mother, waving in the general direction of the kitchen cupboards.

Charlie was astounded. Were his great-aunts witches, then? Making houses disappear at the touch of a wand, or maybe an umbrella?

‘D’you mean the house could disappear?’ he said.

‘Not exactly,’ said his mother. ‘But our lives would change. Maisie and I have nothing. Not a bean. When your father, Lyell, died we were at the mercy of the Yewbeams. They provide for everything. They bought the house, they pay the bills. I’m sorry, Charlie, you’ll have to go to Bloor’s if that’s what they want.’

Charlie felt very tired. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘And now I’m going to bed.’

He had forgotten about the orange envelope, but when he got to his bedroom, there it was on his pillow. His mother must have rescued it from the piles of food and crockery on the kitchen table. Charlie decided not to take a second look at the man and his baby. He would take the photo straight back to Kwik Foto tomorrow, and maybe get Runner Bean in exchange.

When his mother came up to say goodnight, Charlie made her sit on his bed and answer a few questions. He felt he deserved to know more about himself before he set foot in Bloor’s Academy.

‘First, I want to know what really happened to my father,’ Charlie said. ‘Tell me again.’

‘I’ve told you so many times already, Charlie. It was foggy, he was tired. He drove off the road and the car plunged into a quarry, it was a hundred metres deep.’

‘And why aren’t there any photos of him around? Not one.’

A shadow passed across his mother’s face. ‘There were,’ she said, ‘but one day, when I was out, they all disappeared. Even the tiny picture in my locket.’

Charlie had never heard about this. ‘Why?’ he asked.

At last his mother told him the truth about the Yewbeam family; how horrified they’d been when Lyell fell in love with her, Amy Jones, an ordinary girl with no exceptional talents. In a word, unendowed.

The Yewbeams forbade the marriage. Their laws were ancient and strong. The women could marry whomever they chose, but every male with Yewbeam blood must marry an endowed girl. Lyell broke the rules. He and Amy Jones had eloped to Mexico.

‘We had a wonderful honeymoon,’ sighed Charlie’s mother. ‘But when we came home I knew that Lyell was worried. He hadn’t escaped them after all. He was always looking over his shoulder, running from shadows. And then, one foggy night, when you were two years old, he got a phone call. A summons, really. Grandma Bone was ill, he must go to her immediately. So he got in his car and . . . drove into a quarry.’ She gazed into the distance for a moment and murmured, ‘He wasn’t himself that day. Something had happened. It was almost as if he were under a spell.’

She wiped away a very small tear. ‘I don’t think Grandma Bone has an ounce of love in her,’ she said. ‘As far as the Yewbeams were concerned, when Lyell died it was just the end of an unfortunate episode. But they were interested in you, Charlie. Suppose you turned out to be endowed? They realised they would have to take care of you until they found out. So they gave me a house and let Maisie move in. And then Grandma Bone arrived. To watch us. Uncle Paton came shortly after that, because . . . well, I suppose he didn’t have anywhere else to go. I was grateful for everything, until the photos vanished. It was something I just couldn’t understand. Grandma Bone denied having touched them, of course.’

Charlie listened to his mother’s story and put two and two together. ‘I know why the photos vanished,’ he murmured. ‘Grandma Bone didn’t want me to hear what my father had to say.’

‘But, Charlie, you were only two,’ said his mother. ‘She didn’t know that you would have this funny gift for hearing voices.’

‘She guessed,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s probably in the family.’

His serious face made his mother smile. She kissed him goodnight and told him not to worry about the Yewbeams. ‘And don’t worry about Bloor’s Academy either,’ she said. ‘After all, your father went there.’

‘And did he have a talent?’ asked Charlie.

‘Oh, yes,’ said his mother, from the door. ‘But not your sort of talent, Charlie. He wasn’t endowed. He was a musician.’

When she had gone Charlie couldn’t sleep. He had too much on his mind. It was unsettling to think he was part of such a peculiar family. He wanted to know more. Much more. But where to begin? Perhaps Uncle Paton could provide a few answers. He didn’t seem as heartless as his sisters.

The storm blew itself out. The rain stopped. The wind died and the cathedral clock struck midnight. On the twelfth stroke, Charlie felt a sudden, strange breathlessness. Something was happening to him. It was as if he were passing through a moment when he might live or die. He thought of Lyell, the father he couldn’t remember.

The moment passed and Charlie found himself wide awake and restless. A few minutes later, he heard Uncle Paton creak downstairs and go to the kitchen for a snack. Charlie had grown used to his uncle’s night-time ramble. It always woke him up. Usually he would just turn over and go back to sleep. Tonight he jumped out of bed and got dressed.

When his uncle left the house, Charlie crept downstairs and followed him. He’d often wanted to do this but he’d never had the courage. Tonight was different; he felt confident and determined. Paton moved fast. By the time Charlie had closed the front door, very softly behind him, his uncle was about to turn a corner. Keeping close to the houses, Charlie ran to the end of the street.

Paton paused and looked back. Charlie shrank into the shadows. The street they had turned into was lit by small bell-shaped lamps that cast a soft glow on the wet paving stones. Here, the trees grew closer, the walls were higher. It was a quiet and mysterious place.

Paton Yewbeam was on the move again, but now his purposeful stride had become an aimless stroll. Soon, Charlie, hopping from tree to tree, found himself only a few paces behind his uncle.

A chill wind cuffed Charlie’s ears and he began to wonder if his midnight stalking was going to come to anything. Uncle Paton hadn’t turned into a vampire or a werewolf after all. Perhaps he just felt happier in the dark. Charlie was about to turn and creep back home when his uncle suddenly stopped. He was standing about a metre away from a lamppost and a strange sort of humming came from him. Not humming, exactly, because Charlie couldn’t actually hear it. It was more like a feeling of humming, as though the air round his uncle was charged with soundless music.

The light in the lamp grew brighter, so bright that Charlie could hardly look at it, and then, with a little crack, the glass shattered and shining fragments fell to the pavement.

Charlie gave a low gasp. He rubbed his eyes. Perhaps it was just coincidence. His uncle standing there, while a power surge made the light in the lamp too hot for the glass.

Paton moved on and Charlie followed, still hiding behind the trees. His uncle slowed down as he drew level with another lamppost, but this time, although the light became fierce and bright, Paton walked past before the glass could shatter. And then, without looking back, he said, ‘Why are you following me?’

The flame cats

Charlie froze. He couldn’t believe his uncle had seen him. But then the question came again, ‘Charlie, why are you following me?’

Charlie walked out from behind a tree. ‘How did you know?’ he asked in a whisper.

Paton turned to look at him. ‘I haven’t got eyes in the back of my head, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘No, I didn’t think that,’ said Charlie.

‘But how?’

‘I saw you, dear boy, as I turned the corner. To tell the truth I was half expecting it. I don’t suppose you could sleep after that dreadful evening.’ Paton gave a grim smile.

‘Is that your talent, Uncle Paton?’ Charlie asked. ‘Brightening the lights?’

‘Pathetic isn’t it? I ask you, what use is it? I wish you hadn’t seen.’ Paton regarded his lean fingers. ‘Come on, let’s get you home; I’ve done enough for tonight.’ He tucked Charlie’s hand through his arm and they began to walk home again.

Charlie saw a new side to his uncle. Not many people could boost a light just by being there. In fact, as far as he knew, no one had ever done such a thing before. Lights played a big part in the night life of a city. Uncle Paton could have a wild time down in the centre, where lights winked and glittered on every surface.

‘Have you ever – you know – done what you just did to lots of lights?’ asked Charlie. ‘Like in a place where all the theatres and cinemas and discos are?’

For a moment Charlie thought that Paton wasn’t going to reply. Perhaps he shouldn’t have asked. And then his uncle murmured, ‘Once, long ago, I did it for a girl I knew.’

‘Wow! Was she impressed?’

‘She ran away,’ said Paton sadly, ‘and never spoke to me again.’

‘I see. Wouldn’t it be safer if you went out in the daytime, Uncle Paton? I mean, there aren’t so many lights on.’

‘Huh! You must be joking,’ said his uncle. ‘Every shop window has a light in it. There are lights everywhere. And people can see me in the daylight. Besides, it’s become a habit. I just don’t like daylight, and won’t be caught in it.’

They had reached number nine, and Charlie hurried back to bed before anyone else in the house woke up. He fell asleep almost at once, and dreamed that Uncle Paton had turned up the light in every star, until they all exploded, like fireworks.

In the morning, Charlie woke up with a nasty sinking feeling. Whether he liked it or not, he would soon be going to Bloor’s Academy. Just thinking about it made him feel ill. He could only manage one slice of toast for breakfast. The egg and bacon Maisie put in front of him were left untouched.

‘He’s worried, aren’t you, love?’ clucked Maisie. ‘Those miserable Yewbeams. Why should you go to that nasty big school? We’ll get you some chocolate at the shops. That’ll cheer you up.’

Grandma Bone was not present. She always had breakfast in her room. And Paton only ate at night, as far as Charlie knew.

He glanced at his mother who was miles away, in some kind of reverie. ‘Will I have to wear a special uniform?’ he asked.

His mother looked up with a start. ‘A blue cape,’ she said. ‘The musicians wear blue. Sapphire, a lovely colour.’

‘But I’m not a musician,’ said Charlie.

‘Not strictly speaking,’ his mother agreed. ‘But they won’t have a department for your talent, Charlie. You’ll be put into music, like your father. Take your school recorder. I’m sure that will do.’

‘Will it?’ Charlie was doubtful. He’d never been good at music, and only played his recorder when he was forced to. ‘When will I have to start?’

‘After half-term,’ his mother told him.

‘So soon?’ Charlie was horrified. ‘In the middle of a term? Before Christmas?’

‘I’m sorry, Charlie,’ his mother said regretfully. ‘The Yewbeams think it would be best. They say there’s not a moment to be lost, now that you . . . now that they are certain.’

‘Poor mite,’ Maisie muttered.

It had begun to rain again and Maisie pulled on a bright pink mack. Charlie’s mother took an umbrella from the hallstand. She didn’t like wearing a mackintosh.

‘We won’t be long at the shops,’ she told Charlie. ‘Do you want me to take that photograph back?’

Charlie had almost forgotten Benjamin’s birthday card. For some reason he was reluctant to lose the photo just yet.

‘No,’ he said. ‘But could you buy a birthday card for Benjamin? I don’t think I’ll be using Runner Bean after all.’

When Maisie and his mother had gone, Charlie ran upstairs to fetch the orange envelope. He had just opened it and pulled out the photo when the doorbell rang. No one answered it. Grandma Bone was out, apparently, and Uncle Paton wouldn’t even answer the telephone during the day.

Still holding the photograph, Charlie went down to open the door.

A very strange man stood on the step. Stranger still were the three cats, winding themselves round his legs.

‘Onimous and Flames,’ said the man. ‘Pest control.’ He produced a card from the inside pocket of a furry-looking coat.

‘Ominous?’ said Charlie.

‘Not at all,’ said the man. ‘Onimous. Quite different. Orvil. Orvil Onimous.’ He gave Charlie a big smile, revealing sharp, bright teeth. ‘I believe you have a problem here. Mice?’ He gave a funny sort of leap and landed beside Charlie.

‘I don’t know,’ said Charlie. He’d been told never to let a stranger into the house. But this one was in already. ‘Did someone send for you?’

‘Something did. I can’t tell you what it was, just yet. You might not believe me.’

‘Really?’ Charlie was intrigued.

The cats had followed Mr Onimous and were now prowling round the hall. They were most unusual-looking cats. The first was a deep copper colour, the second a bright orange, and the third a fierce yellow. The copper cat seemed to know Charlie. It stood on its hind legs and rattled the kitchen doorknob.

‘Have patience, Aries,’ said Mr Onimous. ‘Will you never learn?’

Aries had managed to turn the knob. The kitchen door swung open and he ran inside, followed by the other two cats.

‘Sorry about this,’ said Mr Onimous. ‘He’s an impetuous fellow, is Aries. Leo’s a bit pushy too, but Sagittarius has lovely manners. Excuse me, I’d better keep an eye on them.’

Before Charlie had time to turn round, Mr Onimous had slipped past him and hopped into the kitchen, calling, ‘Flames, don’t let me down. Do it nicely.’

All three cats were now pacing before the larder. Charlie remembered the rotting fruit, and before the cats could break through another door, he opened it and let them in.

A fierce pouncing, leaping and screaming began. The larder was apparently full of mice. Not for long. The cats despatched one mouse after another, depositing their bodies in a neat line along the wall.

Charlie backed away. He hadn’t known there were any mice at all in the larder. Why hadn’t Maisie or his mother noticed? Perhaps they had all arrived this morning, drawn by the smell of old fruit. Charlie was rather fond of mice and wished he didn’t have to watch the row of little grey bodies grow longer and longer.