Really Weird Removals.com (22 page)

And my Dad is out cold, on the landing. 

He can't keep his hands off them. He keeps touching their back, their shoulders, their hands, as if to make sure they're here. I stir sugary tea for everyone, for the shock.

“It's time you make peace, you two,” says Granny, her eyes going from one son to the other, fondly.

“He promised he wouldn't do anything dangerous. But he started involving the children in his crazy stuff… I was so scared they'd get hurt, or disappear, like you…” Dad rubs his brow. Poor him. Uncle Alistair looks exhausted, blue shadows under his eyes. Will Dad not give him a break now?

“But we're here, aren't we? Alistair and Luca got us back.”

“I know, but…”

“
MAMMA MIA
!” A scream resounds in the living room.

My mum is back. She doesn't pass out, just throws herself into my grandparents' arms.

“I thought you were dead!” she manages to say. “Where have you been?”

“Stuck in time,” Granny says.

“What?”

“Long story.”

“
Santo cielo!
” Mum exclaims, and a few other Italian expressions. She always does that when she's very happy, or very upset. I think that right now she's a mixture of both.

“Mum! Dad!” Now it's my Aunt Shuna's turn to 
throw herself into their arms and cry.

“You told me they were dead!” says Mum, looking at my dad.

“I thought they were never coming back…” he replies, feebly.

“I knew it! I knew it'd be all right, one day!” says Aunt Shuna, sobbing. “But what happened?”

“We got them back. Luca and I,” says Uncle Alistair.

“Something strange is always happening, with you… but this…” Shuna has tears streaming down her face. “I can't believe this! Duncan, Alistair brought them back!”

“And Luca. They did, yes.”

We all wait, in silence.

And then Dad stands up, walks over to Uncle Alistair, and holds him very tight, for a long time.

“But what did happen, exactly? How did you make it back?” my mum asks my grandparents, drying her eyes. Everyone is crying. Everyone, even Camilla, whose sniffling has an echo.

Everybody starts speaking at the same time again.

“Guys! GUYS!” says Valentina. Everybody quietens down. “Luca will explain.” They all look at me.

“Oh. Well. Yes. Uncle Alistair opened a fold in time to look for Granny and Papa, there was an accident, it turned into a time bubble and he was stuck in it with them. He didn't know how to sort it…” and I tell them everything, about Uncle Alistair playing loudly, about
how I heard the music and how we worked out what
might have happened and opened the bubble.

“Isn't he a hero!” chirps Camilla.

“He
is
a hero, Camilla,” says Dad.

Uncle Alistair, Valentina, Camilla and I look at him.

My dad can hear Camilla. He can see her.

My dad has the Sight.

“You can see Camilla?” cries out Valentina.

“You have the Sight?” Alistair and my grandparents say in unison.

“Duncan? Is Camilla here?” asks my mum, looking around frantically. She's read about her in my diary, but of course she can't see her.

Aunt Shuna is gawping.

My dad looks like a rabbit caught in headlights. Everyone is quiet for a split second.

And then: 

“You can see me, too!” shouts Camilla delightedly, twirling towards the ceiling like she does when she's happy.

“Duncan, I want an explanation. Now,” says my mum, in her deadly serious voice.

Dad looks from her to us, from Alistair to our grandparents.

And then he bolts upstairs, followed by my mum.

A moment of silence.

“Another cup of tea?” asks Shuna in a shrill voice, and busies herself with the teapot. Her hands are shaking.

“He never told us…” whispers Granny.

“All along, he could See… He could do all that
you
could do!” Aunt Shuna is gulping down sugary tea.

“I sort of suspected it…” says Uncle Alistair.

“Why did he hide it?” asks Valentina.

“You'll have to ask him,” answers Papa. “Mind you, your father was always a shy boy… Not like Alistair. Alistair was the life and soul of the party, chatting non-stop, cracking jokes, entertaining everyone. Your dad was always in his room, writing…”

We all stop talking at once. My dad has reappeared, followed by my mum, who's as pale as her amber skin can get.

He stands in front of us. We all look at him, expectantly. He takes a deep breath.

“I always had the Sight. But I was frightened of it. The things I saw… They weren't always good.”

I nod, remembering the baobhan sìth.

“I thought that if I didn't talk about it, it'd go away. 
Alistair was always the centre of attention anyway. It was easy to be invisible.”

My dad, the invisible child?

I always felt
I
was the invisible child. Invisible to him.

“I've even kept it from Isabella. I thought she'd be horrified…” my mum shakes her head vehemently, “…and I never wished this curse on my children.”

“It's not a curse!” I shout out. “It's a gift!”

“It means everything to us, Daddy.” Valentina's eyes are blazing.

“So I'm the only one in the family who didn't inherit the Sight,” says Shuna sadly.

“Just be thankful!” Dad cries out.

“No way! I wish I had it! I agree with Luca and Valentina, it's a gift.”

“Shuna, this
gift
you talk about stuck our parents in a time loop for fifteen years!”

“And it
saved
them as well! Luca saved them!”

“Duncan,” says my mum quietly, and everybody looks at her. “Our children are special. They can do things most people can't even dream of. This is your fear, not theirs. And I won't let you pass it on. They're happy, and proud to have the Sight. And I'm happy I married into this wonderful family…”

“Crazy as well,” says Shuna cheerily.

“Yes, that too,” smiles my mum.

“Well, you've always been the eccentric type, my dear,” says Granny.

My mum ignores her. “I wish I could see what you all See,” she adds passionately, looking from my dad, 
to me, to Valentina.

“I can show you, Mum. I'll write down all that happens, just like I've been doing, so that you'll know.”

“Please do that, Luca,” she says. “Your dad and I will be so happy to read about your adventures. Won't we?”

My dad nods. “Had I accepted the Sight, had I explored it, instead of denying it, I could have got you back earlier,” he says wistfully.

“Duncan, that was yesterday,” says Papa, in a choked voice. “This is today. We're here, and all the secrets are out.”

Valentina coughs, like she's clearing her voice. We all look at her.

“
Nearly
all the secrets…”

“What, now?” says my mum, in mock exasperation.

“Last week… I sort of… sort of melted some of your jewellery. Sooner or later you were going to find out.”

“YOU WHAT?” Uh-oh. Someone's in trouble. I remember seeing Valentina sneaking into my parents' bedroom with a jewellery box. She was probably putting it back.

“To make silver bullets. In case there's werewolves around.”

“That's why there was a smell of smoke in the kitchen that day! Now, that beats the seaweed all over the garden.” Mum covers her eyes with her hand.

“Sorry. I didn't really think it through.”

“Werewolves?” laughs Papa. “There's no such thing 
as werewolves!”

We all look at him.

“Is there?” he murmurs.

Dad, Alistair, Valentina, Camilla and I nod.

“There is. Right. Oh well. What do you know?” He beams at us.

We’re all in the living room, the fire’s dancing and crackling and hissing, and the rain is tapping on our windows. Uncle Alistair is sitting between my dad and Mary, occasionally glancing at them like he can’t believe his luck. Valentina is perched on the armrest beside my dad, her head on his shoulder. My grandparents survey the scene – they can’t have enough of looking at us, like they still can’t quite believe we exist. My mum and Aunt Shuna are still and peaceful, as ever. And Camilla is revelling in the fact that someone else, someone unexpected, can see her. It’s perfect.

Completely
perfect. Because my dad is with us, not upstairs with Reilly.

I’m reading my diary out, and Dad is helping me with my writing. On the cover, I’ve glued a picture drawn by Sorley McTire – a boy, a girl, a tall man, a little ghost, and our blue van. With us are the zeuglodon mum, Finlay and a few stone fairies. It’s such a brilliant picture; I can’t get enough of it.

“So, where were we? Read this bit for me, Luca,” Dad says, his face all serious, like this really matters to him – like my writing is
important
. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my mum looking at us, smiling in her serene way.

“When he’s near enough to smell the pickled onions, he stops in his tracks, just a few inches away from my face. I can smell him, too: a mouldy revolting stench…”

“What’s the smell like?” my dad interrupts. “Describe it for me.”

“Well, it’s mouldy, revolting and… and it’s like it comes from the depth of a bog.”

“Yes! Perfect.” He glows with pride. My mum and Aunt Shuna exchange a look. I’m so happy, I could burst. I write it in and go on:

“…I can smell him too: a mouldy revolting stench that seems to come from the depth of a bog. The troll scrunches up his face again and makes the same gagging noises, then he howls in anger. It’s my moment…”

Dad is listening intently, a frown on his face, his eyes shining – yes,
this
is my moment – our moment. And this is also just the beginning.

There are many more stories to be told, many more adventures to be had. And to be written, by my dad and I.

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