Yesterday they'd followed the twisting trail of the river. Last time she'd been down by the river, the water had been choppy and aggressive, but this time there was so much less of it, and it seemed so much calmer and at peace with the world. They spotted a couple of dead fish floating on the surface of the water, just lying there, exposed. It seemed so degrading and yet - and yet - so freakishly fascinating. Today they'd located a table in the corner of the library and flicked through books. Her mum tried to get her interested in Cinderalla, but Kate picked up a picture book about Jossy's Giants. Regardless, the quiet and tranquillity of the library made a pleasant change to the non-stop action of her computer games.
The other children are all home from school by now and yet, as the shops and offices are not quite shut, the streets are quiet as they head to the bus stop. They cross the road, then turn the corner.
"Look, Mum. Look!" Kate raises her hand and points.
Her mother tugs on her hand. "Oh, yes," she says. "How odd."
Kate knew this tactic, too. Mum tried to dismiss anything that was even remotely different by saying it was odd, just like she did when those two men kissed on Eastenders. Seriously, Kate thinks; she is just so embarrassing sometimes. Kate plays her own chess move. She tugs at her mother's arm so they step off the bumpy, hot pavement and onto the road. Her mother is sure to tell her off for this later, Kate thinks; but later is later and this is now. Now they are crossing the road and they will have no choice but to speak to the man waiting for them on the other side. It was rude not to, and her mother was forever saying that rudeness was a disease of modern society.
The man bounces up and down on the spot in black and white striped trousers and blazer, reminding Kate of an American Football referee. He wears bulky leather boots. His frizzy green hair has the look of a mad professor, or somebody who has been electrocuted. The chalk white face highlights the blood red lips and the black circles around his eyes. His tongue hangs out of his mouth like a thirsty dog.
Mummy isn't going to like this man one bit, Kate thinks, as she picks up her pace and widens her smile.
"We come for your daughter, Chuck," he announces as they move within touching distance. Kate notices that his manic eyes dart everywhere. He bows to Kate's mum. "I'm the ghost with the most, babe!"
Kate puts her hand to her mouth. Her mother's hand feels cold against her own. "Look, Mum," Kate says. "It's Beetlejuice."
"Oh, yes," her mum says, "so it is. How very odd."
Beetlejuice jiggles a red bucket under their noses. Kate hears the jingling of coins. "Just doing my bit for charity, ma'am," he explains. "Raising money for cancer research."
Kate's mother crinkles her nose as though sniffing dog muck. "Quite," she says. "Very good."
The bucket remains dangling and Mrs Phillips has no choice but to open her handbag and dig inside her purse. She drops a few bronze and silver coins inside. Kate feels a tug at her hand. She goes to protest, but when she looks up she thinks better of it: her mum has the same face she had when gypsies settled on their local park.
"You are a queen, ma'am," the man says, bowing down again. "That twenty pence will surely go a long way to saving the lives of the sick and vulnerable."
"Quite," Mrs Phillips says. Kate can tell by the flush to her mother's cheeks that even she can tell the man isn't being straight with her.
"That Spartacus is killing so many innocent people that I think we need to save as many as we can," the man says. He fixes Mrs Phillips with a pensive look."Wouldn't you agree?"
Kate feels her mother's eyes on her, but she looks away. They don't talk about that man in their house. Her mother turns the channel when he comes on the news. Of course, Kate knew everything there was to know about the crazy killer who was roaming the streets of South Wales. They had a game in school where one of the kids pretended to be him and chased after the other children, with a stick as a prop.
"He's killed again. Did you know?" he asks.
Kate feels the grip on her hand tighten. She is hurting her now.
"Really? You sure? I read the newspaper this morning and there was nothing about it in there. Since when? When did somebody die?"
Kate is surprised by the sharpness of her mother's tone. She can tell that, for whatever reason, her mother doesn't like this man. Maybe she thinks he is the real Beetlejuice?
The man taps the side of his nose. "Since today, madam.
