Ghost Boy

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Ghost Boy

  9781742754505

  The author wishes to thank Brian McDonald for devising the excellent Ghost Boy tour and notes, as well as Belinda Elliott and the staff of National Parks and Wildlife Service at the Quarantine Station for their assistance with research for this book.

  Thanks also to the Waratahs for their encouragement and help.

  Random House Australia

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  http://www.randomhouse.com.au

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  First published by Scholastic Australia Pty Ltd in 1995

  This edition published by Random House Australia 2004

  Copyright © Felicity Pulman 2004

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry

  Pulman, Felicity, 1945-.

  Ghost boy.

  For upper primary children.

  ISBN 978 1 74051 989 2 (pbk).

  ISBN 1 74051 989 2 (pbk).

  1 Smallpox - New South Wales - Sydney - Juvenile fiction.

  2 Quarantine - New South Wales - Sydney - Juvenile fiction.

  I. Title.

  A823.3

  Cover images: photograph ‘Entrance to Sydney Harbour – Mooltan’, Government private collection of Louise Davis; lithograph ‘The Quarantine Burial Ground, Spring Cove, Sydney Harbour, New South Wales’ by George French Angas, c. 1847. By permission of the National Library of Australia.

  Cover design by Louise Davis/Mathematics

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Imprint Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Ghost Boy Family Tree

  Historical Note

  About the Author

  1

  His fear of the water began when they came to live at this place. Froggy couldn’t explain it. It was like a dark cloud that shadowed his day and crept into his dreams at night. Fear of the ocean. Drowning. He could feel the salt water seeping through his eyes, his ears, his nose, washing out his skull, dragging his body down into the darkness.

  During the day when the fear came, he would hum fiercely to drown out the sound of the sucking waves. Or he would stand and look around him, making a mental list of the things he could see, focusing on their shapes and colours, sometimes shouting their names out loud so that they would become more real.

  But at night in his sleep, there were no sounds to help him forget, no images to call on to banish the fear; just the gurgling water closing over his head.

  Tonight was one of those nights. As his nose filled with water, as the air was squeezed out of his lungs, Froggy tried to shout for help, but the water filled his open mouth so he could not scream. But tonight was a little different after all. This time he could sense someone in the water beside him. Froggy wasn’t sure if the fear and desperation were his own or the drowning boy’s. He struggled closer, trying to help, but as he came up to the boy, Froggy found he was looking at himself.

  Froggy thrashed and jerked, trying to float upwards, but the water held him down. Gasping for breath he woke up, his tongue swollen and his body on fire, the sheet wound in a tight coil around him, and his mother calling his name.

  ‘Coming!’ But the word came out as a croak, and Froggy had to shout it again.

  He shivered. This dream had been worse than the others. The sea had almost taken him this time! He pulled at the sheet, loosening its stranglehold, trying to shake his mind free of the last shreds of the dream.

  That’s all it was, a dream, he told himself, seeking reassurance from the Harley Davidson poster on the wall, the homework spread in the familiar untidy pile across his desk and the clothes scattered on the floor where he had dropped them. But he knew the dream would come again. In fact he was sure that one day he would drown before he could wake up.

  Froggy was twelve. He had never known fear like this, not even when he’d taken the phone call telling him about his father’s accident at work.

  ‘Fred! If you don’t come down right now, your breakfast will burn!’ His mother’s voice was sharp and loud. Even she spoke differently these days, Froggy thought, and he sighed, remembering how things used to be.

  Their previous house hadn’t been all that flash, but there’d been a shed tacked on the back which had been Froggy’s cubby, where he and Al had planned everything, every minute of their day. The council pool had been only a few blocks away. It was where Froggy had learnt to swim. He’d never been a crash-hot swimmer like some of the kids at his old school. He’d even quite liked swimming. But not now. Not any more. Not since they’d realised his father would never walk again, and moved to Balgowlah to live with Nan. Her house had been specially modified to take his wheelchair. ‘Might as well,’ Nan had said. ‘It’ll help with the expenses if you come and live with me. It’ll come to you in the end anyway.’

  Froggy’s fear had come with the move and with his first sight of the sea. Now it was getting worse.

  ‘Frederick!’

  ‘I’ll be down in a minute!’ Froggy grabbed a pair of underpants, raced into the bathroom and slammed the door just in time to escape his mother’s anger. The loud hiss of water through the shower nozzle drowned her cries, her banging on the door.

  Froggy tried to relax, to calm down in the cool spray that flowed over his body. But then he remembered what the day would bring. Today was the try-out for the school’s swimming carnival. First thing this morning he’d have to go to the pool with the others. He’d have to get into the water, have to swim! Desperately he looked around the bathroom. ‘Taps!’ he chanted, trying to block out the cold dread that almost paralysed him. ‘Bath! Shower! Towels! Mirror! Toothbrush! Toothpaste!’

  ‘Frederick! You’re going to be late for school!’

  ‘I’m coming!’ he yelled, suddenly furious with her, and himself, but most of all with his father for having the accident that had changed everything.

  His parents were eating breakfast when he finally made it downstairs. His father’s wheelchair was pushed up to the table. Froggy looked down at the greasy, yellow eye of the egg on his plate. The white was still a little transparent at the top. Despite his mother’s warning, it was nowhere near burnt. He felt sick, but it wasn’t just breakfast that was putting him off.

  His mother glanced at her watch as she drank the last of her coffee. ‘I’ve got to rush. And you hurry too, Fred, or you’ll be late for school.’ Her voice softened for a moment as she bent to kiss the top of her hus
band’s head. ‘I’ll see you this evening, James. Good luck. I hope you find something in the papers today. Hurry up, Fred!’ And with a backward glare at her son, she was gone.

  Froggy picked up a piece of dry toast, reluctantly taking a bite as he watched his father reach for the newspaper. It was a daily ritual, but a hopeless one. In the middle of a recession, who would want to employ a middle-aged cripple with unknown medical complications and a battle for compensation coming up in the law courts? Still his father continued to look, to make phone calls and write letters, to try to salvage his pride.

  Before he turned to the employment section, he always leafed through the paper, often reading anecdotes from Column Eight, chuckling over them with Froggy. It was the best time of the day, reminding Froggy of when he was small and how his father used to tell him bedtime stories. He’d make them up as he went along, using snippets from their own lives to keep Froggy interested and make him laugh. Now it helped Froggy forget his drowning dreams as he listened to silly stories of dogs chasing cats up trees, people picnicking in the middle of Parramatta Road, an unseasonal Santa clad only in cap, beard and shorts with a sack of goodies over his shoulder. His father had always been a happy person, always cracking jokes, making people smile. Froggy guessed it didn’t come as easily any more. He admired his father for trying.

  ‘Hey, listen to this, Fred!’ Froggy relaxed, waiting for the next story.

  ‘“Hunt for missing heir moves to Australia. Lawyers from the firm Basewell and Hattingley admitted today that unless they can trace the heirs of the Dearborne family, the entire estate might have to go to the crown.” Fancy that, Fred! Wouldn’t it be great if the heirs turned out to be us!’

  Froggy grinned at his father. ‘So who are they looking for?’ he asked.

  ‘Let’s see now. It says the man’s name was Charles Dearborne and they think he and his de facto … Oh, I guess that’s why they …’

  ‘What?’ Froggy interrupted.

  ‘It’s Charles Dearborne’s heir they’re looking for. He had a child, Joseph, with a woman named Mary-Anne. It seems they left for Australia on the SS Northumberland in 1881.’

  ‘Did the boat ever get here?’ Froggy had a brief and terrifying vision of the ship sinking, people drowning. He felt cold fingers plucking at him, heard the suck of the waves dragging him down, smelt the wet salt spray. He shuddered, blinking at his father.

  ‘Oh yes, no doubt about that. It arrived at the Quarantine Station on the 23rd June, 1881.’

  ‘Maybe the Dearborne family didn’t leave the Quarantine Station? Maybe they died there?’ Froggy wasn’t sure where the idea had come from. He just found himself saying the words.

  ‘You may be right.’ His father scanned the report, frowning over it. ‘You see, there’s no record of any Dearbornes setting sail but there is a record of a Charles and Mary-Anne Dearborne arriving at the Quarantine Station. They died there. There’s also mention of a child, a Joseph Dearborne who also died, but they can’t establish if he’s a legitimate relation. And there’s no record at all of the elder boy. That’s who they’re really interested in. Thaddeus disappeared from London at about the same time the ship set sail. They think he might have come out here with his father, but there’s no proof. If they can find any of Thaddeus’ heirs, that family’ll come into a lot of money.’ His father put down the paper, sighing as he looked out of the window.

  ‘No point dreaming, James,’ Grandma said briskly. She had come downstairs while they were talking, and now she sat down at the table, black coffee steaming in front of her. ‘We come from rural stock out west – from way back. Nothing fancy in our origins, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Mmmm.’ Froggy’s father continued to stare out of the window. Froggy wondered if he was dreaming about the money or just watching the lorikeets feeding off the red seeds of the umbrella tree outside. Their feathers flashed green, blue and crimson as they squabbled noisily over breakfast, scattering leaves, seeds and twigs.

  ‘How did they die?’ Froggy hoped that if he kept his father talking he’d be late for school and too late to get the bus to the pool.

  ‘Eh?’ His father looked at him and blinked.

  ‘That rich man and his family. How did they die?’

  ‘Oh … let me see.’ His father scanned the paper. ‘There was an outbreak of smallpox on board ship. Their deaths are recorded shortly after they arrived at the Quarantine Station.’

  ‘Come on, Fred. Isn’t it time you were off?’ Nan looked at her watch, then noticed Froggy’s half-eaten breakfast. ‘Not hungry? Is everything all right, Fred?’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ Froggy wasn’t about to add to his dad’s troubles by telling them about his nightmares.

  ‘Always something to keep the lawyers busy.’ Froggy spoke without thinking.

  His father chuckled. ‘Yeah, I reckon you’re right. C’mon mate, you’d better get going!’

  ‘Oh, but …’

  ‘On your way,’ said his father firmly. And Froggy was out of the house and on his way in plenty of time to catch the bus.

  He wondered whether to wag school. He could stay in the park, cruise the shops, even go into the city maybe and have a look around. His footsteps slowed. The idea really appealed to him, but it would just be running away. His fear of water had made him feel like a real coward lately. He didn’t want to make things worse. It still wasn’t too late to change his mind. So he kept on walking, though his steps slowed as he came to the bus stop.

  But the bus was waiting and Froggy joined the queue. He was shoved aside as he tried to get on. Most of the students were older and keen to put the Year 7s in their place. An elbow caught him in the ribs, a backpack smacked against his face, but finally he made it on board and looked around for a spare seat.

  The boys were joking and elbowing each other, sneaking glances at the girls, who ignored them, more interested in swapping the latest news. Everyone ignored Froggy, making no effort to call him over or find room for him to sit down. He ducked into a seat right at the front and his hand crept into his pocket, seeking out the small carved rabbit he had begun to carry around with him. Froggy wasn’t sure why, but stroking the rough wood seemed to make him feel better. It had been his father’s; and his father’s before him. He thought of it as his lucky rabbit and wondered if it had also comforted his dad in times of trouble. His father had given it to him after his accident, just after they moved to Balgowlah. The thought cheered Froggy. If his father, who had been through so much, didn’t need the rabbit any more, then maybe he wouldn’t one day.

  Froggy clutched the rabbit and wondered what the next few hours would bring.

  2

  ‘You can’t swim?’ The PE teacher looked at Froggy in disbelief. ‘You’re twelve years old and you can’t swim?’

  Froggy felt himself colouring red all over. He stared down at his feet, at the hated toes that had given him his nickname. His second and third toes were joined almost to the top by a thin membrane of skin. His third and fourth toes were also joined, though only as far as the top joint. He had webbed feet like a frog. His slightly bulging eyes and wide smile made up the rest of his nickname.

  Not that he had much to smile about these days! He stayed silent.

  ‘Frog’s afraid of the water!’ Jake strutted past him, giving him an elbow as he went, nearly pushing Froggy off the edge into the chlorine-smelling green water.

  Froggy gasped and jumped aside, betraying his fear.

  The teacher watched him curiously, but there was a hint of sympathy in her eyes as she said, ‘Go down to the shallow end, Fred. I’ll come and join you in a minute.’

  Froggy heard the giggles of Cassie Gibbs and her friends as he walked past them. Cassie Gibbs was the most popular girl in his class. The other girls copied her and tried to look like her, while the boys treated her with respect. They all said they were in love with Cassie Gibbs, but none of them had the guts to say it to her face. Cassie Gibbs wasn’t afraid of anyone. She’d already had a run-in with
the history teacher as well as with several prefects. Froggy knew how sharp her tongue was, so he kept his head down, walked on and tried to ignore the high-pitched croaks that floated after him.

  Ms Goldman took the rest of the class to the deep end to do laps and practise various strokes. Then she came back to Froggy.

  ‘Let’s get in,’ she suggested, jumping in neatly.

  Reluctantly, Froggy climbed down the ladder and stood shivering in the cool water that reached only to his waist. ‘I’ll be all right. I can stand here. I can stand.’ His mind chanted the message as Ms Goldman made him hold onto the side of the pool and start kicking. His knuckles tightened white as he kicked out, taking the weight of his body and all of his fear as he clung desperately to the edge.

  ‘Have you ever got into trouble in the water?’ Ms Goldman sounded sympathetic, but Froggy was determined not to tell her about his nightmares.

  ‘No,’ Froggy said firmly.

  ‘Well, there’s nothing to be afraid of.’ And Ms Goldman proceeded to put Froggy through torture as she forced him to kick and stroke overarm. Once she held onto his waist to support him. It was the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to him!

  Somehow Froggy got through the rest of the day despite the croaks from others whenever they walked past him. He looked the other way as they clutched their throats and choked and pretended they were drowning.

  He hated them all. But he didn’t know what to do about it.

  Froggy didn’t go straight home after school. Usually he did, to check on his dad. But today he couldn’t face those shrewd eyes that seemed to look right through to the back of his head. He couldn’t bear to confess to his father what a coward he had become. So he went past his stop and let the bus take him close to the national park at the far end of the suburb. He had been here once before with Nan, when they’d first moved into her house. She had taken him on a bushwalk. He’d glimpsed the sea through the trees as they came towards Dobroyd Head. As he’d looked across the harbour to North Head and Manly, Froggy had felt afraid. That night the drowning dreams had started.