Chapter 5

By the time we got across the car park, Buster was tired and refused to walk any further. He sat on his bottom and wouldn’t budge.

“Come on,” I said. “I want to get home, not hang around here with a stinky dog.” I also wanted to get away from the creepy house.

Buster took a deep breath, then lay down, putting his head on his front paws. I sighed. There was nothing else for it. I’d have to carry him.

“You do realise that you smell really, really badly, don’t you?” I said as I picked Buster up.

His little tail wagged under my armpit. He was such a stupid dog. But as I walked I began to enjoy the feeling of Buster’s warm body against my chest. It was getting cold, and the strange barn had made me feel even more chilled.

When we got to our street, the bright white rail by our door stood out more than ever. I sighed, put Buster down on the ground and used my keys to get in.

“Is that you, Tabitha?” Grandad called out. “Is Buster OK? You’ve been gone so long.”

“He’s fine,” I said. I unclipped Buster’s lead and he trotted to Grandad’s room.

“Come and tell me all about it,” Grandad said. “Have they moved the beach huts yet?”

“No, they’re still there,” I said, hovering by the door.

Two winters ago, there had been a terrible storm. The waves had crashed in like huge claws. They’d snatched the pastel huts and pulled them out to the deep, dark sea. I imagined the colourful huts bobbing around on the murky waves, with buckets, spades and tea cups clattering around inside. From then on, the council moved all the huts back from the beach when the season began to change – into the field by the car park where the sea couldn’t reach them.

“I remember me and your nana used to love that spot by the beach,” Grandad said. “We’d sit there for hours and plan our travels. We felt like we had all the time in the world to visit new places.”

He looked down at the map on his lap. It was a different one this time – of Australia.

“So, tell me,” Grandad said, clearly wanting to chat. “Where else did you go?”

His chest rose and fell quickly. Grandad did three breaths to my one. I counted them once.

“Down to the pier, along the front and then around the back of the car park,” I said. I didn’t mention the house, as I wasn’t sure if I should have gone there. I was itching to get to my room and check my phone. I wanted to see if Rebecca and Lily had posted any photographs from the beach. It made me feel sad when I saw them, but I couldn’t stop myself from looking.

“And how is the House of Clouds looking these days?” said Grandad, folding his map. “I haven’t seen that place in years.”

He shuffled forwards in his seat. Buster was lying down at Grandad’s feet, snoring already.

I remembered the sign lying on the track to the house on the clifftop. “Who lived there?” I asked.

“It used to belong to an artist called Ava Laurent,” Grandad said. “She was a friend of your nana’s. She was very skilled. Especially when it came to carving the cumulus cloud.”

I had no idea what he was talking about.

“What’s a cumulus cloud?” I asked.

“You know those fluffy white clouds that look a bit like candy floss?” said Grandad.

“Well, those are cumulus clouds. That’s their scientific name, anyway. Ava Laurent always used to say those clouds were the best for carving. Nice and chunky, you see? Like a giant piece of foam. Perfect for her carving knives.”

The scary knives in the cabinet! I felt goosebumps tickle down my arms. But what did Grandad mean about them being knives for carving clouds? I watched him as he sat back in his chair and picked up a cup, taking a slurp of tea. I was going to ask Grandad about the knives, but then I caught sight of the ship in a bottle up on the shelf and remembered his story about the bees. I shook my head. This stuff about carving clouds must be another one of Grandad’s crazy stories. He was always saying weird stuff. Mum and Dad said to be polite to him but ignore it.

“That’s really interesting, Grandad,” I said. “But I’d better get on.”

I turned to leave, but he carried on talking.

“Have I ever told you about Ava Laurent, Tabitha?” he said, leaning forwards.

“Maybe you could tell me another time?” I said. “I’ve got homework to do and …”

Grandad sat back in his seat again.

“There aren’t many of them left now, you know,” he said, shaking his head.

“Aren’t many of who left?” I said.

“Have a seat, Tabitha,” Grandad said, smiling.

I sighed and slowly made my way to the dining chair beside his armchair and sat down.

“Ava Laurent was the finest cloud sculptor that this country has ever seen,” Grandad began.

I snorted. “A cloud sculptor?” I said, raising my eyebrows.

Grandad nodded. “Yes, Tabitha. You know the shapes that you sometimes see in the clouds when they’re floating right above you? Like a lion, perhaps, or a mermaid?”

“Well, those cloud shapes aren’t accidental, you know,” Grandad said. “They are the work of a cloud sculptor.”

He leaned forwards and rested his elbows on his knees. “Ava had this marvellous contraption attached to the side of her barn that sucked clouds down from the sky. Then Ava would tie the cloud to the ground. All they want to do is float back up to the sky, you see? But when she’d finished carving one, the roof of the barn would retract, and the cloud would gently drift back up into the sky for everyone to enjoy.”

I frowned. I remembered seeing that weird silver funnel sticking out of the side of the barn. And there had definitely been something moving under that sheet. Could it have been a cloud? I smirked to myself. Of course not! I was being taken in by one of Grandad’s stupid stories, as if I was six years old again. When he began to talk about rubbish like this, the best thing for me to do was to make a quick exit.

“Right, well, like I said, I’ve got homework to be getting on with and …”

“Do you want to see some photographs of Ava’s work?” Grandad asked. He suddenly began to cough, and he patted himself on his chest a few times until it subsided. Grandad coughed a lot when he got excited about something.

“You see that box on my wardrobe?” he said. “Pass it down and I can show you what an amazing cloud artist Ava was.”

I glanced up to the top of the wardrobe and spotted a small grey shoebox. It looked a bit old and battered.

“I don’t have time now, Grandad,” I said, standing up. “Sorry.”

“Cloud sculptors won’t exist at all soon,” said Grandad sadly. “It seems that people don’t look up any more. Too busy staring down at their phones and whatnot. It’s so sad.”

I put my hand into my pocket, and my fingers felt my phone. Rebecca and Lily had probably posted at least ten pictures by now.

“Sorry, Grandad,” I said. “Maybe you can tell me about it another day?”

Grandad looked up at me. He seemed to be deep in thought for a moment, then he smiled and nodded.

“Of course,” he said. “You get on with what you need to do, Tabitha. I can tell you all about Ava another time.”