Chapter 9

“Before Grandad died, I had a look around the outside of the house,” I said. “There’s a big barn at the back with some strange stuff inside.”

“What kind of stuff?” said Alex.

“There were shelves full of boxes of scientific equipment and this cabinet full of elaborate knives,” I said. Alex’s eyes widened. “There was also something covered in a sheet, and it looked like it was moving. I don’t think the house is abandoned at all. Shall we take a closer look?”

Alex took a deep breath.

“I don’t know,” he said, staring at the house. “It looks kind of creepy. And I don’t like the sound of those knives.”

I thought about all the people at our house, dressed in black and drinking tea. I didn’t fancy going home yet. And besides, I’d only start looking at my phone and feel bad when I saw more selfies of Rebecca and Lily at the school musical auditions.

I looked back at the glowing orange light in the window. Maybe that shadow belonged to Ava Laurent? The lady in the photograph, whom Grandad had called a “cloud artist”.

“Well, I’m going to have a look,” I said.

I pulled on Buster’s lead and we headed across the long grass. I heard Alex sigh and then the jingle of Dave’s lead as they began to follow.

We stood to the side of the house. Dave started to whine.

“Now what do we do?” said Alex.

I didn’t get a chance to answer. There was a low creak as the front door began to open. A woman stepped out with her hands on her hips.

“Can I help you?” she said to us.

Dave wagged his tail and pulled Alex towards the door. Buster quickly followed and the two dogs dragged us towards the mysterious woman.

She looked about the same age as Mum, with long brown hair braided into a plait that snaked around the side of her neck. She was wearing a long, white billowy dress, and she had kind eyes and a soft smile on her face – even though her words hadn’t been exactly welcoming. She was far too young to be Ava.

“Um, hello,” I said. “We were, um … We were looking for Ava. Ava Laurent?”

The woman’s eyes widened when she heard the name, and she blinked a few times.

“I see,” she said. “No one has asked for Ava for many years now. And you are?”

“I’m Tabby and this is Alex,” I said. “My grandad told me that he knew Ava. We were just … um … passing, and I thought I’d see if she was here.”

“And your grandad is?” she said, folding her arms.

“Was,” I said. “He died just last week. George Robert Baker was his name.”

Something caught in my throat. I don’t know why I included his middle name. I’d only just found out what it was at the funeral.

The woman’s eyes widened again.

“Ah, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I remember George. You’d better come in.”

She turned and went back inside, leaving the door wide open for us to follow.

Alex looked at me and shrugged. I peered inside the hallway. Everything was clean and painted white. It was the complete opposite of how the outside looked.

“Aren’t you coming?” the woman called. Her head poked round a door further down the hallway. I looked at Alex, and we both stepped inside.

“Would you both like some lemonade?” the woman asked as we walked into the kitchen.

“Yes, please,” I said.

“Oh wow, it’s so … nice,” said Alex, looking around. “I wasn’t expecting this at all.”

“Ava liked to keep herself to herself, so it suited her if people thought the house was empty. She could maintain her privacy that way, you see?”

I nodded. The woman had a slight accent. French, I thought.

“And is Ava here?” I asked.

The lady poured some pale lemonade from a jug into two glasses and passed one to me and one to Alex.

“I’m afraid she passed away in a care home about six months ago,” she said. “Ava must have lost touch with your grandfather, so I guess he never knew.”

“I’m sorry,” said Alex.

The lady smiled at him.

“I’m Amelie, Ava’s niece,” she said. “I’ve been staying here for a while, sorting out her things.”

I stood beside the table, which was scattered with photographs. Amelie came over and began to search through the pictures.

“I’ve got a photograph here that might be of interest to you, Tabby,” Amelie said. I took a sip of my lemonade. It was sharp and sweet at the same time and nothing like the stuff you got in the supermarket. It was delicious.

“Ah, here it is,” said Amelie. She smiled as she passed a small square photograph to me. The picture was of a young girl standing on a pebbly beach – the beach that Alex and I had just been walking on. Behind the girl was an older woman and next to her was a man and another lady. They were all grinning at the camera. The man had his hand at his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sun. I looked closely. I recognised the man.

“Yes,” said Amelie. “And that little girl at the front is me.” She pointed at the photo. “That’s my aunt Ava and that’s your grandmother. They were all friends.”

I stared at the faces laughing back at the camera. They were all so happy. It looked like someone had cracked a joke just before the photo was taken.

“I used to come here in the summer holidays, and I remember your grandparents being really lovely,” said Amelie. “Your grandfather definitely had some funny tales to tell!”

I placed the photograph back onto the table. Grandad must have been telling his stories for years, and not just to me. Maybe Amelie knew more?

“My grandad said that Ava was some kind of artist,” I said. “Is that true?”

Amelie paused for a moment, then turned away to put the jug of lemonade back in the fridge.

“You could say that, I guess,” she said. “Ava was very talented.”

Amelie seemed to avoid my eyes. It was like she didn’t want to say any more.

“What kind of thing did she do?” said Alex. “Paintings?”

Amelie gave a small smile.

“No, not paintings,” she said.

I quickly stepped forwards. “Did she sculpt clouds?” I blurted out.

Alex and Amelie both stared at me.

“I mean … I know it sounds silly,” I went on, “but … well, my grandad, he used to tell me these stories, and … well … I just wondered if … that one might be true?”

I could feel tears beginning to prickle the back of my eyes like tiny feathers. I looked down at the floor. Buster was asleep by my feet, and his little shoulders rose and fell.

“I’m not sure what your grandfather told you,” Amelie said, “but—”

“Forget it,” I said quickly, feeling my face turning red. “It’s a ridiculous story. Thank you for the drink, but I’d better get home.”

I gave Buster a prod with my foot. He jumped up, and I turned and walked down the hallway and out of the wide front door.

What was I thinking? I couldn’t believe I had said it out loud. I couldn’t believe that for one second I had actually thought that Grandad’s story about a woman who sculpts clouds might have been true.

Alex caught me up just as I got across the car park.

“What was that all about?” he said. “What did you mean, sculpting clouds?”

There was a bit of amusement in Alex’s voice. Dave and Buster trotted beside each other like they’d been friends for years. I pulled Buster back a bit.

“Just forget it,” I said.

Alex ran in front of me, blocking my way.

“I’m not laughing at you, Tabby,” he said. “I just wanted to know what it was that your grandad told you.”

“My grandad loved to tell me stories,” I said. “When I was little, I really enjoyed them. But the thing is, he never stopped. He kept telling me stupid things that were clearly made up. Like his story about a ship in a bottle! He loved that one. He told me countless times that it had been made by bumble bees.”

“But then Grandad told me about an artist called Ava Laurent who lived in the House of Clouds. He said that she pulled clouds down from the sky, carved them into shapes and then released them for everyone to enjoy. He said … he said that artists like Ava were becoming extinct because no one looks up any more. And … and I just wished that one of his stories was true.”

“I think that’s a wonderful story,” he said.

“But that’s just it, isn’t it?” I said. “It’s a story. It’s made up.”

I felt a tear roll down my cheek, and I wiped it away.

“I wish I’d listened to him more, Alex,” I said. “I wish I’d just given him more time. And now he’s gone, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”