The French coach pushed the boys to their limits, and even beyond, during the Tuesday-morning fitness session in the gym. Tom was sick again, losing his breakfast this time.
‘Too much toast and jam, I theenk,’ said Petit Pierre, prodding Tom’s bulging waistline. ‘We must make all this fat into muscle, oui?’
‘Oui – I mean, yes, Coach.’
The coach showed no mercy. Every time he blew the whistle, the boys had to do another set of exercises, including press-ups, sit-ups and step-ups.
‘Count to ten, en français – un, deux, trois…’
The afternoon session was spent outdoors under grey clouds, with the athletes split into small groups to be coached in their own events. The training camp had wonderful facilities, including a six-lane, 400-metre running track with an all-weather surface.
‘Wicked!’ exclaimed Gareth at the sight of the high-jump area with its large, blue landing cushions.
‘Only the best here, man,’ said Adam, who was on his way towards the long-jump pit. ‘This is what makes it worth all the torture.’
‘Gramps won’t believe his eyes when he sees this place now. He came here as a kid when the Old Manor was a boarding school,’ Gareth explained. ‘He reckons the house is haunted and that it’s got secret passages.’
‘I’d like to meet your gramps. Is he comin’ to the Open Day?’
‘You bet! No way he’s gonna miss the chance to have a good old nose around.’
As Adam and Gareth went their separate ways, Tom was anxiously waiting to find out who would be coaching the group of throwers. He was relieved to see Petit Pierre start working with a few hurdlers, but his heart sank when the head coach strode towards the discus area.
‘Oh, God! Not Blackbeard!’
In the middle of the arena, Eddie was loosening up with the other distance runners under the supervision of a coach that he hadn’t seen before, a young man with long, blond-streaked hair. He looked fit enough to outrun all of them.
‘I’ve put cones right round the track, boys,’ he said. ‘I want you to change gear every time you come to one. Sprint, jog, sprint, jog – OK?’
Pleased to find this coach appearing more friendly, Eddie thought of him as Blondie, and felt brave enough to ask a question.
‘Are we going to have any proper races while we’re here, Coach? I mean, against some other kids?’
‘Maybe,’ said Blondie, and then he smiled. ‘In fact, by the sounds of it, Eddie, I think you might already have met one of them…’
After the evening lecture in the library, Gareth made sure that none of the coaches were looking and then aimed a kick beneath the table he was sharing with his roommates.
‘Ow!’ Adam complained. ‘Watch it, GG! That was my knee.’
‘Bang on target,’ Gareth chuckled.
‘What d’yer want?’
‘I want to know what we’re going to do now?’
‘Dunno,’ Adam muttered. ‘Any ideas?’
‘Well, we could make a start on our new training diaries…’ Gareth suggested.
‘You’ve got to be jokin’.’
‘Or we could go on a ghost hunt,’ he grinned. ‘I’d like to be able to tell Gramps that we’ve been trying to track down some of his ghosts.’
Tom pulled a face. ‘Count me out, if you’re going off exploring. I don’t fancy pushing my luck with these coaches.’
‘You with us, Wonder Boy?’ said Adam. ‘You never know, we might even come across your mystery runner up in the attic!’
Eddie shrugged. ‘OK, Foxy,’ he said, not rising to the bait. ‘I wouldn’t mind having a word with him.’
‘See yer later, Tom-Tom,’ said Adam, standing up. ‘Don’t go drinkin’ all that juice now. You never know what’s in it.’
Left alone at the table, Tom opened his training diary. Right there on the front page was the bold heading in capital letters:
‘Huh!’ he grunted and took another swig of fruit juice. ‘I know what my main goal is here – avoiding Blackbeard and Petit Pierre as much as possible – they’re slave-drivers!’
The three explorers climbed the central staircase as far as the second-floor landing.
‘So where did Tom say that old guy appeared yesterday?’ asked Gareth.
‘Think it was on the next floor,’ said Eddie.
‘Nah, that’s where the coaches’ rooms are,’ Adam told them. ‘Must’ve happened right at the top of the house.’
Like Tom, Eddie didn’t much fancy the prospect of tangling with Blackbeard again. ‘That must be out of bounds,’ he said. ‘What will we do if we get caught?’
Adam gave a shrug. ‘Just say we got lost.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ scoffed Eddie. ‘They’re likely to believe that, aren’t they?’
‘So what? The coaches don’t scare me. But ghosts – now that’s different.’
‘No such things as ghosts,’ Eddie told him.
‘What, not even ones that do cross country?’ grinned Adam, slipping him a wink. ‘Right, up we go. After you, GG.’
‘Why me?’
‘’Cos you’re the one who suggested this ghost-huntin’ lark, that’s why.’
‘It’s not because you’re frightened then, Foxy?’
Adam pushed Gareth forwards, and he tripped over the bottom step. ‘That’s right, make loads of noise. Warn everyone we’re comin’.’
‘Who?’
‘Well, all them ghosties for a start. We don’t want to scare ’em away, do we!’
Gareth led the way cautiously up the next flight of wooden stairs. ‘Wish they wouldn’t creak so much,’ he hissed.
Adam chuckled. ‘Watch any ghost film – the stairs always creak.’
‘Anybody there?’ asked Eddie from behind, as they reached the next landing.
‘You make it sound like we’re holdin’ a séance. Is anybody there? Knock twice for yes…’
Adam didn’t get any further. The sound of two bangs came from somewhere along the corridor and the boys fled, thumping down the stairs like an avalanche of rocks, and then making a dash for their room.
They threw themselves onto the bunks and waited, hearts in mouths, for any sound of pursuit. When the door began to open, they froze, watching in horror.
Tom walked in. ‘Thought you lot were chasing ghosts,’ he said, smirking. ‘Get cold feet, did you?’
‘Rubbish!’ snorted Adam.
‘There was nothing up there so we came back down,’ Gareth lied.
‘Might even make a start on our diaries,’ said Eddie.
‘I don’t know what to put in mine,’ Tom admitted.
‘Just make it up,’ said Adam. ‘That’s what I did at Easter. Write how you beat Wonder Boy in the cross country. Nobody’s gonna bother readin’ it.’
‘Can’t take the risk,’ Tom said. ‘Anyway, I don’t mind coming last. If you go at your own pace, you get more time to admire the view.’
‘So what did the snail see that the fox missed?’ Adam sneered.
‘Well, all those graves on the island for a start.’
‘Even I saw them,’ said Eddie.
‘OK, so what about that statue near the lake?’ asked Tom. ‘Bet none of you had the chance to read the name on its base.’
They all looked at each other blankly.
‘Gareth Taffy Jones,’ Tom said smugly, putting on an accent. ‘He’s Welsh, see, boyos, just like Blackbeard.’
‘Taffy Jones!’ exclaimed Gareth, shocked. ‘He was a friend of Gramps at school here. I’m named after him.’
‘You called Taffy as well, then?’ asked Eddie.
‘No, I’m not Welsh, despite my surname being Davies,’ said Gareth. ‘But Taffy won loads of medals in his athletics career. Big star, he was, in his day.’
‘Never heard of him,’ Adam snorted. ‘I’m no good at ancient history.’
‘Well, Gramps will tell you all about him.’
‘Guess old Taffy might even be buried on that island,’ said Eddie. ‘I wonder…’