CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE PAST PARTICIPATING

Jonny stared at the empty sandpit for a few moments, and then tiptoed out of his room. It was very early, his mum was in bed, but a sound made him pause on the stairs. It was a burp! A huge one!

He only knew one person who burped like that!

‘Ted?’ Jonny whispered.

Was he home?

Jonny peeped into the kitchen. There was no one there. He felt a tiny flash of disappointment, which was odd. It lasted just a second, though. He shrugged and poured himself some milk.

Back in his room, he was lying in bed with his eyes closed when suddenly goosebumps prickled on his neck. He had the very strong and extremely unpleasant sense that he was being watched.

He told himself that was silly. Hari had left, Ted wasn’t here and his mum was fast asleep. But the unnerving feeling carried on and …

Breathing! Jonny could definitely hear breathing.

Now the goosebumps spread down his arms like a pimply Mexican wave. Slowly, slowly, he opened his eyes and …

‘MEUURRGGHH . . .!’ Jonny said, in a half-screaming, half-choking sort of way.

A huge man was standing next to his bed with hands on hips and legs apart. He had a greyish look about him, but maybe that was just the weak early morning light.

The man leaned towards Jonny, his jewelled cape falling about his broad shoulders. A finger adorned with a giant ruby ring was pointing straight at him. He leaned so close that Jonny could make out a few grey hairs in his gingery beard and see his small eyes glinting angrily. Then Jonny noticed that he wasn’t so much standing as floating, just a few centimetres off the floor.

‘BOO!’ said the man, before laughing so much the feather in his cap joggled. Then he looked around the room as if he had friends with him. There was no one there. Perhaps he was used to an audience?

‘Did you see that?’ he asked. ‘Nearly peed his breeches! Look at him gawking! Come along, young squire! Be a man!’

‘I’m only nine,’ Jonny spluttered.

‘Expect you’ve never seen a ghost before?’

Jonny shook his head.

‘Never seen a king before, either,’ said the man.

Jonny shook his head again.

‘Queen?’

‘No,’ squeaked Jonny.

‘Duke? Bishop?’

‘Sorry, no,’ said Jonny.

‘Well, it’s your lucky day! Henry the Eighth, Tudor king, English legend, at your service.’

Henry held out his hand for Jonny to shake, but when Jonny took it the hand melted into air.

‘I’m Jonny,’ said Jonny in a tiny, breathless voice. ‘And you’re Henry the Eighth’s ghost?’

‘The very same,’ said Henry. ‘Wondering how I got here?’

Jonny nodded rapidly. Henry sat down on the bed – well, hover-sat – and made himself comfy.

‘I’ve got a man,’ said Henry.

‘A man?’ whispered Jonny.

‘Yes, he’s a secretary.’

‘A secretary man?’

‘Yes, he’s on the Other Side now, but I employed him when he was alive too. Thomas Cromwell. He was my master secretary. Very good at getting things done. You want a new wife but you’re still married … that kind of thing. He just –’ Henry did an impatient little sweeping motion with his hand – ‘sorts it out!’

‘Oh,’ was all Jonny could manage.

‘Now, I had been in a bad temper about being dead for, ooh, a few hundred years at least. Not much fun, you see? I had tried to return to dear old England before, but it always ended pretty poorly. Everyone was terrified. So I says to Crommers, “I want to try the living world again – can you get me in?” And Crommers says, “There’s a lad looking for a new brother. Open-minded little fellow. Not a bit bothered by ghosts, it says here on the application. Could Your Majesty do that?” “Of course,” says I. I used to have a brother, although he died years ago. They all die, you know. Tragic really …’

Henry stroked his red beard thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Anyway, that is how I come to be here before you. I am to be a brother. Your brother!’

Jonny was dumbstruck. He couldn’t believe Henry was there, and he certainly didn’t remember saying he was happy to have a ghost when he sent his form to Sibling Swap. What was going on?

‘Do they have the internet in the afterlife?’ he whispered, but Henry didn’t seem to hear him.

‘Methinks I shall make an excellent brother for you, young Nonny,’ he said. ‘I remember being a boy. Well, sort of. It was over five hundred years ago, after all! But I definitely have the impression that it was all jolly japes and wrestling and pie eating and the like. So huzzah for that! We shall have such sport.’

‘Great!’ said Jonny weakly.

‘You don’t sound very pleased,’ said Henry, narrowing his eyes to menacing slits. ‘Are you complaining? I hate complainers!’

‘No! No! Sorry, Mr Sir Majesty Sir,’ said Jonny.

‘Good,’ said Henry, cheerful again. ‘You have nothing to fear. You’re probably thinking Henry the Eighth, he’s a king and immensely powerful and terrifying, et cetera. It’s true, I used to be quite a tough customer, always chopping off people’s heads and fighting the pope.’

He chuckled to himself. ‘But, actually, I’ve mellowed quite a bit in my old age. I’m more concerned with having fun than warring with the French or finding a new wife. That all rather took it out of me. I used to comfort eat, you know. Terrible really. Not good for one’s waistline! Those wives would have me reaching for the mutton, I can tell you. I had six wives. Six! Not a lot of people know that.’

Jonny stared up at him, speechless, as Henry rambled on. He couldn’t believe the ghost of Henry VIII was in his room. Or that this deceased king was supposed to fill the brother gap that Hari had created. What was Sibling Swap playing at? Jonny wasn’t sure he wanted Henry VIII’s ghost for a new brother, but what could he say? The guy was royalty!

‘Now then!’ said Henry. ‘Stop looking so lily-livered and show me your manor house. Come along now. Chop-chop! That’s just my little jest! Geddit? Chop-chop! Chopping off heads? Oh, never mind.’

Jonny paused on the landing. ‘My mum will be up soon,’ he said, ‘and …’

‘Never fear!’ said Henry. ‘Only you can see me. She won’t be able to. I’ll make sure of it. I can control who sees me and who doesn’t. Just a little ghostly talent of mine. Told you I was a legend! Now, lead me to the cook’s quarters. I’m famished.’