The House of Clouds Read online

  First published in 2020 in Great Britain by

  Barrington Stoke Ltd

  18 Walker Street, Edinburgh, EH3 7LP

  This ebook edition first published in 2020

  www.barringtonstoke.co.uk

  Text © 2020 Lisa Thompson

  The moral right of Lisa Thompson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in any part in any form without the written permission of the publisher

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library upon request

  ISBN: 978-1-80090-000-4

  To Paul and Nick

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 1

  Grandad’s dog, Buster, was so embarrassing. He was a small, scruffy terrier, and he barked at everything. He also smelt of damp old socks, which made our house smell too.

  Grandad and Buster came to live with us a few months ago. The doggy smell was always the first thing I noticed when I got home from school. Then one day I noticed something else as well. An ugly white rail had appeared on the wall beside our front door.

  “Don’t forget Buster’s walk, Tabitha!” Grandad shouted as soon as I walked in. I huffed and dropped my school bag down by the bottom of the stairs.

  “Yes, Grandad!” I yelled back. “And it’s Tabby, not Tabitha,” I said under my breath.

  Mum appeared from Grandad’s room carrying a tray. “Hello, love,” she said to me. “Everything OK?”

  “What’s that thing by the front door, Mum?” I asked. “It looks awful!”

  “It’s to help your grandad get up and down the step,” Mum said. “We can’t risk him having another fall.”

  “But Grandad doesn’t go anywhere!” I snapped. “He just sits in his room and looks at his maps all day.” And takes up space in our house, I thought. But I didn’t say that bit out loud.

  Mum and Dad had converted our dining room into a bedroom for Grandad. They put his bed exactly where our dining table used to be. At dinner time we had to cram around a tiny table in the kitchen. Grandad ate his meal in an armchair, from a tray on his lap.

  “For a start,” said Mum, “the rail will help me get him to the car when I take him to his appointments.”

  A glossy leaflet for walk in baths lay on the hall table. On the front was an old lady wearing a pink dressing gown. My stomach sank.

  “We’re not getting one of those baths, are we?!” I said.

  Mum rubbed her forehead.

  “I don’t know yet,” she said. “Try to be a bit more considerate, Tabby. Things are hard enough as it is.”

  Everything changed when Grandad came to live with us. Mum had to give up her job at the doctor’s surgery so that she could look after him. Then weird things began appearing around the house. First it was a grey walking frame that stood beside the fridge and got in everybody’s way. Then a horrible padded seat was fixed onto our downstairs toilet. Dad said it was so that Grandad could be as independent as possible, but he still didn’t seem able to do anything on his own. Mum always had to help Grandad, and she didn’t have time for anyone else.

  “Tabitha? Are you there?” Grandad called. “Buster is waiting for his walk.”

  “Coming, Grandad,” I moaned back. Mum gave me a stern look as she went to the kitchen. It was my job to take Grandad’s stinky dog for a walk each day after school, and I hated it. I went into Grandad’s room.

  “Ah! There you are!” said Grandad, smiling. He had one of his maps spread out over his lap. “I would love to see Japan one day, wouldn’t you?” Grandad tapped his finger on the map. “I hear they have the most wonderful cherry blossom in the spring. What a sight that would be.”

  I shrugged. “I guess,” I said. Buster waddled over towards me, his tail wagging. He knew that when I got home it meant walkies time.

  “I think I’ll put that on my list,” said Grandad, picking up a notebook that he kept beside him.

  I watched as Grandad wrote Japan in shaky writing. There were ten places on the list, including Alaska and The Isle of Bute. These were all places Grandad wanted to visit one day. But I didn’t think it was likely, considering he found it difficult to get to the bathroom. Grandad hadn’t travelled at all, apart from a few holidays in Spain with my nana, who died long before I was born. He’d been on his own ever since.

  I turned to go, but Grandad started talking again.

  “Have I ever told you about my ship in a bottle?” he said.

  Grandad always did this: he told me to take Buster for a walk, but he wanted to chat at the same time.

  “Yes, Grandad,” I said. He’d told me about his ship in a bottle at least a hundred times.

  “That ship was made by some very skilled craftsmen,” said Grandad, ignoring what I’d just said. His eyes twinkled as he got ready to explain the twist in the tale.

  “Did you know that—” Grandad began.

  “It was made by specially trained bumble bees?” I interrupted him, rolling my eyes. “Yes, Grandad. You’ve already told me. Many times.”

  Grandad’s ridiculous stories got on my nerves, but he just grinned and clapped his hands together.

  “That’s right!” he said. “The pieces of the ship were placed inside the glass bottle, and then the bees set to work with their tiny hammers and nails. They were so small they could fit inside, you see? It’s a marvellous thing, don’t you think?”

  I glanced at the old ship in a bottle standing at the front of a shelf. The glass of the bottle was tinted green, and inside was a little wooden ship, complete with rigging and sails. It was very clever, and I had no idea how the ship had been pushed inside the narrow neck. But I knew it definitely hadn’t been made by bees.

  I sighed. Grandad seemed to think I was six, not twelve.

  “I’d better get going, Grandad,” I said.

  I went to the hallway and took Buster’s lead off the hook by the front door. He quickly trotted after me. As I clipped the lead onto his collar, he brushed against my hand, and I wiped it on my school trousers. Buster’s fur was disgusting. It was really greasy, with scaly flakes stuck in it. Mum kept saying she’d take him to the vets, but she’d been so busy with Grandad she hadn’t had a chance.

  “Come on then, Stink,” I said to the dog. “Let’s get this over with.” I opened the front door, and we headed down to the beach.

  Chapter 2

  I planned to take my normal route: down to the pier, turn left past the beach huts, on to the shingle beach (that allows dogs), up the steps, over the field, across the car park and home. I could do the whole loop in about twenty five minutes if Buster didn’t keep stopping.

  We turned right at the end of my road, and I stopped. On the pavement in front of us was a blue wheelie bin.

  “Oh no,” I groaned.

  Buster spotted it and began to yap very loudly. For some unknown reason, Buster got very angry with blue wheelie bins. Every time he barked, his feet left the ground. He looked just like a plastic wind up dog toy I had when I was small.

  “Shut up, Buster!” I said as I pulled on his lead.

  He crouched down low, dug his paws into the pavement and did a deep growl. Then he started jumping and barking again. A curtain twitched, and a woman looked out of her window.

  “Buster, I said be quiet!” I yelled again, tugging on his lead.


  “You shouldn’t pull your dog like that,” a voice said.

  I looked across the road. It was Alex Walters from my form. I ignored him. Alex was a bit of a weirdo. With any luck he’d just go away.

  I turned and tried to drag Buster back towards home. He wasn’t going to go for a walk at all if he was going to behave like this. But Buster strained against the lead and wouldn’t budge. He was surprisingly strong for a small dog.

  “Just yanking his lead isn’t going to help,” said Alex, appearing beside me. “What you’ve got to remember is that dogs bark for a reason.”

  I could barely hear Alex above Buster’s noise.

  “Figure out why he’s barking, then you can work on a solution to stop him,” said Alex.

  Buster had gone back to deep growling now. I guessed he was beginning to wear himself out.

  “He’s barking because he’s an idiot,” I said.

  Alex blinked at me. I thought he was a bit shocked I could talk about an animal like that, but I didn’t care.

  “I don’t think he is an idiot,” said Alex. He crouched down and tickled Buster on the head. “Are you, boy?”

  Buster instantly stopped growling and spun around, licking Alex’s hand.

  “See?” Alex said. “He just wanted a head rub, didn’t you, little fella?”

  Buster’s eyes went all droopy as Alex tickled him around his ears.

  “But you might want to take him to the vet,” Alex went on. “I think he might have some kind of skin condition.”

  “Right, well, thanks for your help,” I said, checking the road. “Come on, Buster, let’s go.” I quickly crossed the street with Buster trotting beside me, leaving Alex behind.

  When we got to the pier, Buster stopped to lick up an ice cream that had been dropped beside one of those “grab a soft toy” machines. As I waited, I stared at the mound of stuffed fluffy frogs behind the glass. They’d been crammed in so tightly, the chances of picking one up with the silver claw seemed pretty unlikely.

  “Sugar isn’t good for dogs, you know,” a familiar voice called out. It was Alex again. He must have followed me. The ice cream had all gone and Buster was now licking the pavement.

  “At least he’s cleaning up the mess,” I said.

  Alex smiled.

  There was a scream and laughter coming from the sandy beach down on the right of the pier. We both looked over, and I spotted a crowd of kids from our year. They went to the beach most days after school. Rebecca Hayes was running to the water’s edge. The sea splashed up her legs, and she let out a squeal. It was early November, so it must have been freezing. Lily Carter was sitting on the sand, weaving her hair into a plait.

  Rebecca and I used to be really good friends, but last summer her family had gone on holiday with Lily’s family. They’d been inseparable ever since. Apparently, Rebecca and Lily were going to France together for Christmas as well. That would never happen with my family. Not now we’d got Grandad and a stupid dog to look after.

  Alex was tickling Buster’s ears again.

  “It looks like some kind of dermatitis that he’s got,” Alex said. “I think we’ve got a medicated shampoo at home that would help.”

  Buster sat down and pressed himself against Alex’s leg. Alex tickled him under his armpit. Buster pressed against my leg sometimes, but I never stroked him.

  “How do you know so much about dogs?” I said.

  “My mum’s a vet,” said Alex. “I want to be a vet too one day. Did you know it takes longer to train to be a vet than it does to be a doctor?”

  I shook my head.

  “Doctors learn about the human body,” Alex went on, “but vets have to learn about a variety of animals. A cat is going to need different care to a hamster. It makes sense when you think about it.”

  It did make sense, but I didn’t say anything.

  The screaming and shouting from the beach got louder. Alex gazed over at the group. I wasn’t sure who his friends were. I always saw him on his own.

  “Animals are a lot easier to deal with than human beings, don’t you think?” Alex said.

  I just shrugged. I was worried that Rebecca or Lily might spot me, so I decided to keep walking.

  “I’d better get going,” I said.

  Alex quickly ruffled the top of Buster’s head.

  “I’ll find some of that dog shampoo if you like?” he said. “I don’t mind helping you bath him.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said. But there was no way I was going to give Buster a bath.

  I pulled Buster away, and he trotted beside me as we headed towards the beach huts.

  Chapter 3

  I let Buster off his lead, and he ran down onto the beach as I walked along the promenade. He never went near the sea, but he had a good sniff around the pebbles. As I walked, I read the names of the beach huts, even though I’d read them a thousand times before.

  “Surf Shack, Beach Nut, Mary’s Place, Ship Shape,” I said out loud. Some of the names were supposed to be funny, but they didn’t make me laugh. “Little Crab, Ahoy There, Vitamin Sea.”

  The huts were painted in different pastel shades, and each name sign was nailed to the peak of the roof. Some people had even painted little pictures on the signs, like a deckchair or a fish. I stopped at a hut called “Carter’s Crazy Cabin”, which belonged to Lily’s family. I peered into the window.

  Along one side was a sky blue bench with a white padded seat. At the back of the hut was a table with a camp stove, a kettle and an assortment of cups and plates. Hanging around the walls were strings of pink and white bunting. Everything you’d need for a day at the beach was stacked in the corner: folding chairs, beach towels, a kite, a deflated rubber boat and some bats and balls. Last summer, Rebecca and Lily had posted loads of photos of themselves at the beach hut. It had felt like they’d been there every single week.

  Buster began yapping at the waves. He ran back and forth, his tail wagging as he barked. He was such an idiot. I got to the end of the beach huts and called him.

  “Buster! Come on! Come up here!”

  The little dog scampered across the pebbles and up the wooden steps to meet me. When he got to the top, he stopped and let me clip on his lead before we carried on.

  The further we walked, the more rough and rocky the beach became. The pebbles turned into large boulders, and there were no more pretty beach huts. No one really came to this end of the beach, only fishermen and the occasional jogger. Up on the headland was a single house that faced out to the grey sea. It had been abandoned for years, and its dark windows looked like blank unseeing eyes.

  Buster and I turned left into the field that led to a car park. As we walked, we went past a dirt track that led to the empty clifftop house on the headland. Buster knew our route and pulled me towards the car park, but I stopped.

  “Hang on a minute, Buster,” I said. “Let’s go and take a look at the house, shall we?”

  I’d never walked up the path before, and I don’t know why I suddenly decided to do it then. I wasn’t even sure if I’d be trespassing.

  “Come on, we won’t be long,” I said, and I walked along the dirt track with Buster plodding beside me.

  Chapter 4

  At the end of the track was a wall of long grass and weeds. I stopped and stared at the house. It was much larger than it looked from the beach, and it had two pale green turrets on the roof. A rusty weather vane spun in the wind on one of the turrets. The only weather vanes I had seen before had a chicken or a cockerel in the middle, but this one had the shape of the sun peeking out from behind a cloud.

  Buster sat down beside me and began to whine.

  “Let’s take a closer look,” I said. “Just five more minutes.”

  As we walked towards the house, the weeds scratched against my legs, and Buster vanished. I only knew he was still there because his movements swayed the long grass beside me.

  We emerged at the front of the house, and Buster gave himself a good shake. A bundle of post
was poking out of the letterbox, and I relaxed a bit. If anyone was home, surely they would have taken the mail in?

  I looked up. The brickwork of the house had once been painted white, but it was peeling off and underneath I could see dark grey plaster.

  “Let’s take a look around the side,” I said to Buster. He couldn’t understand me, but talking to him made me feel less nervous.

  At the side of the house was an old car missing two front wheels, with a big dent in the bonnet. Beside the car was a barn. It was made of black corrugated sheets of metal, and out of one side came a large shiny silver funnel that curled and pointed up into the sky.

  “What’s that?” I said, staring up at the funnel. “It looks like a giant trumpet.” The barn had two wide doors at the end, and beside them was a small circular window.

  “I’m going to take a look inside,” I said to Buster.

  The window was covered with a thick film of dirt, so I used the sleeve of my jumper to clean a small patch to look through. I blinked into the gloom. In the centre of the barn was a large shape covered with grey sheeting. Ropes snaked out from beneath the sheeting, tied to silver hoops that were cemented to the ground. Large faded sheets of paper were pinned to one wall, covered in complicated diagrams. Below them was a desk scattered with pens, papers, binoculars and a few objects I didn’t recognise. Beside the desk was a shelving unit stuffed with cardboard boxes. I could just make out some of the words printed on the front of the boxes: rain gauge, anemometer, thermometers.

  A glass cabinet stood beside the large, bulging shape under the sheeting. Something glinted behind the cabinet doors. At first I thought it was silver cups or maybe trophies. But then I realised exactly what was inside.

  On each of the three shelves were dozens of knives, propped up as if they were on display in a museum.

  They were not the kind of knives that you would use to eat your dinner, but sharp gleaming daggers. Some of the knives had ornate swirls and patterns carved into their shiny blades and some had twisted wooden handles. There were large ones like swords and smaller ones the size of my palm. All of them looked incredibly sharp.