The Golden Day Read Online Free

Thompson.’
    Could you have a ghost outside, in a garden? Cubby had always thought that ghosts were only found in houses, creeping up stairways, hiding in cupboards.
    ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts,’ said Icara.
    ‘Yes there is,’ said Martine. ‘I’ve seen one.’
    Bethany sat up straight.
    ‘Where?’
    ‘At home,’ said Martine, in a matter-of-fact way. ‘On the Isle of Pines.’
    The Isle of Pines! Tell us, tell us, tell us. They bent towards her. Tell us.
    ‘It was my grandmother,’ said Martine, pleased with the attention. ‘She was dead for three years already, but I saw her. It was at night. She went into my father’s bedroom, where he was sleeping. I crept in and watched.’
    ‘What happened?’
    ‘Nothing happened. She just lay there on the bed next to him,’ said Martine, ‘like a cat.’
    That was it?
    ‘Then what happened?’
    ‘Then she just got up and went away.’
    ‘Did she walk through the wall?’
    Martine shook her head. She was bored with the story now.
    ‘I don’t remember. She just wasn’t there any more.’ She straightened up the frills on her socks. ‘It was not so special. Everyone sees ghosts on the Isle of Pines. It’s normal.’
    Normal?
    ‘It was just your imagination,’ said Cubby, looking at Icara, hoping. ‘Wasn’t it?’
    ‘I don’t have any imagination,’ Martine pointed out smugly.
    ‘Miss Renshaw said so.’
    The four girls were sick of sitting. Shifting like spoonfuls of sticky toffee, they got up from the grass. They drifted together towards the duck pond and stood with their arms resting on the railing, watching the duck families swimming forwards and backwards. The black water swirled below them.
    Maybe there are ghosts, thought Cubby. Maybe they’re like the feet of the ducks. They’re there underneath, there in the dark, and we just can’t see them…
    ‘Let’s go and find Miss Renshaw,’ said Bethany.
    They made their way up one of the several winding paths, half-slipping on the leaves underfoot, through the overhanging trees that were heavy with the smell of drowsy fruit bats. It didn’t take them long. Miss Renshaw and the other seven little girls were sitting with Morgan, cross-legged in a circle under the fig tree. When Miss Renshaw saw them, she waved. She seemed excited.
    ‘Girls! Where have you been? We’ve been looking for you.
    Sit down, quickly and quietly. Q and Q.’
    Cubby, Icara, Martine and Bethany squeezed themselves into the circle. Morgan rubbed his beard, and smiled, but seriously.
    ‘Welcome,’ he said, in his owl’s voice.
    ‘Morgan is going to take us somewhere special today, girls,’ said Miss Renshaw. ‘You are very lucky.’
    ‘Ouch!’ said Bethany loudly. Then she whispered, ‘Sorry, an ant bit me.’
    Miss Renshaw frowned.
    ‘This is a sad day, as you know, girls,’ she reminded them.
    ‘A very sad day.’
    The little girls tried to remember the sad day. That’s right. Ronald Ryan. But already thoughts of Ronald Ryan had flown away like feathers.
    ‘So that’s why we are going to do something very special,’ Miss Renshaw went on, ‘to help us remember this sad day. Now, listen to Morgan.’
    Listen to Morgan, listen to Morgan. It was easy to listen to Morgan and his deep, bubbling words and his wispy hair floating over his eyes...
    ‘There are many secret places,’ Morgan said, looking around the circle, but somehow not really looking at them. ‘So many hidden spots along the harbour, places nobody knows about.’
    ‘You know about them,’ said Georgina.
    ‘It’s just a way of speaking, Georgina,’ said Miss Renshaw, irritated. ‘Don’t interrupt.’
    ‘Places hardly anyone knows about,’ Morgan corrected himself.
    Caves, he said, hidden caves with Aboriginal paintings from the Dreamtime, thousands of years old, he said.
    ‘We know about the Dreamtime,’ said the tallest Elizabeth. ‘Last year in Term One we did fairy tales, in Term Two we did Greek myths and in Term Three we