'I shall see to it directly,' said Mr Fletcher. 'The internal combustion engine certainly could do with some improvements.'

'But... look ... machines aren't alive, so how can they have ghosts?'

'But zey have existence,' said Einstein. 'From mo- ment to moment. Zo, we

find the right moment, yes?'

'Sounds a bit occult,' said Johnny.

'No! It is physicsl It is beyond physics. It is—' he waved both hands excitedly, 'metaphysics. From the Greek meta, meaning "beyond", and physika, meaning ... er ...'

'Physics,' said Mr Vicenti.

'Exactly!'

'Nothing ever finishes. Nothing's ever really over.'

It was Johnny who said that. He was surprised at himself.

'Correct! Are you a physicist?'

'Me?' said Johnny. 'I don't know anything about science!'

'Marvellous! Ideal qualification!' said Einstein.

'What?'

'Ignorance is very important! It is an absolutely essential step in the learning process!'

Mr Fletcher twiddled the ghost of a tuning knob.

'Well, we're all right now,' he said, watching a programme in what sounded like Spanish. 'Over here, everyone!'

'How very interesting,' said Mrs Liberty, dress- ing herself in the blink of an eye. 'Miniature cinematography?'

When Johnny left they were all in front of the busted television, arguing over what to watch ...

Except for Mr Grimm. He stood a little apart, hands folded obediently, watching them.

'There will be trouble because of this,' he said. 'This is disobedience. Meddling with the physical.'

He had a small moustache as well as glasses and, in daylight, Johnny saw that the lenses were those thick ones that seem to hide the person's eyes.

'There'll be trouble,' he said again. 'And it will be your fault, John Maxwell. You're getting them excited. Is this any way for the dead to behave?' Two invisible eyes followed him. 'Mr Grimm?' said Johnny. 'Yes?' 'Who are you?'

'That's none of your business.'

'No, but it's just that everyone else always talks | about—'

7 happen to believe in decency. I believe life J should be taken seriously. There is a proper way ; to conduct oneself. / certainly don't intend to indulge in this foolish behaviour.'

'I didn't mean to—'

Mr Grimm turned around and walked stiffly to his little stone under the trees. He sat down with his arms folded, and glared at Johnny.

'No good will come of it,' he said.

He said he'd been to see a specialist. That was always a good one. Teachers generally didn't ask any more questions.

At break, Wobbler had News.

'My mum said there's going to be a big meet- ing about it in the Civic Centre tonight, with television there and everything.'

'It won't do any good,' said Yo-less. 'It's been going on for ages. It's too late. There's been all kinds of inquiries and stuff.'

'I asked my mum about building things on old graveyards and she says they have to get a vicar in to desecrate the site first,' said Wobbler. 'That should be worth seeing.'

'It's de-consecrate,' said Yo-less. 'Desecrate is all to do with sacrificing goats and things.'

Wobbler looked wistful.

'I suppose there's no chance—'

'None!'

'I'm going to go along tonight,' said Johnny. 'And you lot ought to come.'

'It won't do any good,' said Yo-less.

'Yes it will,' said Johnny.

'Look, the place has still been sold,' said Yo-less. 'I know you're sort of wound up about it, but it's all over.'

'Going along will still do some good.' He knew it, in the same way he'd known the Pals were important. Not for reasons. Just-because it was.

'Will there be any... freak winds?' said Bigmac.

'How do / know? Shouldn't think so. They're all watching television.'

The other three exchanged glances.

'The dead are watching television?' said Wobbler.

'That's right. And I know you're all trying to think of funny things to say. Just don't say them. They're watching television. They've made an old TV set work.'

'Well, I suppose it passes the time,' said Wobbler.

'I don't think they experience time like we do,' said Johnny.

Yo-less slid down off the wall.

'Talking of time,' he said, 'I'm not sure tomor- row would be a good time to go hanging around cemeteries.'

'Why not?' said Bigmac.

'You know what day it is?'

'Tuesday,' said Johnny.

'Halloween,' said Wobbler. 'You're all coming to my party, remember?'

'Whoops,' said Bigmac.

'The principle is astonishingly simple,' said Mr Fletcher. 'A tiny point of light! That's all it is! Whizzing backwards and forwards inside a glass bottle. Basically it's a thermionic valve. Much easier to control than sound waves—'

'Excuse me,' said Mrs Liberty. 'When you stand in front of the screen you make the picture go blurred.'

'Sorry.' Mr Fletcher went back and sat down. 'What's happening now?'

The dead were ranged in rows, fascinated.

'Mr McKenzie has told Dawn that Janine can't go to Doraleen's party,' said William Stickers, with- out taking his eyes off the screen.

'I must say,' said the Alderman, 'I thought Australia was a bit different. More kangaroos and fewer young women in unsuitable clothing.'

'I'm quite happy with the young women,' said William Stickers.

'Mr Stickers! For shame! You're deadV

'But I have a very good memory, Mrs Liberty.'

'Oh. Is it over?' said Solomon Einstein, as the credits rolled up the screen and the Cobbers theme tune rolled over the canal. 'But there iss the mystery of who took the money from Mick's coat!'

'The man in the television just said there will be another performance tomorrow,' said Mrs Liberty. 'We must be sure not to miss it.'

'It is getting dark,' said Mr Vicenti, from the back of the group. 'Time we were getting back.'

no

The dead looked across at the cemetery. 'If we want to go, that is,' he added. He was smiling faintly.

The dead were silent. Then the Alderman said, 'Well, I'm blowed if I'm going back in there.' 'Thomas Bowler!' snapped Mrs Liberty. 'Well, if a man can't swear when he's dead, it's a poor lookout. Blowed, blowed, blowed. And damn,' said the Alderman. 'I mean, look, will you? There's radio and television and all sorts. There's things going on! I don't see why we should go back in there. It's dull. No way.' 'No way?'

William Stickers nudged Mrs Liberty. 'That's Australian for "certainly not",' he whispered.

'But staying where we're put is proper' said Mrs Liberty. 'We have to stay where we've been put—' 'Ahem.'

It was Mr Grimm. The dead looked at their feet.

'I entirely agree,' he said. 'Oh. Hello, Eric,' said the Alderman coldly. Eric Grimm folded his hands on his chest and beamed at them. This worried even the dead. The thickness of his glasses somehow made his eyes get lost, so that all that was on the other side of them was pinkness.

'Will you listen to what you are saying?' he said. 'You're dead. Act your age. It's over.' He waved a finger. 'You know what will happen if you leave. You know what will happen if you're too long

in

away. It's dreadful to think about, isn't it? You're letting this idiot child get you all upset.'

The dead tried not to meet his gaze. When you were dead, there were some things that you knew, in the same way that when you were alive you knew about breathing. It was that a day would come. And you had to be prepared. There'd be a final sunrise, and you had to face it, and be ready.

A final sunrise. The day of judgement. It could be any day. You had to be ready.

'Not gallivanting offapeing your juniors,' said Mr Grimm, who seemed to read their thoughts. 'We're dead. So we wait here, like decent people. Not go dabbling in the Ordinary.' - The dead shuffled their feet.

'Well, I've waited eighty years,' said the Alderman, at last. 'If it happens tonight, it happens. I'm going to go and have a look around. Anyone else coming?'