Time of the Ghost by Diana Wynne Jones

Author:Diana Wynne Jones [Jones, Diana Wynne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Juvenile Fiction, Horror & Ghost Stories, family, Siblings, Action & Adventure, Fantasy & Magic, General, Fantasy, Fiction
ISBN: 9780062200839
Google: 6bblPfSZ_1wC
Amazon: B006L7RNWY
Goodreads: 34288
Publisher: HarperTrophy
Published: 1981-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Nine

« ^ »

There was peace to think again. Sally—no, she was not Sally, she must be Imogen or Fenella—hung among the buzzing flies in the empty kitchen room, trying to consider some of the things she now knew. But as before, her intelligence as a ghost seemed as limited as a narrow torch beam. What was outside it hardly seemed to exist. The flies seemed to exist more, and the fading breakfast smells from beyond the green door.

None of the sisters seemed to be awake yet. There was silence apart from the flies and a distant hum from School. Outside the window the apple trees gusted and the hens pecked in one of those windswept, hot gray days when every color looks bleak and

ordinary. It was ominous, as if the day was expecting something.

From time to time the windows were covered with blisters of the fine rain.

The ghost hung, trying to recapture some of the seven years

between now and the hospital. It was a time of fruitless mistakes.

It had been dominated on one hand by Himself, always angry but seldom there, and on the other hand by Julian Addiman, always laughing, always demanding more and more. Between them she

had scarcely been a person. At first she had tried to please them both, until it was obvious she could never please Himself; he was just not interested enough. After that she had devoted herself wholly to pleasing the demanding Julian Addiman. She had gone to art school, Cart had said. That seemed to be true. She had a fuzzy memory that Julian Addiman had decided on that. He said it made a good excuse to live near him in London. She could not live with him. He lived with his parents.

But art school. What was that like? By turning the narrow beam of her attention on that as hard as she could, she recalled a time of being lost and shamed. There were a host of brilliant painters and wildly good young artists, who could all talk intelligently about what they were doing. She could not talk like that. And as an artist she knew she was stuck at what was good for a child, but rather feeble in a grown student. She was only there because of Julian Addiman.

She wondered if she had become as dismal and discontented as the grown-up Sally. She rather feared she had. She had blamed Julian Addiman for it. But she had known it was her fault for letting Julian Addiman take her over like this. And she had decided to break with him. She knew she had to if she was ever to do anything of her own accord. But she was afraid to do it. Julian Addiman had outbursts of frightening violence if she did anything he did not want. That was how he came to fling her out of his car.

He was going to South Africa. His father had found him a job there. His father found him everything, even the car he had thrown her out of.

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