Squishy Taylor and the Vase That Wasn't

  For Jimmie and Goldie – and your ridiculous, brave, loving mama.

  – Ailsa

  For Tim, the best twin brother I have.

  – Ben

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  About the author and illustrator

  Copyright Page

  I slip off my shoes at the door and swing them by the laces. The foyer of our apartment building is pretty much like an ice-skating rink if your shoes are off. I launch into a massive skid to the lift, finishing in a crouch like a surfer.

  My bonus sister Vee slides her schoolbag after me and follows, stumbling over as she catches up. Her twin Jessie walks in normally behind us. I call them my bonus sisters because they were the bonus when I moved in with my dad and their mum.

  Mostly they’re an awesome bonus. Like now. Vee is lying on the floor laughing and when I try to pull her up, she just slides along on her back. It makes me laugh until I’m gasping.

  As she finally stands up, the lift slides open.

  There’s a man inside, shouting into his phone. ‘It’s gone! It’s gone!’ he says as he steps out of the lift. ‘I’ve been burgled … Yeah, exactly, or haunted!’

  His eyes are big and he’s got a crazy half-smile on his face. ‘It just … disappeared!’ he says.

  ‘What disappeared?’ Jessie asks, sounding like a grown-up. She steps up beside us with her schoolbag neatly on her back.

  She’s the oldest, but only by forty-seven minutes. Vee is staring at the man and I’m trying not to laugh.

  ‘My vase,’ the man says into his phone. ‘My great-grandmother’s Ming Dynasty vase.’

  ‘Stolen?’ I ask out loud, thinking about when our next-door neighbour was burgled.

  ‘No, disappeared,’ the man says to me, waving his phone. ‘My doors were locked. Nothing else had moved. It was like a ghost had been there.’

  He sounds weirdly excited. Then he notices his phone and puts it back to his ear. He seems to realise that he’s been talking about ghosts to three schoolkids.

  ‘Sorry, I got distracted,’ he says into his phone. ‘Yes. The police! I should go to the police.’ He stumbles through the foyer doors and out into the street.

  Jessie swipes her card and presses the lift button, while we watch the man dithering on the footpath.

  I giggle and want to keep watching, but Jessie pulls us into the lift.

  ‘I don’t know why he didn’t just phone the police,’ Jessie says.

  This is so weird. The cool kind of weird. I do the man’s crazy grin and flapping hands and say, ‘Haunted!’ It comes out half like the man and half like Scooby Doo.

  We laugh, collapsing against the lift wall.

  ‘You’re hilarious, Squishy,’ Jessie says.

  That’s right. My name is Squishy.

  Squishy Taylor. It’s like the gangster, Squizzy Taylor, only better.

  I love that Jessie said I was hilarious. Sometimes she just rolls her eyes when I think I’m funny. Not this time. It makes my laugh even bigger.

  We’re still laughing when the lift opens at our floor.

  Mr Hinkenbushel is standing there, waiting for the lift. He’s our next-door neighbour, the crankiest man in the universe and an undercover policeman. He winces at our noise and scowls at us. We freeze because one of the rules is that we have to be really quiet and not disturb him.

  ‘Well, hurry up and get out of the lift. What are you waiting for? Lousy kids.’

  We stumble out past him. I bump him with my bag and he growls.

  Seriously. Growls.

  And this isn’t even that bad. When he shouts, he spits.

  When the lift closes, we all breathe out and run down the corridor to our apartment.

  Jessie pushes open the door and Alice says, ‘Hi, kids,’ from where she’s typing at the kitchen table. She is working at home because it’s Tuesday.

  The twins say, ‘Hi, Mum.’

  I say, ‘Hi, Alice.’

  Alice and my dad had a Baby, so now we all live together. I used to live with my mum but she got a big job in Geneva and I decided to stay with Dad.

  Baby is sitting in the middle of the rug. Jessie’s old collection of Barbies is spread out around him. He picks up one without a head and waves her around excitedly. Then she flies out of his hand, but it takes him a moment to realise she’s gone.

  We all laugh at his surprised face and swoop down on him.

  ‘Baby-Baby-Baby,’ Vee says in a gooey growl, sprawling down onto her stomach beside him and mushing her nose into his big cheek.

  I drop my bag and do a commando roll over the couch, stopping just short of his feet. ‘You big, big fatty-boombah,’ I say, jiggling his round legs. He’s so fat he’s got creases at his ankles.

  Jessie has nuzzled in from the other side and Baby squeals and giggles and flaps his arms around.

  ‘Can we have toast on the balcony?’ Jessie asks.

  It’s a treat, because the balcony door is in Alice and Dad’s room, and they keep it for special. We’re allowed free rein in the rest of our little apartment, but their bedroom is for them and Baby, and the balcony is grown-ups only.

  ‘Yep, OK. Fine,’ Alice says. ‘Just don’t talk to me for another fifteen minutes.’ Her nose is about ten centimetres from her computer screen and she hasn’t stopped typing.

  ‘Yay!’ Vee says, kicking my bag out of the way and going for the toaster.

  ‘Hey, Alice,’ I say, sliding Baby some more Barbies with my foot, ‘you should have seen the guy in the foyer –’ Jessie and I start giggling.

  But Alice doesn’t want to know. ‘Squishy, I said, don’t talk to me.’

  Even my bonus mum calls me Squishy. My real name is Sita, after my grandma, but people only call me that when I’m in serious trouble.

  Vee hasn’t given up on our story. ‘But the guy in the foyer –’

  ‘Do you want to have your toast on the balcony or not?’ Alice asks, actually looking up from her screen.

  ‘Balcony!’ we say in unison, and I get out the butter and Vegemite, silent as a ninja.

  When we work as a team, the three of us are fast.

  As soon as we’re on the balcony, we see Haunted Guy hurrying back up the street with Mr Hinkenbushel beside him.

  ‘I guess Haunted Guy found the police station,’ I say, with my mouth full of Vegemite toast.

  I lean my elbows on the balcony and look down. My curls get in my mouth with my next bite of toast. I try to spit my hair out and the chewed toast goes too. It tumbles down through the air, past all the other balconies. I laugh and a few more bits fall out. Luckily they don’t hit Mr Hinkenbushel.

  Five minutes later, we hear Haunted Guy’s voice. He’s on the balcony just above us.

  ‘Yes, all the locks!’ Haunted Guy says. ‘Everything was locked!’ He sounds almost upset, but mostly like I would feel – like he’s having an adventure.

  We hear Mr Hinkenbushel’s familiar cranky voice.

  ‘Absurd … security cameras … ridiculous to say it just disappeared.’

  The talking drops to mutters so we can’t hear words anymore.

  Jessie whispers, ‘What are they saying?’

  I don’t know. I really want to hear. I put my finger to my lips and climb, as quietly as I can, onto the balcony table. Jessie looks a bit nervous, but I don’t care. I stretch my neck, trying to hear.

  Ha
unted Guy’s voice is quiet, but I catch a few words. ‘No, nothing else moved. Only the vase.’

  Then more murmurings.

  I feel the table wobble and realise Vee is climbing up beside me. She’s pointing, showing me the long beams holding the balcony over our heads. If I push up to my tippiest tiptoes, I can get my hands halfway around a beam. It’s not exactly like monkey bars, but near enough.

  Jessie is shaking her head, eyes wide, but Vee offers me a step with both hands. I haul myself up with my biceps, like a chin-up, with Vee’s hands helping.

  From here, I can hear Haunted Guy better. He’s saying, ‘I’ll have to call my sister. It was Ming Dynasty. Absolutely priceless. Acquired in the Opium Wars … disappeared … spirited away. I was only gone one night.’

  A door clicks. They’ve gone inside. Ming Dynasty. Opium Wars. What does it mean? I look down at Jessie, then past Jessie to the street, eleven storeys below.

  I suddenly realise how close I am to the edge of the balcony. And that once you’re standing on the table, there’s no rail to stop you falling. My hands are slippery and shaky and I can’t hold on anymore. I drop, slither, stumble and crash my way back to the floor, quick as I can. I take a moment to stop being scared.

  Then I tell the others everything I heard.

  We stare at each other.

  A priceless vase, disappeared from an apartment where all the doors were locked.

  ‘Cool!’ I say.

  ‘Freaky,’ says Vee.

  ‘We have to google this,’ says Jessie.

  Then Baby starts crying inside and Alice calls, ‘Homework! Now!’

  We run into the lounge room and I do a leapfrog over Vee onto the couch. She falls on top of me, giggling.

  ‘Oops, ow – get off me!’ I laugh.

  Baby stops crying and does his cutest chuckles.

  Jessie sets up her homework at the kitchen table and starts working with her head down. Vee and I spread our things out. Then we make up a game where you pretend to jump on Baby and miss just at the last minute. He thinks it’s the best thing ever.

  Alice starts clattering in the kitchen and Dad walks in wearing his cycling clothes. His legs look so skinny and funny.

  ‘Hello!’ He comes round and gives us all forehead-kisses.

  ‘Hi, Tom,’ Jessie and Vee say, as they get my traditional Dad-hello.

  I’m not used to them getting the same treatment as me, so I have to go back for more. I jump up on his back while he’s cuddling Alice.

  ‘Ooof!’ We all stumble into the bench and Alice giggles.

  ‘You’re getting a bit heavy for that, Squisho,’ Dad says.

  I slide down his back, onto the floor. ‘Hey, did you know a vase disappeared from the apartment upstairs?’

  Dad grins. ‘Oh and I suppose Mr Hinkenbushel stole it, hey?’

  Dad’s joking because every time something goes wrong, I think it’s Mr Hinkenbushel’s fault.

  ‘Daaaad,’ I say, whacking his leg. ‘It wasn’t Mr Hinkenbushel, it was a burglar. Or a ghost!’

  ‘Ow!’ he says. ‘You’re scarier than a burglar and a ghost combined.’

  I hit his leg again for good measure, and he takes Baby to change his nappy and have a shower.

  But then I wonder about it. Mr Hinkenbushel is going to be investigating. What will he find?

  After dinner, I sit on the couch and skype Mum in Geneva.

  ‘Hi, Squishy. Hi, Jessie,’ she says, waving from her desk.

  I didn’t realise Jessie was behind me. ‘Hi, Devika,’ Jessie says, leaning her elbows on the back of the couch.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Mum asks.

  ‘Well,’ Jessie says. ‘Squishy gets shotgun on the iPad while she’s talking to you, but we desperately need to google things.’

  Vee leans over my other shoulder. ‘So we’re here to hurry you up.’

  Mum laughs, but I’m a bit annoyed. First they get my special Dad-forehead-kiss, then they butt in on my skype with Mum.

  ‘What do you need to google?’ Mum asks.

  Jessie doesn’t even stop to think. ‘Ming Dynasty vases and the Opium Wars.’

  How does she remember that stuff? She wasn’t even the person who heard it first.

  ‘Well,’ says Mum, leaning back. ‘I can tell you about the Opium Wars.’ Of course she can. Mum knows everything about international relations. That’s why she works at the UN. ‘Basically, the Chinese refused to buy opium from the British, so the British went to war with them.’

  ‘What?’ Vee says. ‘Why?’

  ‘To force the Chinese to buy opium.’

  ‘But that’s crazy!’ Vee says.

  Mum does her sideways smile and nods. ‘Crazy,’ she agrees.

  ‘So then,’ Jessie says, scooting round to sit next to me, ‘what would it mean that a vase was “acquired during the Opium Wars”?’

  Mum laughs. ‘It means some British pirate stole the vase from its rightful owner.’

  ‘Pirates!’ Vee says. ‘Awesome!’ She makes a hook hand and wrinkles her face. ‘Arrrrr!’

  Mum laughs even harder. She actually thinks Vee is funny.

  ‘OK, guys,’ I say. ‘Go away! Let me talk to my mum now.’

  ‘Sorry, sweetie,’ Mum says. ‘Gotta run. My next meeting started three minutes ago. Love you, Squishy.’

  ‘Love you,’ I say, even though I’m not ready for her to go.

  ‘Bye, kids!’ She waves.

  ‘Bye, Devika!’ the twins say and then Jessie pushes the hang-up button.

  ‘Awesome,’ Jessie says and takes the iPad away.

  It makes me so cranky. She starts reading out all kinds of boring things about the Opium Wars and the British East India Company, and I am the total opposite of caring. I just wanted to talk to my mum.

  On the tram to school, me and my bonus sisters squash together on a seat. The two ladies opposite are looking at one phone. It’s that stupid YouTube clip of a kid dancing we were all laughing at last week, I can tell from the music. Vee smirks at me.

  When it finishes, one of the ladies swipes at the phone. ‘Did you see this?’

  Her friend takes it off her and reads aloud. ‘City apartment haunted by the vengeful ghost of ancient Chinese soldier. Priceless Ming Dynasty vase “stolen by the spirits,” says owner.’ They both burst out laughing.

  ‘Can I look?’ I ask and lean over, trying to see their phone.

  ‘Um … sure,’ one of the ladies says.

  ‘Squishy!’ Jessie says, elbowing me. I know I’m being rude, but I don’t care. The lady is already showing us a picture of a tall white vase, decorated with curving blue pictures of trees and mountains.

  The tram dings outside school and we pile off together, saying, ‘Thanks, bye!’ to the ladies.

  We start crossing the road and Vee asks, ‘Do you think there’s really a ghost?’

  She looks pale.

  Her face reminds me that Vee ‘accidentally’ watched a horror movie at a sleepover a few weeks back. It freaked her out so badly that Alice had to come pick her up, even though it was after midnight.

  Now she’s got that same look on her face, like she just came home from the horror movie.

  She grabs my sleeve. ‘Maybe a ghost did take the vase.’

  Vee looks seriously scared. And I know the best thing to do with fear. Face it head-on.

  ‘Let’s sneak out tonight and try to find the ghost,’ I say, pushing open the school gate. It gives me a fun kind of creepy feeling, but Vee turns even whiter. Part of me knows we probably won’t see anything, but it would be fun anyway.

  Jessie has an even better idea. ‘Let’s hack into the security footage from the night and really see.’

  Genius.

  That’s the thing about Jessie. She can be so boring one minute, and so brilliant the next.

  Jessie and Vee mostly don’t talk to me at school because they’re five and a half months older than me. Which is fine – my school friends are better than theirs. My friends an
d I spend lunch and recess playing monkey-bar tag. If you touch the ground, you’re it. I’m super-ninja at it since I started rock-climbing and bunk-bed acrobatics. I’m like a monkey god with a hundred arms.

  Vee passes just as I’m doing a kick up to the top bar. She’s talking to her friends from the horror-movie sleepover.

  ‘Really,’ she says. ‘An actual ghost.’

  ‘Ooooh,’ one of them says, sounding impressed. ‘Aren’t you terrified?’

  Then I get tagged from behind.

  After dinner, I tell the grown-ups that I’m skyping Mum and grab the iPad. Jessie and Vee follow me and we sit on Jessie’s bed.

  I type: Love you, Mum, way too much homework, talk tomorrow night?

  She sends a whole row of kisses, which is short for: I love you, I’m busy too.

  Done.

  I’m handing the iPad over to Jessie so she can work her hacker magic when another message appears on the screen. Mum has clearly been thinking.

  Since when did you do your homework?

  We all laugh.

  Jessie sends Mum a wink emoji. Then she gets down to work. It’s no fun watching Jessie google things. She flicks between windows so fast, you can’t actually read anything.

  ‘Ah. Right,’ Jessie mutters. ‘How do I get into this security footage?’ Jessie stops at a screen with some instructions and a password box. ‘Hmm. All residents have password access to security footage from their own floor for two weeks. Mmm. After that –’

  ‘Boring!’ I say.

  Which gives me an idea.

  ‘What do you reckon Boring Lady’s doing?’ I ask Vee.

  We do Desk-Leap-Scrambles up to her bunk and then Rolling-Spin-Drops down to mine. We take it in turns to look at Boring Lady through the telescope.

  Her light is still on. Boring Lady is known to some people as the Chief of Special Secret Undercover Operations. But not to us. Our bedroom window looks straight across at her quiet-work room, so all we ever see her do is type. Boring.

  We wave to her, but she doesn’t look up.

  Our telescope is really good. It’s supposed to be for looking at stars, so you can see every single one of Boring Lady’s eyelashes.