‘You didn’t tell us about this,’ said the Alderman.

‘This what?’ said Johnny.

‘In the newspaper. Well, it is called a newspaper. But it has pictures of women in the altogether! Which may well be seen by respectable married women and young children!’

William Stickers was, with great effort, holding the paper open at the Entertainment Section. Johnny craned to read it. There was a rather poor photo of a couple of girls at Blackbury Swimming Pool and Leisure Centre.

‘They’ve got swimsuits on,’ he said.

‘Swimming suits? But I can see almost all of their legs!’ the Alderman roared.

‘Nothing wrong with that at all,’ snapped the elderly woman in the huge fruity hat. ‘Healthy bodies enjoying calisthenics in the God-given sunlight. And very practical clothing, I may say.’

‘Practical, madam? I dread to think for what!’

Mr Vicenti leaned towards Johnny.

‘The lady in the hat is Mrs Sylvia Liberty,’ he whispered. ‘Died nineteen fourteen. Tireless suffragette.’

‘Suffragette?’ said Johnny.

‘Don’t they teach you that sort of thing now? They campaigned for votes for women. They used to chain themselves to railings and chuck eggs at policemen and throw themselves under the Prince of Wales’s horse on Derby days.’

‘Wow.’

‘But Mrs Liberty got the instructions wrong and threw herself under the Prince of Wales.’

‘What?’

‘Killed outright,’ said Mr Vicenti. He clicked his disapproval. ‘He was a very heavy man, I believe.’

‘When you two have ceased this bourgeois arguing,’ shouted William Stickers, ‘perhaps we can get back to important matters?’ He rustled the paper. Wobbler blinked.

‘It says in this newspaper,’ said William Stickers, ‘that the cemetery is going to be closed. Going to be built on. Do you know about it?’

‘Um. Yes. Yes. Um. Didn’t you know?’

‘Was anyone supposed to tell us?’

‘What’re they saying?’ said Bigmac.

‘They’re annoyed about the cemetery being sold. There’s a story in the paper.’

‘Hurry up!’ said William Stickers. ‘I can’t hold it much longer . . .’

The newspaper sagged. Then it fell through his hands and landed on the path.

‘Not as alive as I was,’ he said.

‘Definitely a freak whirlwind,’ said Yo-less. ‘I’ve heard about them. Nothing supernat—’

‘This is our home,’ boomed the Alderman. ‘What will happen to us, young man?’

‘Just a minute,’ said Johnny. ‘Hold on. Yo-less?’

‘Yes?’

‘They want to know what happens to people in graveyards if they get built on.’

‘The . . . dead want to know that?’

‘Yes,’ said the Alderman and Johnny at the same time.

‘I bet Michael Jackson didn’t do this,’ said Bigmac. ‘He—’

‘I saw this film,’ gabbled Wobbler, ‘where these houses were built on an old graveyard and someone dug a swimming pool and all these skeletons came out and tried to strangle people—’

‘Why?’ said the Alderman.

‘He wants to know why,’ said Johnny.

‘Search me,’ said Wobbler.

‘I think,’ said Yo-less uncertainly, ‘that the . . . coffins and that get dug up and put somewhere else. I think there’s special places.’