The Finding of Freddie Perkins (6 page)

‘I'm not playing around with anything!' protested Freddie, doubly annoyed by the accusation and his dad talking as if he were a little kid. And he went to bed without even saying goodnight.

Freddie felt confused, isolated and cross. Why didn't Dad believe him? Who was playing tricks? And if no one was, how on earth did the diaries and
the necklace get on to the table when no one had put them there?

Even the excitement of the diaries couldn't distract him from his persistent, worried wondering. What was going on at Willow Beck?

By eleven o'clock that night the whole house was quiet. But Freddie's thoughts were so loud they kept him awake.

Scary though it was, he resolved he must go up to the attic again. Now. Tonight. On his own.

Maybe there would be more clues this time. Maybe something else would be on the table. Dad and Granny P were both in bed, and no one had been up since the necklace was found, so if anything had changed this time, he'd know for sure that something weird was going on.

It was surprisingly cold for a July night and so Freddie pulled on a thick jumper and some socks and then quietly opened his bedroom door to creep first past Dad's door, then Granny P's, then up the stairs, and up again, and up and round and round – until he finally reached the attic.

Slowly, and as quietly as he could, Freddie turned the big old key in the stiff old lock until the door
opened. And as he gently switched on the light he saw a sudden movement as something leapt off the table and behind the boxes underneath it. Perhaps a tail…

Freddie started. It was all he could do not to scream.

He wasn't frightened of mice – and he was pretty sure that was all it was. But even so, late at night, in the dark, and alone in the attic, it was a bit more than he'd bargained for.

He ran back down the stairs, two at a time where he could manage it, terrified he would wake everyone, but petrified by his now heightened awareness of all things crawly and night-like.

He bolted back to his room, dived under the duvet, and lay tense and breathless until he gradually realised that no one else had woken up, that he was after all quite safe, and that it was probably only a mouse he had seen – or imagined.

It was then that he remembered that he hadn't shut the attic door. And that the key was still in the lock from when he opened it. His stomach turned over. He didn't want his dad to know he'd been up there, and jump to conclusions about what he was doing there alone and at night. He pulled back the covers to get
up and go back, but it was no good, he had spooked himself good and proper and could not face it. There was nothing for it. He would simply have to get up before the others and sneak up and put everything right.

* * *

But when Freddie woke up the next morning – with a start – it was to realise that the sound that had woken him was Granny P clanging things around downstairs. When he looked at his clock he realised he had overslept to such a degree that she might already have been up to the attic.

His heart sank.

And then he saw it.

Poking out from behind the clock, where he'd be sure to see it, was the attic key.

It wasn't possible. But there it was.

Before he could even begin to think about what another strange appearance meant, there was a knock at the door and Granny P followed it with a tray of tea and crumpets, and a beaming face. She was humming something to herself, and soon explained why.

‘Freddie, the most wonderful thing has happened.
And I thought we simply must have crumpets in bed to celebrate.'

‘What's happened?'

‘This morning I found my wedding ring. I lost it when I was cleaning a few weeks ago and I was devastated. But this morning I found it, sitting right behind my alarm clock. How I didn't see it before I don't know. But I'm just thrilled to have found it again.'

Freddie looked at the attic key, just visible behind his own clock, and thought to himself that it sounded rather more like the ring had found Granny P than that Granny P had found the ring. But that was ridiculous, so he told himself to stop being so silly.

‘That's great, Granny P,' he said, biting into a crumpet, and then licking the extra splurges of honey from his fingers, ‘that's really great.'

* * *

When Granny P and Freddie went up to the attic after breakfast they found it locked as usual, and Freddie rubbed his eyes, wondering if he had, after all, dreamed getting up, opening it, and leaving the key behind.

But he knew deep down that he hadn't dreamed it at all.

And there were other signs that things had happened during the night. There were no new treasures on the table, but there were some small pieces – looking almost as if they had been a bit chewed – of the yellow scrap paper that he had thrown away during yesterday morning's sort. And though he was aware that he might be imagining it, he was pretty much convinced that several things were in slightly different places to where they had been at the end of yesterday afternoon.

Granny P and Freddie made good progress that day, finding a few more collections that Granny P said Freddie should keep, and a few things she said might be valuable. Perhaps the best find was a music box made from burnished walnut. Granny P said that should definitely be out for them all to enjoy, like the rocking horse they had found on the first afternoon.

They worked so hard, and Freddie was so tired, that it was well into the evening, after supper, before he noticed that a few things had changed around the house whilst they had been in the attic. In fact it was Granny P who spotted the first one.

‘Oh look, Freddie, look, my photo of Reg – your Grandpa – on the day we first met. It fell down behind that big bureau a few months ago and neither Mrs Quinn nor I was strong enough to move it out so that we could get the photo back. I don't remember mentioning it to your father, but I must have done. What a kind thing to do for me to shift that heavy piece of oak. Oh, I do so love to look at that photo and just remember…'

Then Freddie spotted two more in quick succession. Exactly at eye level from his favourite chair in the sitting room, on the third from bottom shelf of the big bookcase in the corner, was his MP3 player, which he'd mislaid last week… upstairs.

And the hat trick was literally that. His dad's baseball cap, which he'd been moaning about losing, was on one of the coat stand's hooks in the hall.

Once Freddie started looking for changes, he found them everywhere. A set of three small glass animal ornaments had become four, a number of the smaller items of furniture had moved slightly to the left or right, and a five-pound note was sitting, bold as brass, in the spare change dish in the hall.

* * *

When Dad got home around eight-thirty, he stepped through the door, and noticed his hat straightaway.

‘Oh, brilliant! Who found my cap? Where was it?'

When there was no response, Dad came into the sitting room, where Freddie and Granny P were relaxing companionably, chatting over the day's amazing finds between sips of marshmallow-laden, piping hot cocoa.

‘Hi, rascal,' he said, ruffling Freddie's hair and then crossing the room to kiss Granny P on the cheek. ‘Where did you find my hat?'

‘I didn't,' said Freddie.

‘Oh, was it you, Ma? Where was it?'

Granny P looked up, ‘I don't know, Stephen. I didn't find it. Freddie, are you sure you didn't find it somewhere, and then just forget?'

‘No, I didn't. I have no idea where it came from.'

‘Now, Freddie,' said Dad, warningly. ‘I hope you're not starting to play games again, are you?'

‘No!' said Freddie angrily. ‘I've already told you both. I don't know where it was and I didn't find it. Why does nobody ever believe me? Why are you being so stupid?'

‘Freddie!' snapped his dad. ‘How dare you speak to your grandmother and me like that!'

Freddie felt crushed by the injustice of it all. He didn't know what was going on at Willow Beck, but he knew one thing.
He
wasn't behind it. He tried to hold his anger in, but he couldn't. It was bursting out in a rush.

‘I hate you! Why do you never listen to what I say? Why don't you ever believe me?' he shouted, and with one final whimper, ‘Mum would have believed me.'

At that point he caught Granny P's eye, and he felt ashamed. He knew he wasn't being fair on Dad. But Dad wasn't being fair on him either.

Again he went up to bed without saying goodnight. Only this time, he was sent. And as he climbed the stairs, feeling painfully alone, he heard his dad say, ‘I'm so sorry, Ma. I guess I should have expected that he would play up. He misses her so much. I thought you were getting through to him, but I think he's just withdrawing even more with all this hiding and pretending. I don't know what to do.'

‘Give him time Stephen. Give him time,' said Granny P, softly.

Freddie tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He did miss his mum. And all the time since the world began wouldn't change that. But he hadn't been hiding and finding things. Why would he want to do that?

After all, it would never bring back what was really lost.

Freddie's door slammed behind him with a crash in perfect synchronisation with his dive on to the bed. But all the noise in the world couldn't have drowned out the shouting in his head.

It's so unfair! It's all just so unfair!

And then suddenly out of nowhere, the rushing noise in his ears was back, and the tightness in his chest, and the rising tears that never quite made it but stuck halfway up his throat and made him feel like he was choking.

And there was a new feeling too – an anger so big he felt like it must belong to someone else – a huge angry giant perhaps. No wonder it felt like he couldn't contain it in his boy's body. He hated all these feelings, and the fact that he seemed powerless against them, but most of all he hated that no one else seemed to have them.

In fact, he hated everyone and everything.

* * *

After a few minutes, when the giant's anger seemed to reduce slightly and it was easier to breathe, Freddie was able to sit up.

He looked around him desperately for comfort. Was there anyone or anything that would understand how lost and lonely he felt?

Freddie reached for the genie teapot and held its solid, spiky realness close to his chest, wrapping his arms as tightly round it as possible – not even caring
about the pointy silver thistles and the golden eagle's sharp little beak. He knew it was stupid but he screwed his eyes up and wished that she would come back.

Wished and wished and wished with all his might. All three wishes used up on just one thing – the only thing that mattered.

But of course nothing happened.

And then there was a knock on the door, and Granny P's soft tones were entreating him. ‘Freddie? Freddie? Can I come in, Freddie?'

Freddie didn't answer. He was still too angry to speak. And he didn't want Granny P here. Not now. Possibly not ever.

The door creaked open nevertheless, and Granny P came slowly into the room and sat on the end of the bed. He could see her kind eyes taking him in: his tense clenched body, and the teapot spout poking out from under his right arm.

He realised she knew what he'd been doing and he didn't like it. He didn't like her knowing at all. And he didn't want to hear whatever adult cheering-up lie was coming next.

He wouldn't hear it. He
wouldn't
listen to it! He didn't have to take any more of their pep talks and
understanding words and kind gestures and clever tricks and… and accusations.

‘Get out!' he shouted. ‘I don't want you here. I don't want any of you. I didn't say you could come in. I don't want you here. I only want Mum. Just Mum. You don't understand. I don't want your stories and your games and your cheering up. I don't want
you
!'