The Finding of Freddie Perkins (7 page)

And then, with a final defiant ‘Go away!' he threw the teapot at the door.

It made a huge clang and then lay there awkwardly, propped up by its handle with its lid thrown back half unhinged. Freddie looked at it and hated it too – it was almost as if it was laughing at him through its wide gaping lid.

Granny P didn't say anything at all, but she looked shocked and sad and kind and hurt, all at the same time.

For the longest moment she continued to sit and wait.

But Freddie wouldn't do it; he wouldn't break the silence with an apology.

Eventually, she slowly got up, picked up the teapot, whose lid would now not properly close, and put it back next to Freddie.

And as she did so, he saw it – a tear that she hadn't been able to keep in was rolling down her cheek.

Freddie felt suddenly panicked. He didn't know what to do. He hadn't meant to damage the genie teapot; and he hadn't meant to hurt her – well, not really anyway.

He felt alone and confused and out of control.

But just as he was trying to think what to do, his dad came running up the stairs and into his room. He must have heard the crash of the teapot hitting the door, and now his outraged eyes took in the scene in Freddie's room. Granny P silent, sad, and on the verge of more tears; the damaged teapot on his bedside table; and Freddie's defiant, hunched body, scowling from the bed.

‘Frederick!' he shouted. ‘What has got into you? This is no way to behave. I'm so disappointed in you. This is not how you were raised. I had to warn you yesterday about hiding valuable things, and today you're deliberately destroying your grandmother's precious belongings! This is an appalling way to treat her. And when she has been so kind to you!'

At this, Freddie looked at Granny P as if to appeal for help. Surely she understood a little bit. But his
eyes only met her retreating back as she left Dad and him alone.

‘I warned you yesterday about all this, Freddie,' his dad continued angrily, ‘and now you're lying too. And being rude. I don't understand what you want. I don't know how to help you. I've tried talking about things with you; I've tried giving you space. But whatever you're playing at now, this is not the way to get attention. We all know things are hard but you are just making them worse for everyone. Think what Mum would say!'

The panic in Freddie's heart at Granny P's pained retreat had been growing and growing as Dad started to talk about Mum. He didn't know what was worse – the horrible false accusations… or the horrible truth.

Freddie could contain it no longer. He exploded with the only fight back he could think of that would end this dreadful awareness that Mum would be devastated if she could see him now.

‘You can't tell me what Mum would say. No one knows what she would say. She isn't here. She's never coming back. And I know you wish it was me gone, not her!'

The moment Freddie said it, he knew he'd done something terrible.

He hadn't ever realised that words could have such an effect. All the angry red colour drained out of Dad's face at once; it went almost white; and his body, which had been so tense and angry, seemed to crumple in on itself. Every feature slumped with defeat and pain.

Dad opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Then, it returned. Into the space between them the silence rushed in, and as if sensing its presence had come even here to Willow Beck, his dad turned and left the room, with Freddie still sat on the bed, looking after him in horror.

* * *

Freddie sat in the same position until he got pins and needles.

And then he was forced to move and do something other than wonder how the last hour had just happened, and how the angry giant had so totally displaced Freddie Perkins, and how he would have normally acted.

He sought comfort in the only place it was to be found.

The large sequinned box under his bed had been Mum's, of course. It still smelt of that flowery perfume that she had loved and Dad had always teased her about. Sometimes, Freddie remembered, she had chased Dad round the room trying to squirt it on him, saying he could do with smelling a bit more of ‘sissy flowers' himself.

Freddie smiled when he remembered that. If he concentrated hard enough he could almost hear her bubbling giggle, and then her shrieking laughter when the chase inevitably turned, and Dad would catch her, and tickle her until she cried out for mercy and promised to put the perfume away.

She used to smile at Dad in such a way, then. The way she would smile at Freddie. A smile that said, ‘You are the centre of my whole world.'

Freddie wondered if his dad missed those smiles as much as he did, now that every time you so desperately needed one, you had to remember and imagine it out of nowhere, rather than getting a fresh one as a gift more times than you could count in a single day.

She was magical, his mum. Everyone agreed.

And even in these fleeting fragments of her life, kept in a box, some glimpse of that still remained.

With each precious card, note, photo or pretty object of hers that Freddie looked at, the silence retreated a bit more. As if somehow Freddie was leading against it an army of pink envelopes, hair clips, hastily scribbled love notes and sketches of flowers and trees and characters from his favourite books as Mum had imagined them from his descriptions.

Mum's things advanced against the silence, until eventually it left his room altogether and he could breathe, and think, and be himself again.

Right near the bottom, he came across a drawing he'd only seen once before – a delicate watercolour picture of a sandy-coloured creature set in a beautiful hand-carved wooden frame. Dad had found it when he was clearing out Mum's closet and had given it to Freddie. The creature in it was facing into the page, as if it didn't want to be seen, but its head glanced back slightly – just enough to reveal kind, wise eyes and the softest, friendliest face.

Freddie held the new sketch for quite a long time,
taking in Mum's talent again, and wondering what the creature was, and why Mum had drawn it.

He remembered the day Dad had found it, and how they had both treasured finding a fresh piece of her even then, when no more new things could be created. And he thought again, as then, how kind it was of his dad to give this new piece of his mum away.

He wondered again how his dad felt.

No more new paintings to marvel at; no more new ideas lighting up her face; and no more notes, hidden for Dad in his briefcase, or stuck to his shaving mirror, or (one time) placed at the bottom of his cafetiere.

Freddie smiled again at this memory. His dad had been so tired that Saturday morning, he'd just scooped coffee in and poured boiling water right on top of it, and his mum had laughed and laughed, and refused to tell him what it had said.

Of course she'd relented later when Dad had brought the shopping home with her favourite pink and white lilies nestled in among the baguettes she'd asked for. And then Dad had ruffled his hair, winked at him, and said, ‘Remember that, rascal, flowers are a man's best weapon.'

Freddie thanked the old Dad in his head.

That was what he'd do.

He'd get up early, pick some flowers for Granny P, and find a way to say sorry, even if words wouldn't work.

But what could he do to show Dad he was sorry? How could he ever make up for the magic Dad had lost, and the fact that he, Freddie Perkins, who knew more than anyone else in the world how Dad felt, had said those terrible words?

His dad had been quick to accuse him, but he'd been just as unfair on Dad.

He fell asleep still trying to work out a solution, still in his clothes, and slept deeply, as if held down by the weight of everything said and unsaid and desperately needing to be said.

The next day, Dad woke him up early to say goodbye before he left to drive to Glasgow.

Freddie was relieved because he had been worried that he would sleep through his dad getting ready,
and that he would have already gone to work before Freddie could say sorry.

He did try to apologise.

‘I… well, I'm… uh… really sorry about last night, Dad,' he stuttered, ‘I… uh… didn't mean to…' And then he trailed off, at a loss how to broach the words he'd thrown at Dad in his desperation.

But his dad seemed reluctant to get into any of it; and he still looked crushed even as he awkwardly tousled Freddie's hair.

Although there was peace between them again, it was uneasy and polite. And of course Dad didn't apologise for any of
his
accusations, because he believed they were all true.

And so Freddie was still left feeling isolated and misunderstood, as well as guilty for his part in inviting the silence to move into Willow Beck.

He lay in bed for longer than usual after Dad had left, reluctant to get up and face a second round of awkward apologies with Granny P. But eventually, he knew, it had to be done.

It was better to face her in the neutral territory of the dining room than to have her come up here again, where the genie teapot would mock him – a
misshapen reminder of what he had said and done to Granny P, who after all hadn't really accused him of anything.

* * *

On the stairs his feet seemed to drag behind him, rather than leading the way. And in the garden behind the kitchen, he took a ridiculously long time to pick some of the roses Granny P loved to bring into the house. He kept wondering, what would she say?

Freddie had two scenarios outlined in his head.

The first, and most likely, must be that Granny P would tell him off for last night, or perhaps try and get him to confess that he had put the diaries and necklace on the table, and the hat on the stand, after all. But there was also a chance that instead she would choose the option of pretending the whole thing hadn't happened. She might try to carry on as normal, perhaps deciding to chat about what they would sort that day in a slightly-too-cheerful tone.

But what Granny P actually did was a total surprise.

When he came into the dining room she smiled, and patted his chair, which was still next to hers.

‘Freddie,' she said, ‘come here and sit next to me. I want to apologise for your father – he always was one to assume everything has a rational explanation.'

‘Well, it does,' mumbled Freddie.

‘Not every time, Freddie. Not every time. Now, I have been thinking. I was up all night, trying to make sense of this conundrum we find ourselves in. Things are appearing that have been lost, and it's not me or your father. But I don't think that means it has to be you, either.

‘I don't believe that you were playing tricks on us with the hat, the necklace, the diaries, or anything else that's gone missing or suddenly appeared. You have been so helpful to me, and I just don't believe you would be messing around with things that for the most part are very valuable and don't belong to you.

‘Now, I know that last night got a bit hairy – especially for the teapot!' She gave a little giggle before continuing more seriously, ‘But I was once falsely accused of something and I felt like the whole world had turned on me. It was the most horrible, panicky kind of feeling. And I'm guessing that was
just a fraction of how angry you must have felt last night.

‘So… some cross words, and a teapot getting caught up in the distress, seem fairly small fry to me. What is surely more important is sorting out what is going on at Willow Beck, so there are no more misunderstandings that get out of hand and become giant angry arguments.'

Freddie just looked at Granny P, dumbfounded. He wasn't in trouble
at all
? She wasn't disappointed in him? Or distant? Or at a loss for words?

She actually
understood
? About the angry giant and everything?

‘What I'm saying is, I believe you, Freddie. I don't understand how things could be appearing out of nowhere. But perhaps I need to let go of understanding everything, because I know that you would not lie to me. We are friends. And the attic project belongs to both of us.'

This was too much for Freddie. Because of course she was right and he was so relieved. But she was also wrong – he had lied to her. And he felt terrible.

He felt his chin wobble a bit, and then before he even knew it was happening, the whole story came
out: the key, the fact he had thought
she
had tricked
him
, opening the chest, hiding the diaries, the diaries appearing again, the empty table when he went back, the necklace… then the night visit, the open door, the locked door, the key by his clock, her ring by hers, and all the things that had shown up in the house since. It all came out in one jumbled stream that he was sure wouldn't make any sense.

Granny P just listened the whole time he was speaking, patting his knee almost absent-mindedly and looking at him with kind eyes throughout it all, so that even before she spoke he knew he wasn't in trouble.