The Finding of Freddie Perkins Read online

  Freddie was lost to his creative plans for a few minutes so he wasn’t quite sure which came first – the remembrance that it was still a mystery how the book had got to his room, or the flicking to the front inside cover. But either way, question and answer became one as he read four simple words, constructed carefully and neatly from chewed up newsprint, and glued near the middle of the page as if they were a dedication.

  Freddie put his hands to his head and fell sideways in an almost comical gesture of exaggerated frustration. ‘No way!’ he said ‘I don’t believe it… it must have been right here!’

  The idea that the Fynd had come in with a massive book, knocked over the bin to access the newspaper in there, had a good square meal, and then merrily chewed out a message and neatly stuck it on to the page all while he was asleep was just too much for Freddie.

  ‘Unbelievable! I missed it again!’

  He sank on to the bed despondently.

  After a while though, he began to laugh.

  It was an amazing gift, and the Fynd must be feeling so smug that it had managed to do all that without waking him. Yet again it had eluded him. And it was so brilliant to have such a wonderful book to record everything in.

  He couldn’t wait to show it to Granny P – how she would laugh! Oh, and he supposed that he’d better check it was OK for him to have it – after all, the Fynd had found it, but it had probably belonged to Granny P all along.

  Freddie snatched up the book and began to run out of his room and downstairs to find her. He felt exhilarated by the possibilities of what they could put in the book, and by the joy of having such a brilliant thing to tell Granny P about.

  Where was she?

  He ran first to the sitting room, and then into the kitchen, and then back into the entrance hall, getting more and more excited, and then…

  He ran straight into his dad. Without thinking, he flung his arms round him, sending the book to the floor with an impressive thump, and blurting out his excitement in a hurry.

  ‘Dad, Dad, where’s Granny P? The most brilliant thing has happened. And I’ve found this amazing journal, and I need to find her, and I want to check it’s OK for me to have it, and I… Dad… Dad?’

  Freddie broke off, for after hugging him back strongly, his dad had suddenly seemed to stiffen, and then to disengage. It was then that Freddie remembered, of course, that things were still not really right between them.

  He felt the silence begin to descend as he stepped back away from his dad, embarrassed now that he had forgotten, and disappointed too that his dad couldn’t just let it go. It had felt so right for just a second there, to hug his dad like old times again.

  But Freddie’s dad wasn’t breaking away from him. Instead, he was going over to the book and kneeling down by it.

  Freddie moved to join him, half intrigued as to why his dad was so interested in it, and half worried that his dad would ask questions about the dedication that might lead to another fight.

  Tentatively, he placed a hand on his dad’s shoulder as he stood next to him to see what he was looking at. And that was when he discovered that Dad wasn’t looking at the book at all, but at a picture that had fallen out of it of a beautiful young woman holding a tiny baby.

  Even standing just to the right and behind of him, Freddie could see that there were tears on Dad’s cheeks. He realised it must be his mum and him in the picture.

  ‘Oh Freddie,’ said his dad shakily. ‘I miss her so much.’

  Freddie was a little scared because Dad was so big and strong and never cried, and he felt the silence muscling in and elbowing him out completely.

  And so he took himself out of the equation, walking past his dad and towards the doorway back into the sitting room. But when he turned to look back at him, and the faraway look in his eyes, he noticed some writing on the back of the photo.

  ‘Dad!’ he cried out. ‘Dad, there’s some of Mum’s writing on the back!’

  In a second, Freddie and his dad were back together, looking at the reverse of the photo, and reading the wonderful words of a note that was as old as Freddie himself, but as new to them as if Mum had just written it today, and left it somewhere for her ‘two favourite boys’ to find and read, just like old times.

  Dear Pa,

  Here as promised is the very first picture of our latest Perkins man! Isn’t he splendid?!

  My copy of it is of course going in the beautiful frame you carved for that very purpose. Thank you again – I love it!

  I can’t wait to see how this little one’s story is going to read and develop. But if he’s anything as brave, and loving, and good, and kind as Stephen is, then I know you and I will be just as proud of him as we all are of your son.

  I’m looking forward so much to when Freddie’s old enough to hear all about the mysterious creatures in and around Willow Beck – I hope he loves hearing your stories as much as I do.

  I was so inspired this last time, I’ve been doing a drawing of how I imagine one of them. I’ll leave which one as a surprise until I next see you! But it’s got me thinking, perhaps we could use this book to put them together with your stories for Ma, and for Freddie when he is older.

  What do you think? I know Ma would be so happy if you finally got round to doing this too!

  With much love

  Amie

  Somehow, Freddie just knew this note was what the Fynd had really been leading him to.

  And just as he was wondering what to do, and whether he should break the wonder of this moment by explaining that he knew the very picture mentioned in the note, the wind was almost knocked out of him as his dad reached his arm round him, and propelled him inwards, into the fiercest bear hug Freddie had ever experienced.

  The silence shattered into a thousand pieces.

  And Freddie and his dad stood in the hallway at Willow Beck and held on to each other so tightly it almost hurt.

  13

  Seeing the full picture

  A few minutes later, Freddie took his dad up to his bedroom to show him the drawing in the wooden frame. They sat on Freddie’s bed together, his dad holding the photo with the note, and Freddie holding the picture in the frame.

  ‘She was so amazing, wasn’t she, Dad?’

  ‘Yes, Freddie, she was.’

  ‘I… I…’ stuttered Freddie. ‘I found this again the other day when we… I mean when I… it really helped me when I was on my own up here and thinking and, well, you know… and I wanted to say thank you for it again, that you gave it to me and didn’t just keep it for yourself, I mean.’

  ‘I wanted you to have it. And Mum would have wanted that too. She was so proud of your drawing. She used to tell me you were so much better than she was at your age.’

  ‘Really?’ said Freddie. ‘She never told me that.’

  ‘Didn’t want it to go to your head, probably,’ said Dad, giving him a nudge.

  Freddie giggled, but then went quiet again.

  ‘I haven’t really been able to draw… since…’

  ‘You will be able to again, Freddie. I promise. I don’t know when, but you’ll start again. Maybe you need something particular to inspire you. Shall we ask your grandmother if she has any ideas?’

  Freddie remembered Granny P in a rush. ‘Oh brilliant, yes! Granny P will know where I should start. Oh Dad, I still haven’t asked her about the book, and we need to show it to her! And the photo… and the note… and, well, we should probably tell her we’ve talked.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. You go and show her everything while I make her a cup of tea and then come and join you. I don’t actually think she’s up yet – it was still pretty early when you were careering around downstairs!’

  * * *

  Freddie knocked on Granny P’s door, sat beside her bed as instructed, and then proceeded to whisper to her – just in case Dad suddenly came back – the story of how the book had come into his possession in the first place.

  Then he showed her the marvellous dedication a
t the front of it.

  Granny P was delighted with this latest find, and said that of course Freddie should have it. She thought it was absolutely wonderful that the Fynd had been so close to him all that time, but totally understood his frustration that once again it had given him the slip.

  But then she got caught up in the book itself again.

  ‘It’s strange, Freddie, but I don’t remember ever seeing this, and it’s obviously come from the main house rather than the attic, wouldn’t you say?’

  By way of explanation Freddie handed her the photo of him and his mum note-side up. ‘Dad and I found this inside it, Granny P. I guess Grandpa P was keeping it a secret from you until it was ready.’

  Granny P read the note, and looked at the image, and seemed a little bit choked up, so Freddie was relieved when Dad came in with the tea at that point, and she posed her next question to him.

  ‘Stephen, do you remember how I was always trying to persuade your father to write down his stories? Isn’t it wonderful that he and Amie were going to do that for me? And for Freddie too. Imagine them keeping it all a surprise…’ Granny P’s smile faded slightly, as she thought back to that time.

  ‘How very sad that Reg died so soon after that. They must have never had the chance.’

  Freddie handed Granny P the picture then. ‘I found this just the other night Granny P, look. This is the one Mum had already drawn.’

  ‘Oh, but isn’t that beautiful. What a way that girl had of capturing things.’

  ‘Dad and I were just saying that!’ said Freddie, smiling at Granny P, and then up at his dad, who had come over to stand next to him and was resting a hand gently on his shoulder.

  Granny P looked at her son and grandson, and the unspoken conversation which was passing between them, and her whole face lit up, but she said nothing.

  Instead, she hastily got up, mumbled something about getting ready for Mrs Quinn, and then left the room and them in it.

  Freddie and his dad laughed. It was obvious she wanted to give them more time together without making a fuss. But it was so obvious that it made them giggle uncontrollably.

  * * *

  Freddie and his dad cuddled up on Granny P’s big bed, looking at the picture and the photo some more, chatting companionably and then at last falling into a comfortable quietness with each other. After some time, Dad suddenly sat up straight.

  ‘Freddie!’ he said ‘Why didn’t I think of it before? I know what we can do. You and I will do it. We’ll fill the book for Granny P. Don’t tell her, but I remember all Grandpa’s stories – I heard them so many times growing up, Freddie! And you can do the drawings. Do you think you could start drawing for something like this? We could work on it together in secret and then give it to her when it’s ready. What do you reckon?’

  Freddie just smiled.

  He was a bit nervous about the drawing, of course. But he so wanted to do something wonderful for Granny P, and he supposed that somehow it might help him overcome the block in his mind that wouldn’t let him draw what was hidden in there.

  ‘That’s settled, then,’ said Dad. ‘We’ll begin right away. Now, Pa’s favourite story of all was – I warn you – a ridiculously far-fetched one about a creature he swore was called “the Fynd”… you’ll laugh at this one. Where shall I start?’

  And Freddie did laugh at the story, but of course, it wasn’t for the reason his dad thought.

  14

  More Fynd studies

  The next couple of weeks were packed full as July raced into August.

  There was still sorting in the attic, of course, but now there were new discoveries to make about the Fynd, new things constantly being found by it to look out for, and of course drawing. For now Freddie had started again, he could hardly stop. And he found he was often torn between working in secret on the book for Granny P, helping her with the sorting of more exciting things in the attic, and responding to the objects and notes that the Fynd was finding and leaving for them.

  It was wonderful to be drawing again. In the end, the solution had been easy. Dad had suggested he begin by copying Mum’s sketch, so they could have it on the front cover as well as inside the book when they worked out which creature it might go next to.

  And as he copied her work, it was almost as if she was there again, translating the complex life captured on the page into easily manageable shapes, lines and measurements. His attempt wasn’t at all bad, though he could tell the head was somehow out of proportion. But he imagined Mum saying it was an improvement on hers, just to be nice – though it wasn’t, of course.

  Dad seemed genuinely impressed, saying he thought Freddie was getting better and better, and then taking him out to buy some grown-up pastels, which he thought would suit the style Freddie was now developing.

  Just as it had promised, the Fynd had been leaving various notes for Freddie and Granny P to help them with their studies of it. So far these had mostly been about paper and its seemingly endless appetite for it. But Granny P was hoping that it would soon tell them more about where it came from, how long it had been at Willow Beck for, and whether it had known Grandpa P.

  It found other ways to spell out its opinions too. For example, it wasn’t long before patterns began to emerge in response to certain kinds of print. The Fynd seemed to spit out some sections, almost as if they tasted bad, while whole other sections of the paper would disappear incredibly quickly. And then there were some portions which inspired a specific ‘thank’ ‘you’ in the customary manner.

  It was baffling at first, because of course it was all the same type of paper. But after hours of speculation, and analysing the rejected regurgitations, Granny P worked it out – the Fynd only had an appetite for good news. Marriage and birth announcements seemed to be a particularly satisfying meal, whilst critical, angry or just plain mean stories were spat out in what, Granny P supposed, must be disgust.

  Granny P found the whole thing amazing, but Freddie continued to be frustrated as well as excited by the gradual discovery process.

  There were the notes of course, but it still seemed to be much more interested in finding things than in revealing itself. Almost every evening there was a new object from Dad’s childhood to show him, or a piece of some new great-great-grandparent’s history.

  Freddie would have rather it concentrated on his studies of it, thoroughly and logically. He wanted to map it all out methodically, moving from one area of study to the next, in order to build up proof and conclusive findings of the Fynd’s existence and habits. Then they would have enough evidence to tell Dad.

  Instead, the Fynd seemed to prefer mystery, and to have what Granny P described as ‘a flair for the dramatic’. It was still keeping a secret all the things that really mattered to Freddie – like what it looked like, how big it was, and whether it would ever let him meet it face to face.

  * * *

  One Tuesday morning Freddie decided he could wait no longer. He would simply have to take matters into his own hands.

  He chatted his ideas over with Granny P of course, but this time she refused to be involved in his experiments.

  ‘I don’t think it works like that, Freddie,’ she warned. ‘I really think you should be careful. The Fynd has made it clear what its terms are, and you might find there are consequences to trying to get round it.’

  But Freddie was insistent that he had to try, and that the Fynd wouldn’t find out what he was doing anyway.

  Granny P looked uncomfortable but said nothing more.

  * * *

  Freddie laid out an inviting spread of newspaper stories, called out loudly (as if to Granny P) that he was going into the garden, and then quietly crept across to the sideboard.

  The main space inside it was very large and Freddie had prepared it well, clearing it out and sorting old piles of things with the well-practised expertise of one who had conquered almost an entire attic of yesterdays in a single summer.

  Silently he climbed into the left-hand s
ide of it, putting his legs down and round behind the dividing support that semi-separated the space into two areas, and stretching them out as far as was possible into the half that was behind the closed, right-hand door. And then, still uncomfortable but in, he twisted on his side awkwardly in order to pull the left-hand door almost closed.

  He reached down to where his camera was hung around his neck, got it out, pointed it through the thin stripe of light, and waited.

  And waited… and waited.

  But the only things he managed to prove conclusively were that you got really painful neck ache from lying in such a cramped space for so long, and a bumped head if you sat up suddenly in response to an unexpected noise in the room you were hiding in.

  It was just Granny P.

  Freddie sighed in disappointment. Clearly this way wasn’t going to work.

  He had to admit Granny P had been right, though it was slightly galling to come back downstairs for lunch, having only been gone from the dining room for ten minutes, and discover that all the tempting tit-bit stories had been eaten but for two words –

  ‘Aaaaggh! But when am I going to get to see you?’ cried Freddie out loud.

  But the only response he got was from Granny P, who was carrying in a pot of macaroni cheese, and asked him who he was talking to.

  * * *

  Freddie was a bit sulky over lunch that day. Even though macaroni cheese was one of his favourite meals, and Granny P was chatting away to him excitedly about various things that she’d found in the attic that morning.

  He tried to look as interested as he could, but his mind was working overtime on how he could trick the Fynd into being seen.

  And then suddenly, he registered something Granny P had been saying, and had a brilliant – beyond brilliant – idea.

  ‘Granny P?’ he asked. ‘Did you say you’d found an old video camera?’

  ‘Yes Freddie. Why? Would you like it?’ she asked, ‘I don’t know how it works, but it looks hardly used, and there’s an instruction book with it. Your mum gave it to Reg for his birthday one year, but he never managed to work out how to use it, poor love. You’re good with all that sort of thing though, aren’t you? Yes, have it, Freddie. It would be fun to make some films. It’s a shame we couldn’t have had that right from the start of sorting the attic, because then we could have filmed one of those before and after programmes your dad likes.’