The Finding of Freddie Perkins Page 8

  Granny P laughed at her own cleverness, but Freddie had drifted off again. Yes, he wanted the video camera. And yes, he was sure he could work out how to use it with the instruction book.

  * * *

  That afternoon Freddie helped Granny P with the attic, and then, just before six, he took the video camera downstairs. After dinner, while Granny P and Dad chatted happily to each other from their respective chairs in the sitting room, Freddie lay on the floor and pored over the instruction book.

  This was the solution for sure.

  At bedtime he put a choice selection of magazines and comics onto the dining room table, and left the camera and its instructions carefully and quietly on the sideboard, ready to enact part two of his brilliant plan.

  He lay in bed, keeping himself awake in the dark by imagining all the different shapes and sizes that the Fynd might be, and occasionally pinching himself when he was near to dropping off.

  Once he’d heard Dad’s door shut for the final time he counted slowly to three hundred to be sure, and then he crept downstairs.

  He was seriously impressed with himself. Willow Beck was an old house and it had creaky floorboards, squeaky doors and a hundred other make-a-noise traps like that which gave your presence away. But he had got to know most of them now, and was handling the stealth operation expertly. He managed to get all the way into the dining room without making the slightest noise externally. (Internally of course his heart was banging a wildly staccato drum beat, but not even the Fynd could hear that.)

  Freddie approached the sideboard and his hands felt for the camera. He switched it on, knowing its screen would provide enough light for him to read the final instructions and leave it running for the night.

  He swung the camera to the right to begin.

  But there were no instructions there.

  Just four words, chewed neatly and precisely.

  For some reason Freddie didn’t feel cross or frustrated when he read this.

  Instead, a kind of impressed acceptance descended into him as he stood there in the camera’s glow, reading the Fynd’s latest note.

  It was simply too smart for him. He couldn’t outwit it. And he supposed that was quite wonderful after all. It was more important that it was here, and staying, than that he got to see it in any case. Maybe Granny P was right – some things were more magical if they remained mysteries.

  Freddie cleared up the words, and took them and the camera upstairs, still creeping slowly so as not to wake Dad and Granny P, though he now realised that even the stealthiest tracking methods would not prevent the Fynd from knowing he was up in the middle of the night.

  15

  Finding and keeping

  From the day after the camera incident, Freddie stopped trying to trick the Fynd or capture proof of it, and simply enjoyed caring for it, and continuing to receive its notes when they came.

  He put out paper three times a day (Granny P started ordering extra newspapers and magazines so the Fynd would always have plenty, and sometimes Freddie would add an old birthday card from a relative, or a friendly postcard from one of his old school friends in London, as he imagined these would make the Fynd especially happy). One set of paper was laid out in the morning just after breakfast, one at lunchtime while Granny P was preparing their food, and a final set when she was making dinner, before Dad usually came home.

  They didn’t tell Freddie’s dad about their discovery, because paper disappearing and strange notes made from chewed-up newsprint by way of proof were almost as crazy as the problem of things appearing where you didn’t leave them. But between them they developed a secret code of simply smiling and nodding on the few occasions Dad noticed items that belonged to him suddenly appear. They didn’t want to lie to him, or to take credit for something they hadn’t done, but they didn’t feel quite ready to just come out with it either.

  Over those last, busy days of the school holidays, more precious or simply lost items turned up in the house. And more and more of the attic became clear and tidy until the huge space was almost empty.

  The diaries were with the curator of the local museum who was studying and researching the accounts they contained (he had also taken the newspapers, various photos and some very old documents to look at) and Campbell and Sons had taken the necklace to be auctioned in Edinburgh. Granny P was hopeful that the proceeds from its sale would be enough to level out a section of the garden so that Freddie could play football more easily, and have a small flat area where they could lay tarmac and put up a hoop.

  All of the antiques they had found had gone to experts to value. All the interesting or beautiful things they wanted to keep had been found new homes in the main house. And bags and bags of rubbish, or things they simply didn’t want, had been cleared out into the recycling bins, bags for the charity shops or the small skip Granny P had been forced to order.

  * * *

  It was the last day of the school holidays, with a perfect August display of sunshine and blue skies. But Granny P and Freddie were going to spend the morning inside, finishing off in the attic, whilst Dad was at the auction house negotiating the sale of a few last bits and pieces.

  They had been spurred on by a promise from Dad.

  ‘If you two workers are done by the time I get back,’ he’d said with a wink, ‘I’ll take the three of us out for a special surprise treat.’

  And that had done it. Freddie could have sworn even Granny P had moved reasonably quickly in response, and he had practically sprinted up the stairs himself. It was hard to know which of them was more eager and excited to finish it, and find out what Dad had planned for them.

  A little while later, as they surveyed the now empty space, Granny P sighed. ‘Freddie, I’m sorry, I still can’t figure out what that key is for. It’s very strange.’

  ‘Never mind Granny P,’ said Freddie with a smile. ‘There have been so many mysteries this summer. One more won’t hurt.’

  Granny P chuckled. ‘Now we can get to them, Freddie, let’s clean up these windows and find out just how far we can see from all the way up here.’

  Freddie protested at this, because no boy his age wants to clean windows, especially on the last day of their holidays, and so Granny P relented. He had been so helpful all summer. She had to admit this was fair enough.

  ‘You win,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you go and do something more fun while I clean them?’

  But Freddie discovered he didn’t really want to do that either. It looked like hard work, and Granny P was old. So he said that he would help after all, and they should start at one end each and meet in the middle.

  Freddie scrubbed and scrubbed what he could reach of his windows, but all he could see, because of their angle and his height, was sky. He tried jumping up and down to catch a glimpse of it, but it was no good. He couldn’t see anything else.

  When they reached the middle Granny P insisted on doing the fifth and final window so he could go and get a footstool from downstairs to stand on and look out from.

  Freddie was excited. Soon he would get to see out of the windows. It was ages since he had had such a high-up view.

  Not since Westgate Square Gardens, in fact.

  He bounded down the steps two at a time, and stopped dead.

  Because it was then that he saw it.

  It was sitting on the bottom step of the stairs. Small, brown, and hunched over what he could only guess was some paper. It was slightly furry, but not cuddly looking, with long arms and legs (the latter dangling over the bottom step) and a long tail.

  It reminded Freddie of something he’d seen before. But he didn’t have time to consider what. For, before he could examine it more closely, it heard him approaching.

  It was gone in a flash.

  But Freddie knew what, or rather who, it was.

  He had seen the Fynd!

  OK, only from behind. But the book had said no one had seen one properly. No one. If he could only just see its face!

  He stood roo
ted to the spot. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know where the Fynd was hiding, and whether talking to it, or chasing after it, would frighten it.

  But then, he wanted to see its face so much. And he did need to get the footstool.

  Freddie made up his mind. He would go down the final few stairs onto the landing. And so, cautiously, he edged down the staircase, trying to be as gentle and quiet as he could be. And then he crept round the corner…

  … and there it was again.

  It was sitting at the top of the next flight down to the bedrooms below.

  Freddie hesitated. Moving closer seemed like it would only scare it again, and so he sat down some distance away, as quietly as he could, and waited. Perhaps, if it became aware of his presence, it would run again, but perhaps it might turn as it did so, and he would get to see its face.

  He waited and waited. And the Fynd sat and sat.

  And then the impossible happened.

  The Fynd slowly shifted position and turned round towards him.

  It had the kindest, wisest face he had ever seen. Beautifully lined, and the colour of parchment paper. And its deep, dark eyes looked at him with more understanding than he had ever known.

  But it did not smile.

  It looked… well, sad.

  And strangely familiar. The picture! It was really like the picture! Not exactly the same – that was why he hadn’t known straightaway – but it was very like it.

  And then, with a sudden movement, it was gone – downstairs again.

  Freddie went down after it. Slowly, slowly, slowly. But there was no sign of it at all. Not at the bottom of those stairs, nor the next… and anyway, it could have gone in any direction by now.

  Freddie sighed. He was disappointed.

  But then he rallied. He had seen the Fynd! He had seen its face!

  Perhaps it was the first step to them becoming real friends. If the Fynd had been seen once and not been terrified – which he was sure it hadn’t been, from the way it had looked – then it might not mind being seen again, and maybe for longer this time.

  But why was the Fynd sad?

  Granny P might know, he thought. Granny P was surely as wise and kind as the Fynd. She would know.

  Freddie felt better immediately. He could ask Granny P and she would be sure to help. He’d just get the footstool – she’d probably been wondering why he was taking so long – then he’d go up and ask. Mind you, wouldn’t she be amazed that the Fynd absolutely, undeniably was real? And that he, Freddie Perkins, a modern-day explorer, had seen its face…

  And – he realised it in a flash – he must not have been the first one to do so, after all!

  He hoped Granny P wouldn’t be too disappointed that she hadn’t seen it yet. He was sure they would see it again. Maybe even at dinner tonight.

  Freddie ran to his room to get the footstool, but then stopped short. Because on the footstool he was moving towards was a piece of paper with lots of chewed-out newspaper words on. Freddie fell on his knees to read it.

  It was from the Fynd. It was going. It had probably already gone. He would never see it again.

  And now he knew why the Fynd had shown itself to him. It was the final thing that it had revealed to him before it left – the truth that he wasn’t the only one to have seen it.

  The Fynd had helped them find so many things, but more than anything it had helped him find Granny P – to know who she really was, and that everything was going to be OK. To find his dad again. To come back to drawing. To find laughter, and excitement, and mysteries, and secrets, and… life.

  And today it had allowed him to find out something really important that Granny P would want to know about. Freddie wanted to tell her right now.

  * * *

  Freddie arrived in the attic with the footstool just in time to see Granny P perched precariously on her tiptoes. She was looking intently into the distance through the far left corner of the far left window, and wiping a tear or two away from her eyes.

  He put down the stool and ran over to her, throwing his arms round her frail body and holding on like he would never let go.

  ‘I love you, Granny,’ he said.

  ‘I know, Freddie,’ she said. ‘I love you too.’

  After a few moments, Granny P said, ‘Come on then, quickly, get the footstool. You must see the view we have worked so hard to find.’

  So Freddie did. He put it under the central gable window, and carefully climbed up on to it so he could finally see out.

  ‘Wow!’ he cried ‘This is such an awesome view. Wow! I can see the loch and everything and I…’

  ‘And I what?’

  ‘I don’t have words, Granny. It’s so beautiful.’

  ‘I thought we might try pictures. Like you and your mum used to do.’

  Freddie felt the familiar lump, but this time he let it come. One slow, quiet tear rolled down his cheek and he looked at Granny P.

  ‘I think Mum would have loved us to do that… and Dad too. It would make Dad really happy.’

  Granny P smiled and hugged him again – which was a funny experience because he was now a lot taller than her because of the stool.

  ‘This would make a wonderful studio for you, Freddie,’ she said. ‘And base-camp for preparing more studies and experiments…’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, and his heart dropped, because he hated that he was going to have say it out loud. ‘Granny, the Fynd… well, I saw it, and… it’s gone now.’

  ‘I know, Freddie,’ said his granny, giving him another squeeze. ‘I was so impatient to see the view that I was standing on tiptoes trying to glimpse something. And I was doing it just at the right moment because I saw it all the way from up here – even though it was so tiny. It turned and waved. I was sure somehow that it would have said goodbye to you too.’

  ‘Did you see it close enough to see what its face looked like?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘It was really like Mum’s picture. Not exactly the same, of course, because Mum never saw it, just heard it described. But don’t you see what this means, Granny? Grandpa P must have seen the Fynd too!’

  Granny P’s whole face lit up but she didn’t say anything else, just hugged him even closer to her.

  And they stood like that for a long time, the boy and the old lady, in the empty attic, where the Fynd had helped them to find everything they needed.

  * * *

  Our story ends here. Not because this is the end for Freddie, Granny P, Dad and life at Willow Beck. Their story is just beginning now. So many adventures lie ahead of the Perkins family – after all, they still have to find what that other key is for.

  But our story ends here because the Fynd has gone. And so we must go too, to search for where it has gone, and who and what it will help find next.

  About the Author

  Liz Baddaley lives a life surrounded by words, whether they’re for the children’s novels she has begun to create, or for the leading UK charities she writes for. Liz was born in St Albans and read English at Christ Church, Oxford, but is now most likely to be found tapping away at her laptop with a pot of tea, or exploring Ilkley’s famous moor – singing along to her iPod and desperately trying to keep up with Rabbit the dog.

  Copyright © 2013 A & C Black

  This electronic edition published in May 2013 by Bloomsbury Publishing

  Text copyright © 2013 Liz Baddaley

  Illustrations copyright © 2013 Paul Fisher-Johnson

  First published 2013 by

  A & C Black

  Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  50 Bedford Square,

  London, WC1B 3DP

  www.bloomsbury.com

  The right of Liz Baddaley and Paul Fisher-Johnson to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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  eISBN 978-1-4081-8609-1 (e-book)

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