The Boy with No Boots (21 page)

His voice broke into fragments, and Freddie went on listening as George talked about his pain. His aura was clearing as if the talking was a polluted liquid draining from a barrel, and all the
time Freddie could see Levi standing next to him, radiant and shining as he’d never been in life. He had his arm around George’s shoulders, and he looked just once at Freddie, put his
finger to his lips and shook his head.

Freddie nodded. Keep quiet, Levi was telling him.

George heaved himself out of the low leather chair, his knees cracking. ‘I better make you a cuppa tea,’ he said, ‘or I got cocoa. Do ’e want that?’

‘Tea please,’ Freddie smiled, thinking it was the first time in his life that George had offered him anything. They stood looking at each other and he could feel the change, the
melting of the barriers, the new friendship floating through in wisps. He’d come to talk about Annie, but instead he’d been silent and it had worked.

‘Want a ride in my lorry?’ he suggested. ‘It’s a Scammell.’

‘Could do,’ said George with the ghost of a twinkle. ‘I suppose you’ll be wanting a go on my motorbike.’

‘I was hoping you’d say that.’

‘Cor, that’s a beauty.’ The postman leaned over his bicycle to admire the salmon in Ethie’s bucket, its tail flopped over the edge. ‘Ten pounder
that ’un, I reckon.’

Ethie put the bucket down, rubbing her arm which was aching from lugging the heavy fish up the lane to Asan Farm. Collecting salmon from the putchers at low tide
was her favourite job. She’d had to persuade her father that she was responsible enough to do it, and Uncle Don had taught her well how to read the tides and how to tread carefully over the
shifting sands of the estuary. It gave her time alone close to the power of the river she loved. Going home with a huge fish gave her a new feeling in her life, a sense of being welcome. She almost
felt grateful to the rainbow-skinned fish which had lost its life so that she, Ethie, could feel wanted and successful.

‘Shall I take the letters?’ she asked. ‘It’ll save you going down the lane.’

The postman rummaged in the box on the front of his bicycle. ‘There’s two for Mr D. Loxley, one for Mr B. Loxley – and this little blue one, for Oriole Kate Loxley. Lovely
handwriting that. Real copperplate. Beautiful.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t put ’em in the bucket with the fish,’ teased the postman, but Ethie didn’t smile at him. ‘Where’s your young sister today then?’

‘She’s working,’ said Ethie shortly. ‘At the Tillerman’s racing stables.’

‘Lovely girl, your sister. Lovely girl. Always got a smile.’

The darkness crept back over Ethie’s morning. The way the postman looked her up and down, the way he expected a smile, annoyed Ethie intensely. Then he had followed it with the usual warm
accolades for Kate, and the remark had sucked the glory out of Ethie’s journey home with the salmon.

‘Good morning.’ With a curt nod she picked up the bucket and walked on briskly, the letters in her jacket pocket. The postman shrugged and pedalled off on his bicycle, whistling a
rebellious refrain.

When he had gone into the distance, Ethie stopped and took out the little blue letter with the copperplate writing. She knew it was from Freddie. Every Tuesday it came, and Kate’s eyes
would light up as she sat there reading it and smiling, her dark eyes full of joy.

Ethie stood in the middle of the lane considering her options. Tear the letter into hundreds of pieces and sprinkle them into the hedge? Bury it under a cowpat? Burn it? Or should she open it
first? The letter felt velvet-smooth in her hands and it had a feel of Freddie’s peacefulness which Ethie secretly admired. Spoiling the beautiful writing would only compound her crime. Ethie
smiled to herself and tucked Freddie’s letter into her inner pocket. She planned to take it home and hide it in a place where Kate would never find it.

Jubilant, she walked on, carrying the bucket with the fish iridescent in the sunshine. From now on, she resolved, she would meet the postman every Tuesday.

The stone angel was slowly emerging from the block of Hilbegut stone. Freddie had chipped away at it in the mellow September evenings, sometimes working on into the twilight.
He’d shaped the curving wings and the head of the angel in between. Now he was chiselling out the deep clefts between the wings and the body, so absorbed in the task that he didn’t
notice anything around him, even the comings and goings of birds. So he was surprised to look up and see Annie standing there watching him in her flowery apron, her head on one side and a puzzled
frown over her eyes.

‘How much longer are you going to be out here?’ she asked.

‘As long as I can.’ Freddie brushed the dust from the carving.

‘What about the bread?’

‘I’ll do that when it’s dark. I’ve got to do this in daylight.’

‘This is starting to look like a stonemason’s yard,’ said Annie, pointing at the blocks of stone Freddie had stashed against the wall. ‘What are you going to do with all
those?’

‘Make things.’

‘Make a mess, more like. Look at all this dust.’

Freddie went on chiselling silently.

‘And when you’re not out here, you’re upstairs writing letters to that Loxley girl,’ complained Annie.

Freddie slowly put his tools down, dipped his hands in a bucket of water and dried them on a cloth. He looked at his mother’s eyes in the soft blue twilight and saw past the anger and into
the pain.

‘You want me at home, don’t you?’ he asked.

Annie nodded.

‘Then it’s time we had a talk,’ said Freddie. He put an arm around his mother’s shoulders, led her inside and sat her down at the scullery table. He looked at her
quietly, thinking that this armour-plated woman, who had both protected and intimidated him in his childhood, was getting smaller and smaller. It wasn’t just the physical weight she was
losing. It was a dying flame. Since Levi’s death, Annie’s inner light had burned down like a candle flame reaching the end of the wick, turning slowly to a smoking bead of fire.

‘What is there to talk about?’ she asked, a sharp blade of anxiety in her voice.

‘Well, there’s Kate,’ said Freddie, and even saying her name brought a glow to his heart. ‘The fact is, Mother, whether you like it or not, I love Kate Loxley and I
intend to marry her.’

‘Marry her?’ Annie went stiff. She stared into Freddie’s eyes and saw that he meant it. Her life stretched out before her like a wintry road leading into a dark forest where
finally she must face her demons alone.

‘Now you listen to me,’ began Freddie, and his eyes flared blue with wordless passion, compelling her to listen. ‘It’s not going to happen straight away. But you’ve
got to prepare yourself, Mother, find a way of managing your life without me. If you do it one step at a time, you can, and I’ll help you, but I’m not going to be here
forever.’

Annie was twisting her ring round and round her finger. She wanted to be glad that her youngest son had found a future wife, she wanted to say how proud she was of Freddie. But layers of extreme
fear had constructed a chrysalis around what was really in her heart.

‘I hope that brazen young hussy deserves you,’ she said, and immediately felt the sting of guilt, especially when Freddie’s face registered the hurt. She marvelled that even
though his face went a deep red, his eyes stayed calm, and he didn’t get up and smash china like Levi would have done. She wanted to say sorry but the apology was buried too deep in her
psyche.

‘You don’t mean that,’ Freddie said, watching the conflict crawl through her eyes.

Annie reached for his hand and held it tightly between her swollen fingers. Her throat felt paralysed.

‘’Tis no good. I can’t go out. I just can’t,’ she whispered, and Freddie sat looking at her, letting the silence settle between them. Once again nothing had been
resolved. They had taken the same old journey and arrived at the same old barrier, and once again his plans to go and see Kate had to be put on hold. He’d seen a motorbike he wanted to buy,
and he’d told Kate about it in his letter. A motorbike would enable him to go across on the ferry, and inside he was buzzing with excitement at the thought. He could stay the night at Asan
Farm, and have salmon for supper, Kate had promised in her letter. He must go before the autumn weather set in. It was now nearly October, and, once the rains started, the Levels were flooded
through the winter. Monterose was cut off, standing like an island in the flooded fields. A motorbike would have no chance.

Freddie was pondering how to explain this to his mother. If he told her about his proposed trip she would close down like a roller blind, and her attitude to Kate would darken. But now she said
something surprising.

‘You’ll have to buy her a ring,’ she said, her eyes brightening a little.

‘A ring. What – a wedding ring?’

‘No. An engagement ring.’

Annie went to the dresser and opened the secret drawer at the back. She took out a scuffed navy blue box, brought it to the table and opened it. Inside was an ornate gold ring set with a dark
sapphire.

‘That was my engagement ring,’ she said. ‘Your father gave it me. It’s like a promise, an engagement ring. I don’t wear it now, ’tis too good to wear, but
sometimes I take it out and look at it.’

Freddie nodded. ‘I’m saving up for one,’ he said. ‘But I’ve got to get the motorbike first.’

‘A motorbike!’ Annie looked horrified. ‘You can’t ride a
motorbike
in the
winter!
Why, you’ll catch pneumonia, Freddie, believe me, with your bad
chest. Don’t do such a stupid thing. I’ll worry myself sick about you. I worry enough as it is.’

Freddie wished he hadn’t mentioned it, just as he’d thought Annie was coming round to the idea of him marrying Kate.

‘That’s two shocks in one day,’ she complained. ‘How can I sleep in my bed at night?’

‘Whether you like it or not, Mother, you’d better start getting used to it,’ said Freddie steadily. ‘And the stone carving. It’s what I’ve always wanted to
do. I’m carving an angel, and when its finished I shall give it to Kate. Then I’ll make you something. How about an owl?’

‘I don’t like owls,’ said Annie. ‘They give me the creeps.’

‘You’re not really going to do this, Kate?’ asked Ethie as the two girls swanned up the main street of Lynesend.

‘I’ve made my mind up.’

‘But what will Freddie say?’ teased Ethie, a touch maliciously.

Kate tossed her head. ‘He’s not going to see me, is he?’ She pushed open the door of the new Ladies’ Hairdressing Salon and went in with her usual radiant smile.
‘Wait until you see mine, Ethie, then you can decide whether to have yours done. Come on, it’s the latest fashion. We’ve got to move with the times. And just think, Ethie, we
won’t have to go through all that agony every week, combing it out and disentangling it, and we won’t have it blowing in our faces. It’s so windy up here.’

Half an hour later both girls emerged with their hair cut short in a fashionable bob, Kate beaming and Ethie scowling as she caught sight of her reflection in shop windows.

‘Wheee! I feel LIBERATED!’ cried Kate and she flung her arms in the air and danced in the street, swishing her skirt and laughing.

‘For goodness’ sake, Kate!’ Ethie rolled her eyes. She had to admit Kate did look good with her glossy hair short and curling cheekily onto her rosy face. Whatever Kate did,
she looked marvellous. It wasn’t fair. Ethie touched the back of her neck and it felt cold and bristly. She was sure the new hairdo accentuated her pimples and made her face look fat.

‘Come on. We’re going to buy some STOCKINGS.’ Kate dragged her into a draper’s shop and bought them each a pair of silk stockings. ‘Now we can go dancing,’
she said, her eyes alight as they left the shop and found themselves opposite the town hall where a poster proclaimed ‘Saturday Night Dance’.

‘I can’t dance,’ said Ethie. ‘You know that, Kate.’

‘You can. You learned it at school like I did, Ethie. Come on, it’s time you had some FUN.’

‘Dancing isn’t fun. Dancing is torture.’

Kate stood and looked at her sister in concern. Ethie looked like a guilty dog who had stolen a chicken carcass. Her mouth drooped and her pale blue eyes were furtive and full of pain.

‘What is wrong, Ethie?’ she asked, holding out both her hands to her sister. She wanted to understand what it was that made Ethie perpetually unhappy. ‘Are you
homesick?’

Ethie’s eyes prickled. She couldn’t accept Kate’s warm kindness. She thought of the stolen letters and suddenly wanted to blurt it all out, there in the street, but she
couldn’t.

‘It’s nothing,’ she mumbled.

‘Is it time of the month again?’

‘NO.’

‘What is it then?’

‘Nothing. Just leave me alone, Kate. And I am not going dancing with you.’

Kate took her sister’s arm determinedly. ‘Would you like to come and see the horses with me?’ she asked. ‘You’d love Little Foxy, she’s so friendly. Ian might
invite you to ride.’

Ethie looked tempted. ‘Oh, all right, if you insist,’ she sighed.

The walk back to Asan Farm took the girls along the towpath between the railway line and the canal, then past the Tillerman’s Racing Stables where Kate worked every morning. She did
everything from mucking out stables, cleaning tack, grooming and feeding the beautiful horses. It was hard work, but the highlight of the morning was going out on Little Foxy for the gallop. Ian
Tillerman always wanted her alongside him, the stable boys behind them on the other four horses. Kate had made friends with everyone, quickly laughing away the initial smirks, joking and teasing as
they worked. She enjoyed it and liked having money to spend.

She took Ethie to see Little Foxy. The mare arched her sleek neck over the stable door, her ears pricked and eyes shining as she greeted the two girls.

‘She’s lovely,’ said Ethie, reaching up to stroke her along the crest of her mane. ‘I’ll bet she’s a lovely ride.’

‘She’s wonderful. Light as air,’ said Kate. ‘But she is a bit nervous. She’s petrified of tractors and motorcars, and motorbikes. We have to be careful she
doesn’t meet any on that narrow road.’