The Boy with No Boots (25 page)

‘Yes.’

‘Well – Joan made such a fuss over your stone angel, and she dragged the vicar down here to see it. Can’t say I like the man, but there – he’s a vicar. And he came
in and sat down with me at this table and he ate a huge piece of lardy cake, got crumbs all over his whiskers. I’ve never seen a man make such a mess! He left me this letter to give
you.’ Annie went to the dresser and rummaged in the drawer. ‘Here ’tis.’ She handed him the white envelope, her eyes twinkling like they did on his birthday, watching him
unwrap her hand-knitted present.

‘The VICAR wrote me a letter? What the hell does he want?’

Freddie took a knife and slit the envelope, unfolded the letter and sat back sceptically against the chair to read it, his eyes getting rounder and rounder. Momentarily speechless he stared out
the window at the stone angel.

‘Did you know about this?’ he asked.

Annie nodded and she had tears on the rims of her eyes.

‘I got a commission,’ said Freddie, incredulous, ‘to carve a statue of St Peter. And they are going to PAY me – how about this, Mother? Twenty pounds!’

Annie gasped. They sat together smiling like two children.

‘Can you do it?’ she asked.

‘I can do that standing on me head,’ said Freddie, and the joy came in a huge dollop. He threw the letter up in the air and laughed out loud. ‘I got a commission.
Yippee!’

‘You should say yes, Kate,’ said Sally forcefully. ‘Have some sense, girl.’

Kate sighed. She squared her shoulders and looked back at her mother with good-humoured assertiveness. ‘I’m not going to marry for money. I shall marry for love.’

‘You might never get such a chance again,’ warned Sally. ‘Ian Tillerman is a real catch. You’ll want for nothing. And think of your children.’

‘My children, when I have them, will be loved,’ said Kate, ‘and that’s more important than being rich.’

‘Well, you know what they say. When poverty comes in the door, love flies out of the window.’

‘It’s never flown out of our window,’ said Bertie who privately thought that Kate was right. He didn’t like the way Sally was pushing her to accept Ian Tillerman’s
proposal. In his opinion his beloved daughter had lost her sparkle since she’d been working at the racing stables. ‘Leave her alone, Sally.’

‘I only want what’s best for her, and for Ethie,’ said Sally, raising her voice a little. ‘And it’s madness to turn down an offer like that.’

‘Better than that lorry driver,’ hissed Ethie. ‘Anyway Kate is too young to get married. I should get married first.’

‘Who to? You’re not exactly encouraging anyone, are you?’ said Sally sharply. ‘What is the matter with you, Ethie?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Then why is it you can’t open your mouth without upsetting someone?’

It was Kate who saw the pain in Ethie’s pale eyes, and she intervened before it turned to spite.

‘I’m not going to marry anyone yet,’ she said lightly. ‘I want to be a nurse, you know that. This job is only for a bit of money, and I’m enjoying it. I love Little
Foxy, not Ian.’

Ethie tutted. ‘Horses!’

Kate grinned at her mischievously. ‘You’re just as bad, Ethie – only it’s fish. You’re always down at the river. You can’t marry a fish.’

‘And you can’t marry a horse.’

Kate giggled. ‘If I did, it wouldn’t be to one of Ian’s racehorses. It would be – Daisy.’ Her voice trembled, she met Sally’s eyes and then looked down at the
table. The shoreline between coping with living at Asan Farm and homesickness for Hilbegut was fragile, always shifting like the estuary sand. ‘When are Polly and Daisy being sent up
here?’ she asked. ‘They’d be useful here, wouldn’t they?’

Sally and Bertie looked at each other.

‘You should tell her, Bertie. Go on, just come out with it,’ said Sally rather fiercely.

Bertie shook his head. ‘I can’t.’

‘I can,’ said Ethie. ‘It’s time she knew.’

‘She doesn’t need to hear it from you, Ethie.’

Bewildered, Kate looked from one to the other, aware that some bitter truth was being withheld from her.

Ethie digested Sally’s sharp comment huffily. ‘Oh, so my words aren’t good enough for precious little sister. Why has she always got to be cosseted? It’s not
fair.’

‘Kate doesn’t go around with a face as long as a yard of pump water,’ said Sally, and immediately regretted it when she saw the dreaded flush of anger on Ethie’s
cheeks.

‘I can’t help my face,’ stormed Ethie. ‘We’re not all born flawless like little Miss Perfect here. I didn’t choose to look like I do. Do you think I like it?
Do you think I enjoy having pimples?’

‘That’s not the point, Ethie. Stop taking it out on Kate. It’s nothing to do with what your face is like. A smiling face is a lovely face. If you smiled instead of going round
scowling at everyone, you . . .’

‘DON’T keep telling me to smile,’ shouted Ethie. ‘That’s all you ever say to me, isn’t it? Do this, Ethie. Do that, Ethie. Do all the dirty work, Ethie. And
smile. I don’t want to smile; I’m not going to smile. Why should I smile? I’ll smile if I want to, not when you tell me to.’

‘Pull yourself together, girl,’ said Sally desperately. ‘It’s hard enough for us here.’

‘None of you know what it’s like to be me,’ raged Ethie. She dragged a chair out and slumped down on it, put her hands over her burning face and drew a savage breath into her
lungs.

‘Ethie, stop it,’ pleaded Kate, putting her arm round her sister and rubbing her back gently.

But the kindness seemed to trigger Ethie into a final explosion, like a boil bursting. She clenched her fists and pounded the table with them. ‘You don’t UNDERSTAND,’ she
wailed, then jumped to her feet and slammed out of the room, returning seconds later with another slam. ‘I’m going to feed the chickens. At least the chickens don’t care whether I
smile or not.’

Kate and her parents looked at each other.

‘She’s getting worse,’ said Sally.

‘No she isn’t, Mummy, she’s always been like it. We can’t make her any different,’ said Kate. ‘We just have to look on the bright side.’

‘What bright side? She hasn’t got one.’

‘She has,’ said Kate. ‘She works so hard. And she does laugh with me sometimes, when she hasn’t got her nose in a book.’

‘Some gloomy book, I don’t doubt. What do you think, Bertie?’ Sally looked at her husband who had sat looking uncomfortable.

‘I don’t get involved in women’s disputes,’ he said calmly.

‘So what was it you were going to tell me?’ asked Kate. ‘About Polly and Daisy. I’d rather know.’

Bertie nodded, his eyes sad. ‘We’re sorry, dear, but Polly and Daisy had to be sold. We couldn’t afford to bring them up here.’

Kate stared at him wordlessly. She thought about the gentle Shire horse she’d loved. She and Daisy had a special bond. The big horse had always been so careful and kind around Kate when
she was little, standing like a statue, afraid to move her huge feet in case she trod on the little girl who loved her.

Kate noticed her parents’ doleful expressions.

‘Oh, I expect it’s for the best,’ she said, ‘don’t worry about me. I’ve got plenty to be happy about. Now I must be off to work or I’ll be late.
I’ll take the toast with me.’

Bertie was looking at her with a perplexed expression in his eyes. He got up and followed his daughter’s straight back out into the morning light. ‘Wait a minute, Kate. I’ll
walk to the gate with you.’

She turned and gave him a smile that turned his heart over. ‘Come on then, Daddy.’ She linked her arm into his and they set off on the half-mile walk to the racing stables, Kate
carrying Little Foxy’s bridle which she’d been cleaning.

‘I want to give you some advice, Kate,’ said Bertie. ‘If I can get a word in edgeways.’

‘Of course,’ she laughed.

‘This is serious, Kate. I love you dearly, and you don’t fool me. I know how upset you must be over those two horses. I admire the way you keep so cheerful, it’s a wonderful
gift you have, Kate – and – and don’t waste it.’

‘How could I waste it?’ she asked, surprised.

‘Don’t waste it on someone you don’t love. It’s your life, Kate. I don’t want you to suffer because you want to please us. You be true to yourself. Do you
understand me?’

They stopped in a gateway, and Kate looked thoughtfully at her father. He always knew exactly what was in her heart.

‘I never want to leave you, Daddy. You’ve been like a guardian angel,’ she said. ‘But yes, you’re right, I’ve got some thinking to do.’

‘You may have to leave me one day. But we’ll always be close, Kate – even when I’m gone. I want to see you happy – truly deeply happy, dear, not just putting a
pretty face on it. I’ve watched you, Kate, and I know – I know there’s some deep-down thing bothering you. You’ve lost your sparkle.’

‘Have I?’

‘You don’t have to tell me, Kate. But please – think about your life and your future. Don’t let me, or anyone, hold you back, girl. You do what you’ve got to
do.’ Bertie was looking at her intensely and his words were full of passion as they stood in the gateway overlooking the estuary. ‘If you love someone, you let them go, let them be
free. You are a blessed gift to this world, Kate, you spread your wings and fly free.’

Kate’s eyes stared past him, across the shining water to the distant hills, then back to the brimming flood of love and caring in her father’s gaze.

‘You’re not responsible for Ethie, or me, or your mother.’ Bertie gave her a little pat. ‘You spread your wings and fly free.’

He wagged a finger and looked at her under his brows, a fixed stare that put a seal on his words.

‘Thank you, Daddy. I’m glad you care so much.’ Kate kissed him on his pale cheek and walked on by herself, swinging the bridle. She looked down at her legs in the long boots
and riding breeches, and thought how lovely it would be to wear a swishy red skirt again and feel like a woman. She found herself slowing down, dawdling a little, listening to the hum of bees in
the blackthorn blossom, and suddenly she remembered Freddie telling her the Innisfree poem, explaining to her about the ‘bee-loud glade’. It had been a magic time.

‘That’s what I’m missing from my life,’ Kate thought suddenly. ‘The magic. The magic is missing.’

She remembered Freddie’s story of how he had saved up and bought the lorry at sixteen. It inspired her. Surely if Freddie could do that, then she could ‘spread her wings’ and
take charge of her own life, couldn’t she?

‘I’ll be perfectly all right,’ Ethie said impatiently to her father. ‘I know the tides by now. I’ve been doing it for six months now.’

Bertie nodded, his face pale as he sat in the wicker chair by the stove. ‘I wish I was well enough to go with you.’

‘Well you’re not,’ said Sally, ‘so stay there, Bertie, or I’ll tell you off.’

Bertie grinned, and wagged a finger at Ethie who stood half in and half out of the door. ‘Tonight is full moon,’ he said. ‘There’ll be a spring tide, and big bore up the
river.’

Ethie rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to upset her father when he wasn’t well, but she wished he wouldn’t fuss over her and keep telling her the same things.

‘Let her go,’ she heard Sally saying as she closed the door. ‘She loves the river. And I hope she does come back with a fish. We could do with it.’

Ethie scowled and trudged out into the clear March sunshine. She walked down to the river, swinging the metal bucket. She wanted to be alone, like she was now, free of the expectations and the
jealousy. The walk to the river was a wooded path with chaffinches and chiff-chaffs singing and blackthorn in full blossom, the verges yellow with celandine and dandelion. Corners of the river
shone blue through the branches, then the whole vista opened up between two gnarled old pines, their bristly foliage covered in new cones. Wooden steps made from railway sleepers led down to the
narrow beach and Ethie bounded down them.

After checking that she was alone on the sand, she ducked under the steps, put her arm into a deep crack in the low cliff, and extracted the long-handled fishing net she’d hidden in
there.

‘Just check the putts, Ethie. Don’t go trying to fish the pools,’ her Uncle Don had said. ‘You’re not experienced enough for that.’

But Ethie had taken the net from the barn and hidden it. She’d use it to check the shallow pools that shone like opals in the sand at low tide. She found it more exciting than dragging a
trapped fish out of the putts. Paddling up to her knees she often caught smaller fish, and once she’d gone triumphantly home with a conger eel in the bucket. How she had caught it was one of
Ethie’s many secrets.

In the warm March sunshine she stripped off her boots and socks, something else she’d been told not to do. The velvet sand and the chill of the water on her skin was soothing to Ethie. It
cooled the eternal burning of her thoughts, the inner loneliness, the longing for transformation. She felt part of the river, a rare contentment as she wandered from pool to pool, following ridges
of hard sand encrusted with the myriad pinks and greys of tiny clamshells.

Far out in the estuary, close to the deep channel of the main river, Ethie felt dazzled by her freedom, as if she looked down on herself and saw her spirit like a flickering candle, reaching
out, longing to escape from the body she hated. Why bother to catch a fish? It was hot for March and she was sweating in her heavy farm clothes. Why not strip naked, roll in the crisp sand and let
the cool river heal her burning skin? She looked back at her life and it was a switchback of rage and injustice, jealousy and pimples. It coiled after her like a poisonous snake. The only place she
remembered being happy was in the water, swimming in the school pool, in the summer river at Hilbegut, rowing a boat across the winter floods with the white wings of water birds all around her.

Ethie lay down on the sand and allowed herself to be sucked into a whirling dream where her itchy clothes became the soft satins of forgiveness, where her hair was long again and rippling like
waterweed. She lay on her back and gazed through the shimmer of the sky to whatever was out there, to whoever may know she was lying there, a pearl in the oyster shell of day.