The Boy With No Boots Part 12

Freddie watched the two red shoes land far apart in the gra.s.s, then he ran after her in long strides, the money jingling in his pockets. He felt like an old man who wasn't used to running, and he felt like a young man who hadn't discovered himself. As soon as Kate heard his big creaky shoes thudding after her and his pockets jingling, she started to giggle.

It was like running up to the sky, being an aeroplane that could reach the ridge and take off into the air. At the top Kate stretched her arms, twirled around and stood barefoot, waiting for him.

'I love it up here,' she cried. 'Look at this view.'

The vast landscape stunned them both into silence, even distracting Freddie from wanting to stare at Kate who looked so free and alive standing beside him with her bare toes in the wiry gra.s.s.

'That's Glas...o...b..ry Tor,' she said pointing to a steep green mound with a tower at the top. 'And the Mendips. Don't they look blue? Turquoise blue like a peac.o.c.k.'

The Levels stretched below them like a chessboard of black peat fields and hay meadows of b.u.t.tercup and sorrel, the rhynes s.h.i.+ning silver, on and on into the distance where a tiny steam train was puffing its way along the track from Glas...o...b..ry to Burnham-on-Sea.

'What are those hills down there?' asked Freddie, pointing south.

'The Quantocks,' said Kate. 'And Exmoor beyond. Then you can nearly see the sea at Burnham, the Bristol Channel and sometimes you can see into WALES and see the MOUNTAINS.'

Freddie kept quiet. He'd never seen the sea, or a mountain. Kate knew a lot more than he did about their own land. Did it matter? No, he reasoned. He loved Kate, and he hoped that one day she would love him, but while that love was growing he felt he had to be quiet and respectful. He'd heard other men boasting and laughing about what they had done with girls. It sickened Freddie, and so did the girls he saw wearing lipstick and strutting around in silly clothes, or dressing up in breeches and boots, riding motorbikes, smoking f.a.gs. Kate was like a secret jewel he had discovered, he was going to keep her close to his heart, and under wraps.

It occurred to him that he hadn't given her a compliment yet, so he opted for a safe one. 'That's a beautiful dress you're wearing.'

'I'm glad you like it. I made it myself,' explained Kate, sitting down on the soft gra.s.s and leaning back on both arms. She looked at him expectantly. 'Now I want to hear that poem.'

'Do you? What do you want to hear that for?'

'Please,' she pleaded.

So Freddie recited 'The Lake Isle of Innisfree', his quiet voice shaking a little with emotion, especially when he came to the last verse.

'I can see it means a lot to you,' said Kate. 'I'm not very good at poetry so can you explain it to me?'

'Well I'll try to.' Freddie stared out across the Levels, gathering words from corners of his childhood, the beechnuts, the gleaned barley grains, the broken china. 'When I was a boy I never had time to play. We were poor. I had to walk a mile to school and a mile home in a pair of wooden clogs, and when I got home I had to run errands for my mother she couldn't go out, see? And I was always hungry, I used to live on beechnuts and hazelnuts, like a squirrel I was.'

Kate's eyes were wide and solemn, her mouth open as she listened to his story, so different from her own.

'Then, when the war ended, Dad bought the bakery in Monterose. He wanted me to be a baker, see? He thought that would be a fine life for me. But I didn't want it, and I had to do it, Kate. Can you understand that?' He paused, rea.s.sured by the way she was listening so attentively. 'Then for the rest of my life I had to get up at five in the morning, every morning, help make the bread, then load it into the bike and do the delivery round, all that before school oh and I used to go down the station to carry luggage so that poem, where it says "I shall have some peace there," and "live alone in the bee-loud glade", it used to give me peace, just saying it, or thinking it. When we moved to Monterose, I missed the countryside, but no one ever knew that. I never told anyone. But that last verse, about "standing on the pavements grey" and "feeling it in the deep earth's core" I understood that feeling so well . . .'

'Oh Freddie.' Kate reached out and touched the back of his wrist, looking into his face with compa.s.sion. 'Go on.'

''Tis a miserable story,' Freddie said, suddenly afraid that he had caused a cloud to drift over their summer picnic. 'You don't want to hear all that.'

'I do,' said Kate, and her eyes never left his face.

'Well I'm coming to a better bit now.' Freddie remembered the storytelling tradition in his family, the exaggerations, the silences, and the laughter. He wanted to do that for Kate, turn his miserable tale into something entertaining and positive. 'I'll tell you how I got that lorry. Well, one frosty night in the middle of February hard as diamonds the frost was I gets up, quiet as a mouse . . .'

Kate sat spellbound, not moving a muscle as she listened to his story, holding her breath in the silences. She let go of Freddie's wrist so that he could gesticulate with his long fingers, his eyes beginning to twinkle, his voice still slow and quiet. Then he came to the part where he had escaped down the steep dark street on his bike.

'The bike had no brakes, see? So I went whizzing down there, in the pitch dark, with my legs stuck out straight and sparks flying from my boots . . .'

He was rewarded with a scream of laughter. Kate doubled over, clutching her stomach with one hand and wiping her eyes with the other. She laughed and laughed as if she would never stop, and Freddie managed to stay po-faced.

'Well 'tis true,' he said, and that set her off again. Secretly pleased, he continued his story, restraining himself from smiles as he related how he had paid his money into the bank.

'As soon as the doors opened, I went in with my flour sack, dragging it along the floor. Then I stood at the counter taking out the old socks full of money and some of them blue and mouldy, and the hankies, all dusty they were and bursting with coins. And the bank clerk, he didn't like it. He looked me up and down as if I was a tramp, and he said, "You can't bring that dirty old stuff in here." So I looked him in the eye and said quite politely "Excuse me Sir, but I can, I'm sixteen and this is legal tender," and he didn't like it, but he had to count it all. Took him three quarters of an hour jingling and cussing, and there was a queue behind me right out the door, and they were all grumbling. But I had the last laugh. I came out of there with my money in crisp new bank notes, then I went flying down to the motor yard on me bread bike, and I had that Scammell lorry.'

He paused to take a breath, and saw that Kate was wanting to say something.

'What a WONDERFUL story, Freddie,' she said pa.s.sionately, 'so funny, and inspiring. Tell me again. I loved it.'

'Well 'tis true. True as I'm sitting here,' said Freddie, and his smile stretched right to the edges of his face.

'I love to see you smile,' said Kate and she kissed him impulsively on his smiling cheek.

Startled and moved by her response, Freddie slipped his arm around her shoulders, feeling the silky dress and her warmth underneath, and she put her hand on his shoulder. For a moment they were both still, feeling each other's heartbeat, and Freddie buried his chin in the soft l.u.s.tre of her dark hair. The moment filled with light and stretched into infinity as if it had registered in some ethereal archive.

He held her in a sh.e.l.l-like hug, afraid of his own strength and of the sudden rush of energy through his body. His pulse wanted to race like a wild horse, yet his mind stayed calm, his inner voice telling him to slow down and savour the intoxicating feel of her satin dress, the way her dark curls were hot from the suns.h.i.+ne as they slipped over his bare arm.

'This is only the beginning,' he heard himself whisper, but he held back from speaking the words that echoed in his heart, words that Granny Barcussy had fed into his soul. 'When you love, you must love wisely and slowly.' Nothing in his life had felt so exquisitely precious as the warm bright silk of Kate in his arms.

A flock of small birds came bobbing and bouncing out of the woods, their voices tinkling like bells, and the gra.s.s around them came alive with fluttering wings.

'Goldfinches,' whispered Freddie.

But Kate was listening to something else.

'I can hear your tummy rumbling,' she said, laughing, and sat up. The goldfinches vanished with a burr of wings. 'I think it's time for our DELICIOUS picnic.'

Chapter Fourteen.

THE STONE GATEPOST.

Freddie stood in the stonemason's yard, staring in disbelief at a load of stone which had appeared there. It wasn't stacked neatly as Herbie would have liked, but tipped in a jumble of old saddle stones, and blocks of golden sandstone, some still joined together with mortar. The stones gave Freddie a strange feeling, as if they had voices and stories to tell, stories locked into the grains of sand and crystal. He looked at the wheel marks in the mud and saw the large hoof prints of a s.h.i.+re horse, as if the heavy load had been delivered by horse and cart, probably early in the morning before it got too hot. Seeing the hoof prints increased his inexplicable sense of doom.

Right in the middle of the heap were two round domes of stone carved with curly patterns and covered in moss and lichen. Carvings! With a terrible sense that he was going to discover some unforeseen tragedy, Freddie climbed over the blocks to investigate. Gingerly he cleared a s.p.a.ce around one of the domes until he could see a face glaring out at him with blind stone eyes and snarling lips. Shocked, he sat down on a chunk of sandstone, reached out his hands and touched the stone lion's curly head. It was warm from the August suns.h.i.+ne, but under its chin it was cold as a tomb. Silently he uncovered both the carvings and sat studying them, not wanting to believe the thought that hammered insistently at his mind.

'Mornin', Freddie!' Herbie came padding into the yard in his leather ap.r.o.n and dust-covered overalls. ''Tis hot,' he remarked, taking his cap off to let the top of his bald head dry in the sun.

'Mornin',' said Freddie.

'You're looking uncommonly serious,' observed Herbie. 'Has your mother been at you again?'

'No,' said Freddie. He looked at Herbie's challenging grey eyes. 'Where did this lot come from, Herb?'

'Hilbegut.'

Something swept over Freddie like a gust of hot air, charged with emotion. He rubbed the backs of his hands over his eyes, brus.h.i.+ng away the tears that p.r.i.c.kled in there.

The stone lions from Hilbegut Farm.

Something had happened to Kate.

'Haven't you heard?' said Herbie. 'The Squire of Hilbegut died weeks ago. And he didn't have an heir. So his place is just left empty, that great big place with the turrets. And all his tenants in the farms and cottages have got to move. Tragic, ain't it? Those poor families. Got nowhere to go.'

'So who's done this?' asked Freddie. 'These two stone lions were on the gateposts to Hilbegut Farm.'

Herbie's prominent eyebrows drew together in a frown, and he shook his head. 'Can't say I know that,' he said, 'I only knows what I hears, see? Maybe 'tis gossip, but they say his sister and her family have come over from Canada, and they don't care nothing about the place. They're stripping out the carvings and the stone and anything they can sell. They just want the money, see. Then they'll go off back to Canada and leave Hilbegut to go to rack and ruin. That's all I know, and 'tis none of my business.'

Freddie began to shake inside. He made an instant decision. He would unload the stone he'd brought down from the quarry for Herbie, then drive out to Hilbegut and find out for himself. But first . . .

'What about the stone lions?' he asked.

'Oh I've not really looked at them properly yet,' said Herbie, 'but they'll fetch a lot of money. Rich folks with money to burn buy that sort of stuff.'

'I'd like to buy them,' said Freddie.

'You couldn't afford them, Freddie. Come on. What d'you want 'em for anyway? Stick one on the front of your lorry!' Herbie gave one of his wheezy laughs that went on and on until it ended in a coughing fit.

Freddie thought about his savings. He'd done well with the haulage business and was planning to buy a second lorry. To blow it all on two stone lions would be foolish.

Herbie was leaning forward, his eyes looking curiously into Freddie's soul. 'So tell me why do you want them?'

'I'm interested in carving. I've watched you a lot,' said Freddie. 'I'd like to do it myself.'

''Tis hard,' said Herbie, 'a hard, dusty old job. Makes me cough. And look at me hands. You don't want to do that, Freddie. You stick to your lorry, if you take my advice. Anyway, I doubt whether you could do a decent stone carving; it's not as easy as you think.'

'I could,' said Freddie with unexpected pa.s.sion. 'I know I could.'

'So what do you want to carve?'

'An angel.'

'That's about the hardest thing you could choose.'

'I know I could,' insisted Freddie, thinking of Kate's beautiful bewitching young face. 'I can see it in my mind exactly.'

Herbie's eyes looked thoughtful under the bushy brows. He began moving the blocks of stone around as if searching, and heaved out a big lump of sandstone from the Hilbegut gateposts.

'I'll tell you what, Freddie. This here, this is Bath stone, and it's easy to carve. If you like, I'll give you this block, and I'll bet you can't carve an angel out of that 'cause I couldn't.'

Freddie's eyes lit up. The angel inside the stone shone out at him. He could see its curved wings, its praying hands and flowing hair, and the tranquillity of its gaze.

'How much d'you bet then, Herbie?'

'A pound.'

'Right. You're on.'

The two men shook hands, their eyes glinting at each other. Together they heaved the block of Bath stone into the back of Freddie's lorry.

'You got any tools?' asked Herbie.

'A few.'

'Chisels?'

'No.'

'I'd better lend you some.' Herbie rummaged in his workshop and came out with a wooden box full of chisels. 'I don't want 'em back, Freddie. I got plenty.'

'Thanks,' said Freddie. He itched to take the chisel out and begin to carve the angel still s.h.i.+ning in his mind. He had another job to do, hauling timber, and then he would go to Hilbegut.

'For goodness' sake, Kate, stop that crying,' said Sally briskly. She stood very upright, dressed in her best navy blue dress and hat, the breeze ruffling a few wisps of grey hair that had escaped from her tightly coiled bun. 'We've got to make the best of it.'

'I'm trying to stop,' said Kate.

'That's my girl.' Bertie gave his daughter a fatherly pat on her proud young shoulders.

'I'm not crying,' gloated Ethie. But she was. Inside her mind, a weather front was coiling itself into a hurricane with storm force winds and rain, just waiting to come sweeping across her new life.

Together the Loxley family stood on the jetty, watching the ferry boat chugging towards them with its load of pa.s.sengers. The brown waters of the Severn Estuary swirled with fierce energy, the tide sweeping the boat sideways as it reached the middle of the river. And Bertie said what he always said when they were in the queue at Aust Ferry.

'Fastest tide in the world, they say, except for one in South Africa,' he said. 'I'll warn you girls now. Never, ever go swimming in the Severn. If the mud doesn't get you, the tide will.'

'Look at that boat,' cried Ethie. 'It's having a real fight to get out of the current.'

'Now it has,' said Sally, seeing the boat turn and head for the jetty, sending a wide creamy brown wave fanning across the calmer water. 'Come on now, Kate, you usually enjoy the trip.'

Kate nodded. Her throat felt dry and sore from unaccustomed crying. She couldn't believe they were leaving Hilbegut. Everything there was so dear to her. The swing in the barn door, the happy chickens, the sweet-smelling haystacks and the shady elm trees. The beautiful avenue of copper beeches where she'd skipped and played on her trips to deliver milk to the Squire. The home paddock where white Aylesbury ducks, geese, sheep and chickens pottered happily under the branches of the walnut tree. Her lovely bedroom with its window peering out under a brow of thatch where swallows and sparrows nested under the eaves.

She'd been used to leaving home and going to boarding school, but home had always been there for her to come back to. Now, unexpectedly and with merciless speed, it was gone. Her father was suddenly jobless, homeless and in poor health, her mother stoically trying to hold them all together. The only person who seemed intact was Ethie. But Ethie, Kate thought, hadn't got a boyfriend to leave behind.

Kate was breaking her heart over every single duck, chicken and cow. All had gone to auction, except for Polly and Daisy who were loaned to the farm next door until they could be transported to Gloucesters.h.i.+re. Bertie had insisted on the four of them travelling together in a friend's motorcar, and Kate had been terribly sick all the way to the ferry, giving Ethie another opportunity to say scathingly, 'For goodness' sake, Kate, can't you stop being sick?' It was either 'stop crying' or 'stop being sick' or 'stop mooning over that BOY.'

n.o.body knew how Kate felt about Freddie. Since the day on the hills she'd respected the depth of his artistic soul, the determined pragmatism that had driven him to save his money and build a business, and her admiration for him had grown. She'd found herself longing to be looking into his eyes. They reminded her of the sea, so blue and sparkling, but so deep and so full of immense perception. Freddie hadn't had an education like she'd had, yet she felt he knew so much more, and when he looked at her she felt a steadiness and a kindliness, a feeling of guardians.h.i.+p, as if Freddie was a harbour and she a boat coming home from a storm.

Kate was seventeen, and she loved to flirt and laugh with the local lads on the farm, but she had boundaries. Her s.e.xuality felt to her like a secret jewel she must not wear. She made sure that no man touched her, and if they tried she would deflect them in a firm but humorous way, and she felt confident of her ability to do that. It was something Ethie didn't understand. Ethie ragged her constantly, berating her for being a flirt and a shameless hussy. Kate rarely reacted. She felt sorry for Ethie who seemed cursed with unpleasantness both in her dour appearance and her mood.

Freddie had only held her for a few moments, but Kate had heard his deep slow heartbeat, and smelled the tweed of his jacket, and sensed the gentleness of his big hands on her back, holding her as if she were a fragile sh.e.l.l. She'd felt a tiny movement as his fingers explored the curls at the ends of her hair, and that had been strangely electrifying, as if her hair itself was sensitive, as if he was touching her whole being. Wary of the intensity, she had pulled away. Now she wished with all her heart that she'd kissed him.