The Super Miraculous Journey of Freddie Yates

by Jenny Pearson

  I rummaged around through a whole heap of lottery scratch cards. I found her reading glasses, her spare set of false teeth, and a few of her hair rollers. They weren’t what I had in mind as a memento, so I closed the drawer and opened the one below. Inside I spotted one of her handkerchiefs—it had little purple flowers stitched on it. I held it to my nose and as I inhaled I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, they were leaking.

  3

  This is where I have a proper cry and then get given a letter from Grams

  The next morning Mr. Burnley came around to drive Dad into town. When someone dies there is an awful lot of paperwork to be done so that everyone knows they are really dead.

  Dad had to register Grams’s death and collect her death certificate. To be honest, I still don’t see the point in awarding a dead person a certificate. Especially when they didn’t even have to try very hard to get it. I asked Dad if he was going to put it on the wall with my gold swimming certificate. Now that did require effort. I had to tie knots in my pajama bottoms and blow them up to make floats while I was treading water. Dad said no—he’d have to send it to the bank. I still don’t know why the bank wanted my Grams’s prize for dying.

  Dad told me to keep busy while he was out, so that I wouldn’t feel too sad. I logged on to my favorite fact-finding website, Factination, and learned that:

  1.Bees can get drunk on alcohol, but when they return to the hive there are these bouncer bees who refuse to let them in until they sober up. Ha—funny!

  2.A male swan is called a cob and the female swan is called a pen. The mute swan—the type the Queen owns—has a top speed of fifty-five miles per hour. That’s the same speed Grams was going when she hit the war memorial.

  3.Children’s cells live on in their mothers. Babies’ DNA has been found knitted into their mother’s brain, bone, and heart tissue. Oh.

  And that’s when I stopped looking at facts. I realized that when my mom died, a tiny bit of me died too. And when Grams died, the last tiny bit of my mom died with her.

  I had not reckoned on facts making me feel worse. Usually they make me feel better. After that, all I wanted to do was burrow underneath my comforter and shut out the world. I went to my closet and chose one of the sweaters Grams had made me. Once she told me she knitted me sweaters so that I had something to hug me all day. At the time I thought it was a bit cringey, but in that moment, more than anything, I needed one of her hugs.

  I chose the beige one with the brown teddy bear on the front with the words Family Makes You Happy stitched beneath. It’s important that you know I would never wear it out in public. I think I was probably using it as a sort of knitwear comfort blanket. I hid under my covers and took Grams’s hanky from under my pillow and sniffed it deeply. I’m not good at crying, but it felt like one of those times when it would be worth giving it a go. I have to admit, after a few minutes of huge full-body sobs, I started feeling a little better. And then I started feeling a little hot. It was July and I was wearing a chunky knit under a comforter.

  Just as I threw the covers off, I heard Dad’s crutches scuffling on the carpet on the landing. He hadn’t made it upstairs since the accident.

  The door opened and his head poked in.

  “You alright, son?” He pointed a crutch at me. “Is that one of your Grams’s sweaters?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Ah, that’s nice. Make you feel close to her?”

  “It does a little. I took a handkerchief of hers too.” I held it out to him. “It smells like lavender.”

  Dad smiled this lopsided smile and took the hanky. It was when he held it up that we both realized my monumental mistake.

  “Oh, Freddie, you dope,” he snorted. “You’ve been sniffing your Grams’s undies.”

  I don’t know really what to say about that other than it happened, and I’ve put it behind me. When Dad had regained his composure, he remembered why he’d come up to speak to me and his face became all serious.

  “Fred, I’ve got something for you from the lawyers.” He pulled out an envelope from his back pocket.

  “What is it?”

  His eyes started to look a little watery again, so I said, “Do you know the Chinese invented paper envelopes in the second century BC?”

  And he said, “That’s wonderful, Fred.” Which is odd, because of all the facts I’ve told him in the past, I don’t think this one is more wonderful than the rest.

  He passed the envelope to me and I saw my name written on the front in twirly old-lady writing.

  “It’s from your Grams.”

  “But she’s dead.”

  “She wrote it when she was alive, for you to read once she was dead.”

  This is also odd—if she knew she was going to die she should have told somebody. I slid my fingers under the flap and opened it up.

  Dear Fred,

  My little soldier.

  That was as far as I got. I suddenly felt like I might cry again, so I gulped away my tears and breathed out slowly.

  Dad put his arm on my shoulder and said, “You don’t have to read it now. Put it away for when you’re ready. When you feel strong enough.”

  He tapped his cast with his crutch. “I’m going to lie down. My leg’s killing me.”

  I helped him downstairs and onto the sofa. His voice got a little squeaky when he said, “You meant the world to your Grams. And you mean the world to me.”

  It felt like a bubble of sadness was ballooning in my chest, so I thought it was best if I was on my own. “I think I’m going to head upstairs to my room. Can I get you anything before I go?”

  “Grab me a soda and a bag of chips, would you?”

  I got him a soda and some chips and plumped up the cushions for him and then scratched a bit on his back he couldn’t reach.

  “You’re a good boy, Fred. Your mom would be proud of you.”

  I never met my mom. I don’t know what her voice sounded like or if she smelled of lavender like Grams or some other flower. I don’t know if she could roll her tongue like I can but Dad can’t, or if she got to see me before she died.

  But one fact I do know about my mom is that she was easily pleased.

  I mean really easily pleased.

  I left Dad in his cloud of chips crumbs and went up to my room. I took my Things I’ve Done That Would Make Mom Proud notebook out of my desk drawer. It’s where I write a list of things I have done that my dad says would have made Mom proud. There’s quite a lot of entries. None of them were difficult things. But I still like reading them. Here are some examples so you get the picture.

  My first day at St. Theresa’s

  All I accomplished was eating some Frosted Flakes and getting dressed in my uniform (I didn’t even tie my shoelaces—Grams did that).

  Acting in the school nativity

  Not even a speaking role—I only had to wear a rubber glove strapped to my stomach as an udder and moo a couple of times.

  Learning to ride my bike

  Literally everyone else (other than Charlie) could ride a bike before I could.

  Getting my first sticker in my math book, aged seven

  I had only learned the two, five, and ten times tables. Ben had his sevens, which were really hard to get when you’re in third year.

  I added getting Dad a soda and some chips and the back scratching to the list as well.

  I must have drifted off to sleep because when I woke up my notebook was stuck to my face with my own drool. I peeled it off carefully. A few of the words were smudged but it wasn’t too bad. I couldn’t believe it when I checked my robot alarm clock and it said 8 p.m.! I’d missed my dinner. Grams would never have let me miss my dinner. I need my food. I’m a growing boy.

  Then I remembered Grams.

  And then I remembered The Letter.

  I fished it out of my back pocket and opened the flap. And that’s when I saw that The Letter wasn’t the only thing in the envelope. My birth certificate was also inside.

  4


  I should probably explain why my birth certificate led me, Charlie, and Ben on our super miraculous journey

  Grams and Dad never kept it a secret. I’ve always known Dad isn’t my biological father. My biological father left Mom when she was pregnant with me and then she met my dad not long after that. When she died just after I was born, Dad stuck around because he and Grams were all I had. I once overheard one of the dads at the school entrance say that it was a miracle that he stayed. I don’t know about that. I think maybe it just makes him a really good guy.

  I had only ever asked about my real father a couple of times. Grams maintained she didn’t know anything about him, not even a name. Had I known she was such an accomplished liar I might have pushed her harder. Dad always looked so hurt that I stopped bringing it up. It didn’t bother me that much. If I’m honest, I only ever thought about my biological father if Dad and I were having an argument or when we couldn’t afford something, and I wondered if my other dad might be rich.

  But then, out of the blue, I had my birth certificate and I had a name.

  Alan Froggley.

  Yeah—not a great name.

  I held off making too many judgments about Alan before I’d read Grams’s letter.

  Dear Fred,

  My little soldier. The fact that you’re reading this means I’m probably dead.

  I’ve left a little money for you in a bank account for when you’re eighteen. I should say to spend it on college but I’m going to say spend it on whatever will make you happy. And what will make you happy will be a decent education that will set you up for life. Don’t fight me on this.

  You’ve probably looked at your birth certificate by now. Perhaps I should have given it to you before. I thought about not giving it to you at all. But when all is said and done, you have every right to know who your biological father is. You can make up your own mind about him, should you wish to meet him. I’m not going to poison your mind against that waste of space. Your real dad, Joe—he’s a good man. He became like a son to me. He was good to my Molly when that weasel Alan left her. Joe loves you, Freddie—with every bone of his body.

  Don’t forget to wear a jacket in the winter. Pop-Tarts are not a nutritious breakfast. Remind your dad garbage cans go out on Wednesdays.

  I love you, Freddie. Always.

  Don’t be too sad.

  Grams xxx

  I was sad.

  But as I lay on my bed, one name kept going around in my head.

  Alan Froggley.

  Alan.

  Froggley.

  Al.

  Froggers.

  I tried saying it out loud a few times, hoping it would make me feel more connected.

  Alan Froggley. Alan Froggley. Alan Froggley.

  It didn’t work.

  His name didn’t conjure up anything. I held my birth certificate in my hand and thought, Who are you, Alan?

  And then I saw his place of birth listed as St. David’s, Wales.

  Wales? Could I really be part Welsh? I can’t sing a note and I’m lousy at rugby.

  I don’t remember making a conscious decision to look him up, but I found myself tapping Alan Froggley into Google. Unsurprisingly there weren’t many hits. There was a story about an Alan Froggley who got his ear blown off in World War II. Definitely not him. And an Alan Froggley who lived in America and was the owner of the biggest big toes in the state of Texas. I scooched my foot out of my Incredible Hulk slipper to be sure, but if anything, my big toes were a little smaller than average. I could rule him out. The final Alan Froggley was about the right age. There was a grainy black-and-white picture on his work website. It listed him as a research analyst for a company called Cardiff Analytics. At the time I didn’t know what that meant, so I googled it.

  A research analyst is a professional who is responsible for reviewing, collecting, and reporting on a variety of data sets and information sources.

  This basically meant he worked with facts. My stomach did the same weird wobbly thing it did every time Grams drove too fast over the hill at the bottom of the road.

  I tried to see if there was a family resemblance, but I couldn’t clearly make out what he looked like from the tiny photo. There was a little biography under his name that said he’d been at the company for seven years and ran a team of twelve analysts. It also said he enjoyed walking. I got excited at that because I can walk. And that he liked swimming—I’ve got my bronze survival award and I can swim three-quarters of a length underwater (but only with my goggles on). At this point I was convinced. Facts, walking, and swimming—it couldn’t be a coincidence. I’d found him. Well, online anyway.

  I still don’t know where the idea to visit him in real life came from. It might have been the thought of the boring summer that was ahead of me, or that I wanted to do something rather than stay at home looking after Dad and missing Grams. Or it might have been because I was getting worried about the fact that my family was down to two. And if Dad kept doing things like running himself over it could end up as just me, which wasn’t a good thought. But once I’d had the idea it got stuck in my head and I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it. I was going to meet my biological father.

  I opened up a group chat with Ben and Charlie. I wouldn’t get very far without a well-thought-out cover story and I needed their help.

  F:How u doin?

  C:My life sux: Mom found my secret snack stash I was hiding for Hunger Camp.

  B:My life sux harder: Disney World = my own personal hell.

  Ben attached a photo of his family with the cast of Beauty and the Beast from his Easter vacation. Becky was up front and center with her arms around Lumière. I’d never seen a candlestick look so pleased with itself. Ben was sulking at the back.

  I was annoyed about their pity party, especially as I was clearly having a way worse time than them. I kind of wanted them to feel bad so I sent:

  F:My life sux the most: my Grams died.

  I stared at my phone, wondering how they’d reply.

  For a while they didn’t. And then:

  C:Fred wins.

  B:Agreed. That does suck the most. Sorry bud.

  C:Feel bad now. M8 u ok?

  I got the major guilts for telling them like that.

  F:Yeah, I’m ok.

  There was another pause.

  B:But . . . did I tell you that Becky bought us all matching T-shirts w/ I heart Mickey. That’s pretty awful 2.

  C:And did I mention I have 2 drink avocado & wheatgrass smoothies every morning on vegan vacation?

  B:Grass? Duuuude—think we might have a new contender 4 winner of the suckiest life.

  That’s when I hit them with it.

  F:Guys—I’m going to Wales to find my biological dad, Alan Froggley.

  I’d never told them my dad wasn’t my biological father. Not because I was hiding it from them, it just never came up.

  C:Your biological dad is Welsh?

  Yup, that’s what Charlie took from that.

  C:Wait! Ur biological dad?

  There we go.

  F:He left before I was born. But now I’ve found him.

  B:U sure about this? What does ur actual dad think? And how u getting there? Thought he couldnt drive.

  F:Dad doesn’t know. I’m going on my own. This wknd. Need u 2 cover 4 me.

  My phone told me: Charlie is typing. Ben is typing.

  I held my breath and waited.

  Then I stopped holding my breath because it was taking them too long to reply.

  F:Any1 there?

  They were probably on a separate chat. Figuring out what to say. I wished they’d hurry up.

  C:I’ll come wiv u. A bit of fun b4 my vegan vacay hell in 2 wks.

  B:Me 2. Becky is doing my hed in. I wanna break b4 USA.

  F:U sure?

  I’d been secretly hoping for this outcome.

  B: Don’t leave for another 6 days anyways.

  C:Yup.

  F:Come 2 mine 2morrow 2
discuss plan?

  C:Sure 10am?

  F:Yup.

  B:Cu 2mrrow.

  5

  Where Ben, Charlie, and I make a plan that, in hindsight, could have done with a teensy bit more thought

  I was woken up by the sound of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” Dad had bought one of those musical doorbells, and it had got stuck on that tune. He still hasn’t fixed it because he says Christmas will be here before we know it. I think time must go quicker for adults.

  Dad hollered up at me, “Get that, would you, Fred?”

  I rammed my feet into my slippers and headed downstairs. Dad craned his neck to look at me through the living-room door. “Hey, bedhead, thought I’d let you lie in. Reckon you needed your sleep.” He held out a package of chocolate cookies. I shook my head—what would Grams say if I started my day with a cookie?

  “You seen this?” Dad nodded toward the TV. “This absolute joker stole some priceless rings right from under Fiona Bruce’s nose.”

  “Who?” On the screen was a woman with excellent teeth looking very dismayed.

  “From the Antiques Roadshow—Fiona Bruce. Some thief in a ski cap swiped these rings live on the air off this poor old dear. Disappeared without a trace.”

  To be honest, I wasn’t giving Dad my full attention. Antiques weren’t really my thing. “I’m going to answer the door.”

  Ben and Charlie were on the doorstep with their arms over each other’s shoulders, swaying from side to side.

  “And a happy New Year!” They finished the song and took a bow. Ben took his baseball cap off and held it out for money.

  I felt a little emotional when I saw them. I didn’t want to cry so I said, “Did you know Joseph Henry invented the doorbell in 1831?” and the tears stopped prickling the back of my eyeballs.

  Charlie at least looked impressed. “I did not know that.”

  Ben was not distracted by the doorbell fact. He did this concerned frown and said, “You alright, Fred?”

  “Course he’s not alright, he’s in the middle of a personal crisis.” Charlie pushed past me and marched into the living room. Dad was still watching the news. There was a picture of two gold rings shaped like swans on the screen and the word REWARD. Dad muted the TV. “Morning, boys.”