Ben realized he was talking to us and said, “Where’s the jamboree?”
The boy screwed up his face and said, “St. David’s—duh. You coming or not?”
Ben and Charlie looked at me and Ben said, “I don’t know. Fred, are we?”
And just like that we were on a bus to the final resting place of St. David.
Next stop, Alan Froggley.
24
We finally make it to the final resting place of St. David
Scouts like to sing. The whole way to St. David’s, they sang. Loudly and joyfully. But even their cheery renditions of “Ging Gang Goolie” couldn’t settle the weird mixture of excitement, nerves, and sheer terror I was feeling. I was convinced the Gaffer was coming after us and every time a taxi drove by I had to stop myself from hiding under my seat.
The good thing about the scouts’ sing-along was that their mouths were full of “ging gangs” and not questions as to who we were and why we weren’t wearing our scarf rings. They only stopped when the bus driver turned up his radio to listen to a news report about the pope’s announcement that he would be coming to Wales to visit Three Saints Church.
We gave the boy scouts the slip as everyone got off at the bus station in St. David’s. I couldn’t believe we had finally made it. However, my sense of achievement was short-lived, because I suddenly realized that although we’d reached St. David’s, I had no idea where to find Alan Froggley.
“We should go to tourist information,” Charlie suggested.
This seemed like an odd idea, so I said, “Alan Froggley is hardly a tourist destination.”
“Neither is Three Saints Church, but the pope is headed there on his vacation,” Charlie chuckled.
“Actually, it’s not a bad idea—tourist information—and what else have we got to go on?” Ben said.
I wasn’t sure but because I didn’t exactly have a better plan, we wandered along to the tourist information center.
Lianne—that’s the lady who worked there—was very helpful and very knowledgeable. She had a kind face and reminded me of the statue of the Virgin Mary at Three Saints. Although Lianne wore a great big scrunchie in her hair and huge gold hoop earrings.
She told Charlie he could find St. David resting at St. David’s Cathedral and gave us a helpful map of the local area. When we asked about Alan, she suggested that we go to city hall.
“Do they have records of everyone who lives here?” I asked.
“Oooh, maybe,” she said. “But you want to talk to Hilda. She knows most people around here. If anyone has heard of your Alan Froggley, it’s her.”
“Thank you, Lianne,” I said.
“We will be giving you a very positive review on TripAdvisor,” Ben added.
We eventually found Hilda around the back of city hall on her cigarette break. For an old lady, she wore an awful lot of makeup and had what Grams would call “quite daring” dress sense. She wore a leopard-print cardigan wrapped around her and her white-blonde hair was piled up on top of her head. She reminded me of Lady Gaga. Both the dog and the singer.
After I’d given her my dangers-of-smoking talk, I got to the real point of our visit.
“We were told you might know how to find somebody,” I said, waving my hands through her cigarette smoke.
She gave a dismissive wave and all the bangles on her wrist jingled. “Who do you think I am? A private investigator?”
She didn’t look like a private investigator—she had no hat or dark glasses—so I said, “No, Lianne from tourist information told us you knew everybody around here.”
“Lianne—Cathy’s daughter? Used to work at the bowling alley? Was dating young Eric Johnson before she broke his heart?”
Grams used to do this sort of thing—rattle on about people I didn’t know and had never met.
“She had a scrunchie in her hair and big earrings?”
“Oh, that Lianne. Maureen’s daughter. Why didn’t you say so?” She puffed on her cigarette. “Yes, I know Lianne. Said I knew people, huh? Well, she’s right. Who are you boys looking for?”
“Alan Froggley,” I said.
She took a little step backward and steadied herself against the wall.
“Are you okay, Mrs.?” Charlie asked.
Hilda took a long drag on her cigarette and eyed me suspiciously. “Who are you to Alan Froggley?”
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to blurt out to someone I’d just met that I was Alan Froggley’s son. “My mom used to know him. I think.”
“Who’s your mom?”
“Her name was Molly Yates.”
Hilda shook her head. “Never heard of her—” And then she stopped talking and stared at me, hard. For ages. The ash on the end of her cigarette got really long and she only flicked it when Ben said, “You know Alan Froggley or what?”
She nodded slowly. “I think you’d better come with me.”
I weighed up the danger that a small elderly lady could pose to three strapping superheroes and said, “Okay, where are we going?”
“We’re going to my house. I’m not talking about my Alan here.”
What did she mean, her Alan? How could her Alan be my Alan? I wanted to ask so many questions, but from the look on her face I knew she wasn’t going to answer them right then.
Hilda’s car was the strangest car I’d ever seen. It had a roll-down roof, a spare tire on the hood, and she had to hit the front with a hammer to get it started. She said it was a Citroen 2CV and was made in 1965.
Charlie said, “I didn’t know cars existed then.”
And I was able to tell him that the first motor car was made by Karl Benz—who is the Benz in Mercedes-Benz—back in 1885. I think Hilda was impressed by my knowledge because she said, “Is that so?”
Ben said, “He has a thing about facts.”
And Hilda said, “Is that so?” again.
During the drive I tried to ask her about Alan Froggley, but all she would say was, “Wait until we’re home.” Although she kept looking at me in her rearview mirror.
Her home was a pretty little white cottage overlooking the sea. She brought a tray of lemonade and chocolate marshmallow cookies outside and we sat on a crumbling bench and watched the waves in the sunshine.
“Where are you boys from?” Hilda asked.
“Andover,” I said.
She nodded like she’d already known the answer.
“And how old are you?”
“Eleven and a bit.” I really didn’t want to talk about me. I knew about me. What I didn’t know about was my biological father. I drained my glass. “So do you know Alan Froggley?”
She looked out at the sea. “Yes, I knew Alan. I knew him very well.”
It’s funny how one little word can change everything.
She said “knew.” Not “know.” Knew.
And just like that I knew.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?”
I’d said those words, but it didn’t feel like they’d come out of my mouth.
“Yes, I’m afraid he is. He died almost two years ago.” A little trickle of black mascara ran down her face.
I think she kept speaking after that, but I wasn’t listening. I was remembering what I’d said to Ben—people die, they die all the time. Well, the people related to me did anyway.
A wave of sickness spread up from my toes.
It had all been a waste of time. Everything we’d done had been for nothing. I’d got Ben and Charlie in trouble for nothing. We’d traveled across the country for nothing.
Ben and Charlie were looking at me with these worried expressions and Hilda put her wrinkled hand on my knee. I didn’t want them looking at me or touching me or being kind.
I stood up and said, “I think I need to be on my own for a moment . . . if you . . . just excuse me . . .”
And then I ran. I ran out of her garden, over the hill, down toward the sea, and straight into my miracle.
25
My miracle
&n
bsp; It wasn’t anger I felt as I ran away, it was more than that. It was confusion. It was injustice. It was rage. And I needed to get it out before it got bigger than me.
When I reached the water’s edge, I picked up a stone and hurled it into the sea as hard as I could. It felt good, so I threw another and another until my arms got tired and then I shouted at the sky about how unfair everything was and I screamed until my throat got sore.
Slowly, I felt a shift inside me. The rage had passed, but in its place came another feeling. A deep overwhelming sadness.
I dropped to my knees and I cried.
I cried for Grams and Mom and Alan, but also for me. Okay, a lot for me. I cried big fat sobs of sadness all for me. I cried and I cried until the tears and the snot ran dry. But I wasn’t ready to stop so I forced myself to keep crying even though it wasn’t really crying anymore. I was just making loud noises that sounded a lot like the seagulls that were squawking overhead.
And then someone said, “That’s it, get it all out.”
Embarrassment flushed through me and I swung around to see who had caught me in full meltdown mode. The sun was shining directly in my eyes, so I couldn’t make out who it was.
Then they said something that made my insides jump. They said, “Come on now, my brave little soldier.”
Only one person in the entire world called me their little soldier.
I shielded my eyes with my hand and blinked furiously and before I even had time to think, I heard myself say, “Grams?”
“Who else?” She stepped toward me and I could see it was her. “Now come here and give your old Grams a hug, I don’t have long.”
“But you’re dead.”
“Yes, I realize that, Fred. But I also realize when my grandson needs me.”
“But you’re dead,” I said again. “You got a certificate and everything.”
“A certificate? Well, that’s something. But I’m not here to talk about me. I know about me. And while I might be dead, I’m still your Grams. Understand?”
I nodded even though I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand at all. It certainly sounded like Grams. I blinked again. It also looked like Grams—maybe a little bit more twinkly around the edges—but I would know that whiskery chin anywhere.
“Have you come from heaven?”
“Where did you think I’d be? I’ve washed enough of your and your father’s dirty underpants to earn my place up there three times over.”
“Is this real? Are you really here?”
“I’m either real or a figment of your imagination that you have produced as a way to process a recent emotional shock. I’ll let you decide which. Now, do you mind telling me why we’re both standing on a beach on the most western part of Wales, looking for—”
She closed her eyes for a moment and I could tell she was struggling to say the name.
Eventually she forced a smile and said, “Alan Froggley.”
I made a little circle in the sand with my foot. “I thought it would all be okay, that I’d be happy if I found Alan Froggley.”
Grams looked heavenward. “Lord give me strength. You thought Alan Froggley was going to make you happy? Why on earth would you think that?”
My eyes started stinging like I might cry again. “Because family makes you happy—you told me that. You even put it on one of your sweaters.”
“Oh, Fred, is that what you thought?”
I noticed that while she was still sparkly around the edges, her body was starting to fade. I rubbed my nose roughly with my sleeve, then looked at her accusingly. “Well, I don’t have very much family left, do I?”
“That depends on your definition of family. I think you’ve been using the wrong one.”
“I have?”
“You have, but I’m sure you’ll work it out soon enough. Now, I definitely asked for a hug quite some time ago.”
She pulled me into her and filled me up with the smell of lavender and mints.
“Don’t go,” I said.
She held my shoulders and looked me in the eyes. Her twinkly edges were spreading across her whole body. “Don’t go? I can’t very well stay here, can I? And besides, you have another grandma to watch after you now.”
“Another grandma?”
“Hilda. Just promise you won’t go liking her more than me. Or I will come down and smite you.”
“I won’t,” I blubbered. And then I said, “Is smiting an actual thing then?”
“You’d better believe it. Now come along, no more tears—you’ll be fine. The world’s a wonderful place, Freddie. It’s full of adventures and heroes and miracles, for those who go looking.”
I nodded and tried to be brave and not cry.
“I love you, Fred.”
“I love you, Grams.”
It was getting harder to see her as the sparkles were so bright.
“Gosh, I almost forgot! Tell your father to use the picture of me in the blue cardigan on the front of my funeral program. He’s picked the one of me in the peach twinset and it does nothing for my complexion.”
She turned to leave.
But a thought rose up in my mind. If Grams was here, then did that mean . . . I couldn’t let her go without asking. “Wait!” I shouted. “Did you see her?”
Grams smiled and nodded. “Look behind you.”
I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned.
It was my mom and she looked like stardust.
I hugged her, and she smelled of sea air and rose petals.
She rested her chin on my head and spoke into my hair. “Your dad’s coming for you.”
I felt the words I love you.
And then they were gone.
26
Where my dad finds me
It turns out that experiencing a miracle is tiring. I must have fallen asleep, because it had got cold and the tide had gone far out. I stood up and brushed the sand out of my hair. I wrapped my arms around myself and headed toward the hill I had run down from Hilda’s house.
Charlie and Ben were probably getting worried. I had no idea how long I’d been away. I’d tell them I’d gone on a walk and got lost or something. I decided there and then that I wouldn’t mention the chat with my dead grandmother or seeing my mom. Ben would probably think I was cracking under the stress and Charlie wouldn’t be able to cope with the excitement of another miracle on top of Sheila the Savior Sheep.
As I made my way across the sand, I saw a figure unsteadily making its way toward me, waving a long stick in the air.
“Fred? Fred!”
“Dad?”
I broke into a run.
He tried to hobble a little faster on his crutches.
When I reached him I saw he looked tired around the eyes, but he’d shaved and he was even wearing a shirt instead of one of his grubby T-shirts.
“Dad, what are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” His voice quivered with anger and he pointed one of his crutches at me. “What in God’s name are you doing here?”
Before I could reply, he’d pulled me into him. “Don’t ever do that to me again, you hear? Don’t you ever run away from me.”
I wasn’t sure if he was hugging me or strangling me. I think maybe a little of both.
He grabbed my shoulders, his crutches dangling from his wrists, and stared me in the eyes. “If you run away from me again, I’ll hunt you down and I’ll find you. And when I find you, you’ll wish you’d run away better. You’ll wish you’d run away so good that if running away was a sport you’d want to be the world champion of it. Do you understand me?”
“Not really. You’re not making a whole lot of sense.”
“That is because I am feeling a lot of emotions right now, Fred.”
“Maybe focus on the happy emotion rather than the angry one?” I suggested.
“From now on, every second of every minute of every day, you tell me exactly what you’re doing. Where you are, who you’re with. I need to know everything. You go for
a pee, I need to hear about it.”
The pee thing seemed excessive, but I wasn’t about to argue with a man on the edge, so I said, “Okay, Dad. I’ll tell you when I pee.”
“Okay. Good. Actually, maybe forget about the pee thing. But the other things . . . you need to tell me all the other things.”
“Am I going to be grounded forever?”
“Longer.”
I guessed that was fair enough.
His eyes softened a little. “Ben and Charlie told me about Mr. Froggley. Are you alright?”
I spotted Ben and Charlie hanging farther back on the beach with their parents. They held up their hands and I waved back.
“Yeah, Dad, I’m fine.”
“They’re good boys. They were worried about you racing off like that.”
“I’m sorry. Didn’t think.”
Dad shook his head and sighed. “I’m just glad we’ve found you safe and well, Fred.”
That was a point. How had he found me? “How did you get here from Andover so quickly?”
“Ben’s dad, Becky, Charlie’s mom, and me—we all headed to Wales as soon as that taxi driver showed up with that newspaper article, asking questions.”
“Newspaper article?”
“The one featuring Charlie Anderson, Barry’s 114th onion-eating champion.”
“Oh, that one.”
“Becky drove us all down last night to try and find you. We’d tracked you to Gileston and were speaking to a PC Mike when Ben called to tell us what had happened, and that you were upset.”
“I’m sorry if you were worried. I thought I could get here and back without you noticing.”
“Why did you come here, Fred?”
I looked toward the sea. The tide was even farther out now. “I thought there was something here I needed. Turns out I was wrong.”
He put his arm around me. “You’re cold. Let’s get back inside and get you warmed up. And then we can start discussing how things are going to change at home. I’ve been a bit of a lousy dad recently . . .” He held up his hand. “Now, don’t say I haven’t.”
I wasn’t going to, but I didn’t tell him that.
“I made a promise to your mom, and if your Grams was here and could hear me now, I’d make the same promise to her. And that promise is that I will look after you and love you until the day I die.”
The Super Miraculous Journey of Freddie Yates Page 13