“You can choose, you just haven’t done it yet,” Jake told her.
“Where do I choose, where are they kept?”
“You’re wearing it, look.” A little girl a year or two younger than Freya lightly touched her arm.
Freya glanced down and sucked in her breath. She’d been admiring the bodice of another girl, the colour of moonlight and covered in tiny silver stars. Now as she stared down at her chest she was wearing the same top. “I can change it? Wow! Just like this!” She turned it from silvery-lemon to pink. “Wow!”
Suddenly all the girls were altering their dresses! Skirts were flickering from pale-blue to pastel-pink, to soft gold and mint, and back again. Sleeves were floaty and short, then long and slender, and all the girls gathered in a huddle.
One or two boys changed the colour of their waistcoat, but generally the boys had no interest in the fashion-show frenzy.
Freya finally settled on a hint of lilac, the bodice developed hooks and eyes and a silver ribbon, and the skirt, long and flared, reached her calves. Freya twirled and twirled and relished the admiration of the girls. Finally she flopped to the floor beside Jake.
“Are you finished?” he asked with a grin.
She nodded, totally oblivious of his boredom. “So, still no wings?” She looked hopeful. “I can’t just magic them up myself, can I?”
He shook his head. “That brings me back to my original point…you don’t need them.” He ignored her frustrated sigh. “You really don’t. Everyone here just chose to be here, to come and see you, no one had to fly, they just decided.”
“They just decided to be here and…”
“And they were.” Jake nodded.
Freya thought for a moment then knowledge flashed through her mind and a big smile spread across her face. “I can just think things and they’ll happen?”
Jake nodded again.
Freya was back up on her feet in a second. She stood on tiptoes again and pirouetted then flopped back down. “But I still can’t have wings?”
This time Jake shook his head.
Up again and Freya’s smile contained a hint of mischief. “Anywhere?” she asked and was gone. Jake’s head whipped round and he spied her at the rear of the pack of girls. Then she was gone again. It took a moment before he spotted her peering out from behind a particularly large bush. He got to his feet and was beside her in flash. “See, I can do it too.” He grinned.
She disappeared again, but he was with her, and she led him a merry dance across her meadow, finishing at the weeping willow. She dropped to the ground again her eyes twinkling. “This is amazing!” She sucked in a big breath, and blew up her cheeks and exhaled. “Wow!” she said, “I’m dead…I think I’m an angel, but without wings…I can make flowers and trees…and change my clothes without undressing! I can get anywhere I want by just thinking about it…” She tapped her skull. “And there is so much more in there than there ever was before!”
She got to her feet again and wandered towards the willow trunk. The tree towered over her, the trunk bending beneath the weight of its boughs. Feathery leaves fluttered and Freya ran her fingers through the fronds. She sighed again. “This is amazing.”
Her gaze travelled and took her to her roses. Then she was beside them, bending her neck to plunge her nose into satiny petals. She inhaled deeply, letting the sweet fragrance intoxicate her. She closed her eyes and let memories wash over her.
She remembered her mother’s purple roses. ‘Rhapsody in Blue…could there ever be a better name for a rose?’ Her mother had said as they’d admired the colour. ‘And they smell good!’ Freya had laughed. That day Freya had pulled a petal from the rose and sat on the grass rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger. It felt soft, velvety, and safe. Safe was a strange emotion to be contained within a rose, but it was actually the garden that made Freya feel safe. Her mother’s domain, her mother’s favourite place and that made it equally Freya’s favourite place.
While her mother dug, weeded, planted, watered and watched her plants grow, Freya watched her mother. The flowers became her companions, the snails, and ladybirds and butterflies her playmates, and the garden her kingdom.
Now Freya touched the pale rose in her hand and stroked a petal, allowing the sentiment to take her back to earth, back to her garden, back to her mother... Overwhelmed, Freya opened her eyes and her smile vanished.
Jake placed his hand on her shoulder and patted it lightly.
“Anywhere?” she murmured, “I can go anywhere?”
“Anywhere,” he whispered, “but not there.”
The garden was just as she’d left it. Her bike resting against the shed, the front wheel turned in, and the white wicker basket still holding the plastic cups and saucers Freya had been playing with. The only thing missing was Purple Ted. He no longer sat in the basket he now sat indoors, upstairs, on Mum’s pillow.
The weeks had overtaken her parents and no one had thought to put her bike away. It remained outside getting wetter with every rainy day.
“It’ll rust,” thought Freya pragmatically as she stared down at it.
Freya was on her own, drawn to her special place below, but unable to reach it.
Beneath her, at home, the bluebells were finishing, their strappy leaves faded and yellow, and beside them lily-of-the-valley tried its best to last a few more days.
Taking over were the spiky blue clumps of dianthus, already in flower and intoxicating anyone who bent close with their delicious, heavy fragrance. The newer, smaller clumps were Freya’s. She’d spent months last summer watching several little pots of cuttings, getting excited every time a new, green pair of spiky leaves emerged from the centre of the sprig. The shoots thrived and in the autumn, when they were strong and bushy, Freya had planted them. Now their silver-blue foliage was the perfect foil to the dainty, pink flowers, every petal cut by fairies’ pinking shears…
“Fairies!” Freya chuckled. “They exist no more than chubby, renaissance angels!”
She could see each flower as if she were knelt beside it, and the scent rose, spiralling a million miles, or so, until she could smell it too. Her lip curled into a wry smile. “Memory…” her mind affirmed, “I can see it, but the smell is from memory.”
The back door suddenly swung open and Freya’s mum stepped outside. She stood for a moment then the small girl clambering down the step behind her grabbed her attention. “Careful…” She spoke softly and held out her hand to steady the toddler.
“Jasmine,” Freya breathed.
The little girl clutched a pale-blue teddy in her fist and dropped it as she stood outside beside her mother. “Ooops Ted,” she said in a singsong voice and bent to pick him up. “Dere, dere.” She patted him soothingly.
Freya’s mum didn’t move, but watched wistfully as her youngest daughter trotted across the yard. Jasmine, oblivious to the two sets of eyes on her, reached the glittery-violet bicycle. The handlebars shone in the sun and Jasmine swung her teddy bear by her side. She stood for a moment staring at the bike. Rachel, her mother, opened her mouth but didn’t speak. Jasmine nodded to herself and lifted up her teddy; she kissed him and plonked him unceremoniously into the plastic basket.
Rachel lifted her hand and grief filled her eyes, but again she did not speak. She let her hand drop to her side and sank down onto the back door step. Jasmine waddled away from the bike and back towards Mum. She beamed at Mum and then pushed past behind her, disappearing back into the house.
Teddy peered over the edge of the bicycle basket a permanent smile sewed in place, and ignored the tears that streamed down Rachel’s face.
Freya’s mother didn’t get further than the back door that day.
An hour later it began to rain and Rachel disappeared back into the house. Then Jasmine climbed back down the step and toddled to the bike. “Ted wet,” she said and reached up to yank him back into her arms. “Dere, dere,” she sang, and carried him tenderly indoors.
Freya’s gaze broke through t
he brick walls, and through the interior partitions, and she watched her sister as she scrambled up onto her parents’ bed. Jasmine cuddled into her mother and cradled her teddy bear as her mother cradled Purple Ted, both bears wet with rain and tears.
I wanted to touch her…” Freya sat, despondent, beneath the willow.
Jake wore a concerned expression. “I know, but you can’t.”
“I don’t see why not, I only want to…be there.”
“But you can’t.”
“I know, you’ve already told me.” Freya frowned. A light mist had descended in her heaven, which matched her mood. “But I still don’t see why not. It would help.”
“Who would it help, you or your mum?”
“Both.”
“D’you think?”
She nodded. “I just want to hug her, to be with her. I want to go home.” Freya’s shoulders slumped. “I want to go home, Jake, I want to go home now.” Her eyes teared up as she looked at him.
“But you only just got here…”
She shrugged. “It’s nice and all, but I want to go now, I want to go home.”
Jake stared wordlessly at her, unsure how to react. “But there’s so much more to see…” he started lamely.
“I don’t want to see any more.”
“Of course you do!” He fixed a smile on his face and jumped to his feet. “C’mon…” He held out his hand.
Freya crossed her arms and her frown grew deeper still.
“C’mon…” he pleaded.
“I don’t want to go, I want to go home! I want my mum.” She closed her eyes and refused to look at him.
Jake hopped from one foot to the other, his head spinning, his first assignment and he was going to blow it! “Please Freya…come with me.”
Hot tears overflowed and with them Freya released little choked sobs. Jake’s eyes opened wide with panic, and he dropped to his knees. “C’mon Freya, don’t cry.”
Her eyes flew open and she looked up at him beseechingly. “Then tell me how to get home!”
His voice was barely more than a whisper. “You are home.”
“I’m not, look!”
Freya fell forward onto all fours and before them heaven slipped away. She gazed down at the scene that opened. It was nothing special, just a mother and a father watching television, sitting side-by-side on a sofa with a toddler playing at their feet.
The soap on screen failed to hold their attention, and gossip filled the room, but nobody heard it.
Freya’s father tightened his lips as his wife leaned into his shoulder. She snuggled close, her hair slipping across her face. She absently flicked it back and watched Jasmine on the floor. Jasmine chattered, as only toddlers do, and then climbed up onto her father’s lap. He hooked his arm around his small daughter and held her close. Jasmine wriggled free and sat upright. She squirmed as he grabbed her and tickled her. Her laughter filled the room and her parents’ hearts burned with love.
Rachel remained tucked into her husband’s side while Jasmine struggled to contain her giggles. Suddenly Joe stopped tickling her and pulled her to him close, Jasmine did not resist. With difficulty he kept his composure, whilst he clasped his daughter and held his wife.
All eyes focused on the television, though the screen was nothing but a blur.
“I want to be there,” Freya whispered.
Jake shrugged cheerlessly, while Freya’s heart sprouted wings of its own and left.
Freya followed her heart.
In a whoosh of cold air she was there.
She stood in the same room as her family. Nothing had changed, Jasmine still sat enveloped in her father’s arms, her mother was motionless her hand resting on Joe’s arm as he held her and her father still stared blankly at the television screen.
Freya didn’t move she held her position so still a statue would have been envious. Nothing happened.
The television continued to blare, soap actresses still shouted at each other, theme music boomed into the quiet room and Freya could contain herself no longer.
“I’m here!” she cried and her voice caught with emotion. “I’m here.”
The bulb above her flickered, as did the television, and the stereo clock began to blink.
“I’m here!” she shouted and clasped her hands to her chest.
Nobody moved, nobody shivered, or flinched or even started.
“I’m here…” Freya’s voice disappeared as she sank to her knees. “Flicker, lights please…” she begged. “Do it again and show them I’m here.”
Her family remained fused together on the sofa, oblivious of anything but each other.
Freya stayed on her knees and watched them. Her mother closed her eyes, and her father pursed his lips even tighter. He stared straight at Freya, with a gaze so intent, she could do nothing but return it. His stare was empty of sight, his eyes glazed with unshed tears, and Freya desperately wanted to know what he was feeling. There was no way to penetrate his mind, no way to see what he was seeing behind the blindness. His fingers gripped Jasmine’s arm leaving little indents from each finger. The tips of his fingers got whiter until suddenly Jasmine cried out and shook his hand away.
“I’m sorry!” Joe snapped back into reality and immediately rubbed his daughter’s arm, apologising readily until she smiled and hugged him back.
The moment was broken.
Rachel swung her feet up onto the sofa and leaned away from Joe, slumping into the cushion and slipping her toes beneath Joe’s thigh. Jasmine grinned at her father then slipped off his lap back down to her toys at his feet.
Joe sighed and glanced at his wife. “Bedtime then?”
She nodded and began to stretch.
“No, let me do it.” Joe put his hand on her leg to stay her. “C’mon Jazzy, let’s go, kiss your mum.”
Jasmine leapt into her mother’s arms and planted a big kiss on her cheek, then an even bigger one on her lips. Mum laughed and wrapped her arms around her little girl. Both were lost in the hug until Dad spoke again. “C’mon Jaz.”
Jasmine slipped off Mum and grabbed Teddy from the floor. She took her father’s hand and allowed him to lead her from the room, giving a huge yawn as she disappeared through the door. “Bye, bye, Mummy.”
“Bye, bye Jasmine,” replied Mum.
Joe closed the door behind him and Freya was alone in the room with her mum.
Rachel reached for the remote control and switched off the television. The silence was consuming. Freya relaxed into a lotus position on the floor and watched her mother. Rachel stared at her fingers for a long time, tugging at the quick on her forefinger, before eventually biting off the offending scrap of skin. She ran her fingers over her cheek, and across her lips, as if trying to retrace the kisses left there by Jasmine. Then she began to chew a fingernail and her eyes travelled across the room.
They didn’t settle on Freya sat in front of her, but on Freya’s image opposite on the mantel.
It was her favourite photograph of her daughter. One she’d taken in the woods behind the house. Freya was wearing fairy wings; you couldn’t really see them, because her face filled the frame, but they were there, gauzy and lilac behind her dark hair. She’d been dancing through the trees, singing and chattering, and Rachel had followed with the camera poised for what seemed like ages…then Freya turned and in that split second Rachel caught her, and had frozen the moment of magic forever.
Freya’s upturned nose was creased as her mouth formed a huge, open smile and her green, pixie eyes twinkled as the sun sparkled. Both innocence and mischief were captured on the little girl’s face, melded together, and Rachel loved the picture.
Joe had suggested it was the photo they should give to the police, the one that got shown on the news and the one that depicted Freya forever in the papers, but Rachel refused. She didn’t want that picture tainted, didn’t want it connected in any way with her death, so the traditional school photo had been the one that found its way on to the television and newspapers
. It wasn’t even this photograph that appeared in the chapel at the funeral, this one was special; this one belonged to Freya and Rachel, Joe and Jasmine.
She stared at the image and smiled. Then she let the silent tears loose and allowed them to slip down her cheeks unchecked.
Freya watched.
When Joe came back in, he glanced at his wife and carefully shut the door. He gently sat down and took her in his arms.
“It was the photo…” she began.
“I know, I know…”
He held her as she wept and his tears mingled with hers.
Freya breathed slowly and quietly, until it occurred to her that she wasn’t breathing at all. Her body was still doing what she expected, although it no longer needed to. It was a strange sensation to not breathe, but as natural as breathing itself. Instead she listened to her parents’ ragged breaths until they had both cried themselves out.
The room was silent except for the odd sigh and sniff, and her parents relaxed their hold on each other. Joe pulled himself up in his chair and held out his arm, as before, so Rachel could lean close and he could wrap it around her shoulder. They settled and Rachel closed her eyes.
Freya’s soul, she now knew it wasn’t her heart anymore, yearned to reach them. She, very slowly, got to her feet and stood before them. “I’m here…” she whispered once more then she carefully, almost reverently, climbed up onto her father’s lap.
She traced her mother’s cheek with her finger and placed a tiny kiss on her father’s. Then she closed her eyes and curled her ghostly form between them.
She was there.
When her parents went to bed Freya did not follow them. She, instead, drifted home. Home…she was torn, how would she ever define ‘home’ again?
“What did you expect?” asked Jake softly, almost bitterly. “I told you you couldn’t go back.”
“I know.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I just…I just wanted to go back, to be in their arms… I made the lights flicker!”
“No you didn’t. It was an advert break, the programme finished, your flickering light was only a power surge…”
Beneath the Rainbow Page 3