‘Kate – before we go any further, and I hope you understand what I mean, I need to ask you something.’
‘Go on, then.’ She smiled into his attentive blue eyes, concerned to see anxiety in there.
‘What about – Ian Tillerman?’
‘Oh him,’ said Kate contemptuously. ‘I’m afraid Ian is like a little boy. He went around telling everyone I was his fiancée, and he was lying. When I found out, I told him to go to Putney on a pig.’
Freddie laughed with her, feeling his troubles rolling away like barrels down a hillside.
‘Well now – I’ll tell you something, Kate,’ he said. ‘What do you think I saw this morning? A golden oriole!’
Her mouth fell open.
‘Well I never,’ she said.
‘I bet you don’t believe me.’
Kate looked at him, her eyes full of that searching, caring expression he loved. ‘I do believe you. I’ll always believe you, Freddie,’ she said emphatically. ‘I trust you utterly and completely.’
‘So – you won’t tell me to go to Putney on a pig then?’
‘No. Never,’ she said staunchly, and linked her arm into his. ‘Now, I want you to look at this poster with me. See? It says you can go to WEYMOUTH for a day trip. Shall we go one day? It would be lovely, Freddie. You wait ’til you see the sea.’
Freddie looked at her expectantly, waiting for the next bit, and he wasn’t disappointed.
‘It SPARKLES like DIAMONDS.’
He thought about the diamond ring in its box, hidden under the floorboard, and he could feel it sparkling, coming to life in the dark place. The magic is back, he thought, the magic is back in my life. I’m so lucky.
‘Of course we’ll go,’ he said. ‘We’ve got all the time in the world. And – I might even dig out that poetry book again.’
Annie soon became aware of the difference in her Freddie. He moved around with new energy, he was whistling and singing, and his eyes had changed. They were mysteriously alive now, as if he had found some secret light, and Annie couldn’t help being pleased. She even began to feel better in herself. She had to admit that Kate Loxley had brought a new bright spirit into both their lives. The entrenched anxiety began to crumble, day by day, and her feelings warmed towards the brave, happy girl who was coping with a new life and the rigorous demands of a nurse’s training.
‘What’s Kate’s favourite colour?’ Annie asked Freddie as he was heading out to start the lorry.
‘Red,’ he replied without hesitation. ‘I’ll see you later, Mother – about six.’
Annie stood at the gate watching him drive off in a cloud of dust. ‘Red,’ she thought, and glanced up the hill at the hospital where Kate was working, its windows a soft amber in the afternoon sun. She looked down the road and she could see the wool shop. Her fingers itched to get her hands on some lovely red wool and knit Kate a cardigan. A red cardigan.
She walked inside and looked at herself in the mirror.
‘All your life, Annie Barcussy,’ she said to her reflection, ‘you’ve been standing at the gate expecting other folks to run your errands. Now it’s time you changed.’
She’d vowed never to go out again, yet now she found herself putting on her hat, taking some money from the bakery box, and wrapping her hand around Levi’s walking stick. What would she do if the panic started? She couldn’t be bothered with it. All she could see was the excitement of coming home with a basket of red wool, and a pattern for a cardigan.
Annie opened the gate and stepped out, her basket over one arm, squared her shoulders and walked steadily down the road to the shop.
On a blazing hot Saturday in July, it seemed to Freddie that the whole day was encapsulated in one moment of time. It was like the centre of a sparkle, where all the rays of light converged, focusing the essence of his dreams into one intense minute of pure light.
All day he’d waited for the moment to come. He could think of little else as he and Kate travelled down to Weymouth. They got off the train, walked hand in hand down the street towards the clock tower, and arrived at the promenade railings. Seeing the sea for the first time stunned Freddie into silence. The water heaved and glittered before him like the sequinned gown of an opera singer; it had the same massive, mysterious power as the undiscovered half of his consciousness.
For once, Kate was quiet as she watched his reaction, and waited for him to speak, but he didn’t. He was far away, under the waves, following exotic fish into caves, watching shoals of them catching the light as they twisted and turned.
‘Well, say something!’ Kate prompted him after ten minutes of contemplative gazing.
‘Ah – well – words might spoil it,’ he said. ‘I didn’t expect it to be so blue, well blue-green like a kingfisher. And I didn’t know it would be so vast.’ He pointed at the horizon. ‘That sharp line, ’tis like the blade of a knife. What would I see if I went out there?’
‘France,’ said Kate.
Freddie digested that information as he followed her down some steps to the sand. France had been pink in his geography book at school, and that was all he knew about it.
As usual, Kate kicked off her shoes, looked at him bewitchingly, and went running across the sand to paddle in the edge of the sea. He struggled out of his boots and socks, rolled up his trousers and sprinted over the velvety sand into deliciously cool crystal-clear water. Together they paddled, watching the sunlight marbling their skin.
‘Taste it. It’s SALTY.’ Kate offered him some sea water in the palm of her hand. He dipped a finger, tasted the salt, then looked into her amber eyes. Is this the moment? he thought. No wait. Wait and be sure.
Someone was guiding him that day, Freddie knew. The same feeling of being in a bubble of light with Kate lingered all day as if they were cupped in the womb of a shining angel whose wings covered the sea. He fancied there were golden ribbons in the air around them, winding, binding them together. He wanted to tell Kate, but it was hard to find an opportunity. She was so busy introducing him to the wonders of the seaside, collecting shells, popping seaweed, and building sand-castles. Then came the picnic, leaning against the hot sea wall, the taste of butter and cucumber, the burn of the sun on his white feet.
The moment came just one hour before the train home. They were sitting on the end of a wooden jetty, dangling their feet in the water, and Kate was playfully trying to link her toes with his. Her sunburned arm kept brushing against his, and the sea-breeze was blowing through her hair. The sunlight was sparkling on the water.
‘Kate.’
There was something compelling in the way he lowered his voice an octave, and the way his eyes looked at her, unwavering and deep. Kate stopped giggling and paid attention.
‘Now I’m going to tell you something,’ he began, and he reached out and took her hands in his. ‘In all of my life, I’ve never done anything major without thinking about it first, and I’ve thought and thought about this, Kate. I’ve loved you ever since I saw you riding down the lane on Daisy. I’ve kept an eye on you, in secret, all those years, and when I got the chance to meet you that day at the station, I saw something in you that is very rare and beautiful. No, don’t say anything – hear me out.’ Freddie’s voice deepened with the passion he was feeling, and Kate listened, spellbound by his intensity. ‘I don’t just mean beautiful to look at, Kate, because you are, but it’s something beyond that, some magic in your eyes. You’re a beautiful person. You’re kind and full of life and – and hope. I think you are pure goodness. And when you went I was – devastated. I put my heart and soul into carving the stone angel, and her face is your face because I carried you in my heart all those years, Kate.’ Freddie paused and squeezed her hands. He looked at the sunlight in her eyes and knew from the way she was listening that he could say everything in his heart. ‘No one else knows this, but I can pick up feelings from touching stone, as if it’s a storehouse of everything that has happened close to it. So when I’d finished the stone angel, I stood out there i
n the twilight, with the planet Venus bright in the west, and I put my two hands on the stone angel and recited a poem, one that says everything I feel about you, Kate, and I could feel the stone absorbing my words like a prayer.’
‘What was it? The prayer?’ Kate asked, her eyes never leaving his face.
‘It’s W. B. Yeats again.’ Freddie took out his wallet and extracted a dog-eared square of cardboard, cut from a cigarette packet covered in tiny neat handwriting.
‘My granny wrote this out for me when I was a lad,’ he said, ‘with a quill pen she’d made from a chicken feather. She’d got a dark blue tablecloth she embroidered with white and gold, and she’d done the sun, moon and stars on it, and the clouds. I got it now – and I put it over the stone angel to keep the prayer in there until you saw it. ’Tis a lovely old thing, I treasure it, and she made it because she liked the poem. Have you read it?’
‘No – you read it to me, please,’ implored Kate. ‘I love to hear your voice.’
‘Oh all right.’ Freddie studied the poem for a moment, then slowly read it in a voice so quiet and deep that it blended with the whispering of the sea.
‘Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths
Enwrought with gold and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I being poor have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.’
‘That’s beautiful,’ she breathed.
Freddie took a deep breath. He sensed the golden ribbons being wound around them. He was almost there – almost.
‘Now I’ve got to ask you a question,’ he said intently.
‘Go on, then.’ Kate smiled encouragingly.
‘Do you – do you think you can love me, Kate? The way I love you?’
The answer came warm and swift, carrying him effortlessly into the moment he’d waited for all day.
‘But I DO love you, Freddie. With all my heart,’ said Kate warmly.
Freddie looked at her joyfully. He let go of her hands, reached into his heart pocket and slowly withdrew the velvet box. He hoped he wasn’t going to cry, but his voice broke a little as he gave it to her.
‘Freddie!’
‘Open it, Kate.’
She lifted the velvet lid, and gasped as the sun caught the diamond and the facets winked with the colours of sunlight.
‘I want you to have it, Kate. Because you are the diamond in my life. I’d like it to be an engagement ring – if —’
‘Freddie!’ Kate whispered, again, and her eyes brimmed with happy tears. She took the ring out, held it up to the light and then slipped it onto the ring finger of her left hand. ‘How wonderful. I’ve always loved you, and hoped you would love me too. I’ve truly – never, ever felt so blessed.’
They stared at each other, and the humour came dancing back into Kate’s brown eyes.
‘And now,’ she said bossily, ‘you are going to kiss me, aren’t you?’
Freddie took her into his arms. She felt warm and her tears tasted salty like the sea. The long slow kiss melted them together, there by the sparkling water, for one moment of time.
Chapter Twenty-Two
ONE YEAR LATER
Daisy stood patiently in the stable at the back of Herbie’s yard, wondering what all the fuss was about. She was an old horse and she’d done everything from ploughing, hauling timber in the woods, dragging hay carts, and being paraded at shows and carnivals. She’d done it all obligingly and carefully, she’d endured being muddy and wet and tired, or tolerated being dressed up in jingling brasses. Now there were three people round her: Freddie, who was grooming her vigorously with a brush, Herbie, who was shampooing her huge legs, and Joan, who was standing on a box plaiting her mane into little braids, looping them and tying in brightly coloured ribbons and tassels.
‘She’s looking good!’ Herbie grinned up at Freddie. ‘Look how white her socks are. Don’t know how I’ll ever get them dry.’
‘I’ve never done this before,’ said Freddie who was enjoying polishing the big solid horse’s coat, leaning his weight on the brush until she shone like a conker. Daisy seemed to like what he was doing.
‘Oh I have,’ said Joan brightly. ‘My parents had show horses. Now – where are those brasses?’
‘In that box.’ Freddie handed her the clinking box of horse brasses Annie had spent hours polishing. ‘They still smell of Brasso.’
‘Never mind the Brasso. This is hoof oil going on now,’ said Herbie, sloshing it on with a paintbrush. ‘She’s going to use up the whole tin with hooves this size.’
‘Hadn’t you better go and get ready?’ Joan looked pointedly at Freddie. ‘You’ve got one hour.’
Herbie turned and winked at Freddie. ‘Go on. Don’t be late.’
Freddie put the brush down and stood back to gaze in awe at Daisy’s transformation from a shaggy muddy carthorse into a proud, gleaming show horse. Daisy lowered her great head to him, as if she knew everything. He reached up and rubbed one of her silky ears. ‘Thanks – Daisy,’ he said, and the horse nodded graciously.
‘Cheerio, Freddie – and good luck!’ Joan called after him as he headed down the road in long strides, his clothes smelling of horse, his eyes watching the swifts and swallows diving and sweeping in the skies about Monterose.
Down at the station, Charlie sat on his bench in the morning sun, his green flag rolled up beside him. He was energetically polishing a trombone to a mirror-like shine, buffing and buffing it until he could see reflections of the station footbridge and the walnut tree and the cerulean blue of the June sky. One more train to meet, then he could go. His band uniform was hanging up in the back of the ticket office and his fingers itched to be playing that tune and marching up the street with the band.
He’d seen more posh hats that morning than he’d ever seen in his life, he thought, watching the ten-thirty train come steaming in. More women in fancy hats and men in grey top hats and tuxedos got off and strutted past him. He was glad to see the relief stationmaster jump down from the train.
‘’Ello, Sid.’ Charlie handed over the green flag, the whistle and the timetable. Then he changed quickly into his band uniform, dark green with a smart green and gold cap, gold epaulettes and buttons. Hyped with excitement he set off for the Jarvises’ house where the procession was assembling in the courtyard. All Charlie wanted was one special smile that day from a girl he had secretly admired ever since she came to his station as a bright-eyed schoolgirl with red ribbons in her plaits.
In the town hall, Betty and Alice were bustling up and down the trestle tables, arranging napkins and plates of ham. There were jars of pickles, plates piled high with boiled eggs, tiny sandwiches and wedges of cheese, round bowls of ripe strawberries and cherries, dishes of clotted cream, and a tray piled high with fresh lardy cake.
George was pacing up and down the hall, checking his pockets and looking at the clock.
‘Come on, girls. We’d better get up there,’ he said.
‘What about Mother?’ asked Alice.
‘What about her?’ said George. ‘She won’t come. ’Tis no good trying to drag her.’
‘We won’t DRAG her,’ said Alice huffily. She went to the mirror and arranged her blue and white hat. ‘Leave her alone. She never is going to go out. I hope I don’t get like that.’
‘I hope I don’t either,’ echoed Betty.
It had been an effort for Bertie and Sally to make the trip to Monterose, especially going over the ferry and thinking of Ethie being swept away in that fierce tide. They’d taken some roses and thrown them overboard when the boat reached the middle of the river. Bertie was ill, but determined, and Sally felt the time had come for her to stop working and give him devoted care. She was glad of the support of the extended Loxley family around them, but she missed her daughter
s, especially Kate.
‘I’m going to cry when I see Kate in her dress,’ she said, as she and Bertie waited, sitting in two basket chairs on Joan’s veranda.
At last the door opened and Kate emerged, beaming, in her long cream silk bridal dress. It was simple but beautiful, and instead of a veil she had chosen a dramatic wide-brimmed hat trimmed with tiny flowers and a white ostrich feather.
Bertie stood up, speechless as he gazed at his beautiful daughter.
‘You look – perfect,’ breathed Sally, just perfect, dear. Now – here’s your bouquet.’
‘Twelve red roses,’ smiled Kate. ‘It’s what Freddie wanted – and his mother has made it up. Hasn’t she done it beautifully?’ She sniffed one of the cool roses. ‘It smells divine. I can’t WAIT to find out how I’m getting to church. You’ve all been keeping it a secret!’
Bertie and Sally looked at each other happily. ‘You won’t have to wait long,’ said Sally and as she spoke Joan swept into the room in a flurry of ostrich feathers and mustard-coloured silk.
‘Your carriage awaits!’ she cried. ‘Oh, you look marvellous, Kate!’
Bertie held out his arm. ‘Here we go.’
Kate linked her arm into his, and gazed into his pale face. His eyes were bright with anticipation. Leaning on his stick he took her through the house to the front door. Standing patiently in the drive was a Shire horse in full regalia, jingling with brasses and bobbing tassels, her coat gleaming in the sun. The horse turned her head and saw Kate. She whinnied in greeting.
‘DAISY!’
Kate forgot about looking elegant. She went to Daisy, flung her arms around the huge neck and cried.
‘Kate, your DRESS!’ roared Sally, and Kate giggled.
The Boy with No Boots Page 23