The Finding of Freddie Perkins (11 page)

Dad seemed genuinely impressed, saying he thought Freddie was getting better and better, and then taking him out to buy some grown-up pastels, which he thought would suit the style Freddie was now developing.

Just as it had promised, the Fynd had been leaving various notes for Freddie and Granny P to help them with their studies of it. So far these had mostly been about paper and its seemingly endless appetite for it. But Granny P was hoping that it would soon tell them more about where it came from, how long it had been at Willow Beck for, and whether it had known Grandpa P.

It found other ways to spell out its opinions too. For example, it wasn't long before patterns began to emerge in response to certain kinds of print. The Fynd seemed to spit out some sections, almost as if they tasted bad, while whole other sections of the paper would disappear incredibly quickly. And then there were some portions which inspired a specific ‘thank' ‘you' in the customary manner.

It was baffling at first, because of course it was all the same type of paper. But after hours of speculation, and analysing the rejected regurgitations, Granny P worked it out – the Fynd only had an appetite for good news. Marriage and birth announcements seemed to be a particularly satisfying meal, whilst critical, angry or just plain mean stories were spat out in what, Granny P supposed, must be disgust.

Granny P found the whole thing amazing, but Freddie continued to be frustrated as well as excited by the gradual discovery process.

There were the notes of course, but it still seemed to be much more interested in finding things than in revealing itself. Almost every evening there was a new object from Dad's childhood to show him, or a piece of some new great-great-grandparent's history.

Freddie would have rather it concentrated on his studies of it, thoroughly and logically. He wanted to map it all out methodically, moving from one area of study to the next, in order to build up proof and conclusive findings of the Fynd's existence and habits. Then they would have enough evidence to tell Dad.

Instead, the Fynd seemed to prefer mystery, and to have what Granny P described as ‘a flair for the dramatic'. It was still keeping a secret all the things that really
mattered
to Freddie – like what it looked like, how big it was, and whether it would ever let him meet it face to face.

* * *

One Tuesday morning Freddie decided he could wait no longer. He would simply have to take matters into his own hands.

He chatted his ideas over with Granny P of course, but this time she refused to be involved in his experiments.

‘I don't think it works like that, Freddie,' she warned. ‘I really think you should be careful. The Fynd has made it clear what its terms are, and you might find there are consequences to trying to get round it.'

But Freddie was insistent that he had to try, and that the Fynd wouldn't find out what he was doing anyway.

Granny P looked uncomfortable but said nothing more.

* * *

Freddie laid out an inviting spread of newspaper stories, called out loudly (as if to Granny P) that he was going into the garden, and then quietly crept across to the sideboard.

The main space inside it was very large and Freddie had prepared it well, clearing it out and sorting old
piles of things with the well-practised expertise of one who had conquered almost an entire attic of yesterdays in a single summer.

Silently he climbed into the left-hand side of it, putting his legs down and round behind the dividing support that semi-separated the space into two areas, and stretching them out as far as was possible into the half that was behind the closed, right-hand door. And then, still uncomfortable but in, he twisted on his side awkwardly in order to pull the left-hand door almost closed.

He reached down to where his camera was hung around his neck, got it out, pointed it through the thin stripe of light, and waited.

And waited… and waited.

But the only things he managed to prove conclusively were that you got really painful neck ache from lying in such a cramped space for so long, and a bumped head if you sat up suddenly in response to an unexpected noise in the room you were hiding in.

It was just Granny P.

Freddie sighed in disappointment. Clearly this way wasn't going to work.

He had to admit Granny P had been right, though it was slightly galling to come back downstairs for lunch, having only been gone from the dining room for ten minutes, and discover that all the tempting tit-bit stories had been eaten but for two words –

‘Aaaaggh! But when am I going to get to see
you
?' cried Freddie out loud.

But the only response he got was from Granny P, who was carrying in a pot of macaroni cheese, and asked him who he was talking to.

* * *

Freddie was a bit sulky over lunch that day. Even though macaroni cheese was one of his favourite meals, and Granny P was chatting away to him excitedly about various things that she'd found in the attic that morning.

He tried to look as interested as he could, but his mind was working overtime on how he could trick the Fynd into being seen.

And then suddenly, he registered something
Granny P had been saying, and had a brilliant – beyond brilliant – idea.

‘Granny P?' he asked. ‘Did you say you'd found an old video camera?'

‘Yes Freddie. Why? Would you like it?' she asked, ‘I don't know how it works, but it looks hardly used, and there's an instruction book with it. Your mum gave it to Reg for his birthday one year, but he never managed to work out how to use it, poor love. You're good with all that sort of thing though, aren't you? Yes, have it, Freddie. It would be fun to make some films. It's a shame we couldn't have had that right from the start of sorting the attic, because then we could have filmed one of those before and after programmes your dad likes.'

Granny P laughed at her own cleverness, but Freddie had drifted off again. Yes, he wanted the video camera. And yes, he was sure he could work out how to use it with the instruction book.

* * *

That afternoon Freddie helped Granny P with the attic, and then, just before six, he took the video camera downstairs. After dinner, while Granny P
and Dad chatted happily to each other from their respective chairs in the sitting room, Freddie lay on the floor and pored over the instruction book.

This was the solution for sure.

At bedtime he put a choice selection of magazines and comics onto the dining room table, and left the camera and its instructions carefully and quietly on the sideboard, ready to enact part two of his brilliant plan.

He lay in bed, keeping himself awake in the dark by imagining all the different shapes and sizes that the Fynd might be, and occasionally pinching himself when he was near to dropping off.

Once he'd heard Dad's door shut for the final time he counted slowly to three hundred to be sure, and then he crept downstairs.

He was seriously impressed with himself. Willow Beck was an old house and it had creaky floorboards, squeaky doors and a hundred other make-a-noise traps like that which gave your presence away. But he had got to know most of them now, and was handling the stealth operation expertly. He managed to get all the way into the dining room without making the slightest noise externally. (Internally of course his
heart was banging a wildly staccato drum beat, but not even the Fynd could hear that.)

Freddie approached the sideboard and his hands felt for the camera. He switched it on, knowing its screen would provide enough light for him to read the final instructions and leave it running for the night.

He swung the camera to the right to begin.

But there were no instructions there.

Just four words, chewed neatly and precisely.

For some reason Freddie didn't feel cross or frustrated when he read this.

Instead, a kind of impressed acceptance descended into him as he stood there in the camera's glow, reading the Fynd's latest note.

It was simply too smart for him. He couldn't outwit it. And he supposed that was quite wonderful after all. It was more important that it was here, and staying, than that he got to see it in any case. Maybe Granny P was right – some things were more magical if they remained mysteries.

Freddie cleared up the words, and took them and the camera upstairs, still creeping slowly so as not to wake Dad and Granny P, though he now realised that even the stealthiest tracking methods would not prevent the Fynd from knowing he was up in the middle of the night.

From the day after the camera incident, Freddie stopped trying to trick the Fynd or capture proof of it, and simply enjoyed caring for it, and continuing to receive its notes when they came.

He put out paper three times a day (Granny P started ordering extra newspapers and magazines so
the Fynd would always have plenty, and sometimes Freddie would add an old birthday card from a relative, or a friendly postcard from one of his old school friends in London, as he imagined these would make the Fynd especially happy). One set of paper was laid out in the morning just after breakfast, one at lunchtime while Granny P was preparing their food, and a final set when she was making dinner, before Dad usually came home.

They didn't tell Freddie's dad about their discovery, because paper disappearing and strange notes made from chewed-up newsprint by way of proof were almost as crazy as the problem of things appearing where you didn't leave them. But between them they developed a secret code of simply smiling and nodding on the few occasions Dad noticed items that belonged to him suddenly appear. They didn't want to lie to him, or to take credit for something they hadn't done, but they didn't feel quite ready to just come out with it either.

Over those last, busy days of the school holidays, more precious or simply lost items turned up in the house. And more and more of the attic became clear and tidy until the huge space was almost empty.

The diaries were with the curator of the local museum who was studying and researching the accounts they contained (he had also taken the newspapers, various photos and some very old documents to look at) and Campbell and Sons had taken the necklace to be auctioned in Edinburgh. Granny P was hopeful that the proceeds from its sale would be enough to level out a section of the garden so that Freddie could play football more easily, and have a small flat area where they could lay tarmac and put up a hoop.

All of the antiques they had found had gone to experts to value. All the interesting or beautiful things they wanted to keep had been found new homes in the main house. And bags and bags of rubbish, or things they simply didn't want, had been cleared out into the recycling bins, bags for the charity shops or the small skip Granny P had been forced to order.

* * *

It was the last day of the school holidays, with a perfect August display of sunshine and blue skies. But Granny P and Freddie were going to spend the morning inside, finishing off in the attic, whilst Dad
was at the auction house negotiating the sale of a few last bits and pieces.