The Finding of Freddie Perkins (12 page)

They had been spurred on by a promise from Dad.

‘If you two workers are done by the time I get back,' he'd said with a wink, ‘I'll take the three of us out for a special surprise treat.'

And that had done it. Freddie could have sworn even Granny P had moved reasonably quickly in response, and he had practically sprinted up the stairs himself. It was hard to know which of them was more eager and excited to finish it, and find out what Dad had planned for them.

A little while later, as they surveyed the now empty space, Granny P sighed. ‘Freddie, I'm sorry, I still can't figure out what that key is for. It's very strange.'

‘Never mind Granny P,' said Freddie with a smile. ‘There have been so many mysteries this summer. One more won't hurt.'

Granny P chuckled. ‘Now we can get to them, Freddie, let's clean up these windows and find out just how far we can see from all the way up here.'

Freddie protested at this, because no boy his age wants to clean windows, especially on the last day of their holidays, and so Granny P relented. He had
been so helpful all summer. She had to admit this was fair enough.

‘You win,' she said. ‘Why don't you go and do something more fun while I clean them?'

But Freddie discovered he didn't really want to do that either. It looked like hard work, and Granny P was old. So he said that he would help after all, and they should start at one end each and meet in the middle.

Freddie scrubbed and scrubbed what he could reach of his windows, but all he could see, because of their angle and his height, was sky. He tried jumping up and down to catch a glimpse of it, but it was no good. He couldn't see anything else.

When they reached the middle Granny P insisted on doing the fifth and final window so he could go and get a footstool from downstairs to stand on and look out from.

Freddie was excited. Soon he would get to see out of the windows. It was ages since he had had such a high-up view.

Not since Westgate Square Gardens, in fact.

He bounded down the steps two at a time, and stopped dead.

Because it was then that he saw it.

It was sitting on the bottom step of the stairs. Small, brown, and hunched over what he could only guess was some paper. It was slightly furry, but not cuddly looking, with long arms and legs (the latter dangling over the bottom step) and a long tail.

It reminded Freddie of something he'd seen before. But he didn't have time to consider what. For, before he could examine it more closely, it heard him approaching.

It was gone in a flash.

But Freddie knew what, or rather who, it was.

He had seen the Fynd!

OK, only from behind. But the book had said no one had seen one properly. No one. If he could only just see its face!

He stood rooted to the spot. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know where the Fynd was hiding, and whether talking to it, or chasing after it, would frighten it.

But then, he wanted to see its face so much. And he did need to get the footstool.

Freddie made up his mind. He would go down the final few stairs onto the landing. And so, cautiously,
he edged down the staircase, trying to be as gentle and quiet as he could be. And then he crept round the corner…

… and there it was again.

It was sitting at the top of the next flight down to the bedrooms below.

Freddie hesitated. Moving closer seemed like it would only scare it again, and so he sat down some distance away, as quietly as he could, and waited. Perhaps, if it became aware of his presence, it would run again, but perhaps it might turn as it did so, and he would get to see its face.

He waited and waited. And the Fynd sat and sat.

And then the impossible happened.

The Fynd slowly shifted position and turned round towards him.

It had the kindest, wisest face he had ever seen. Beautifully lined, and the colour of parchment paper. And its deep, dark eyes looked at him with more understanding than he had ever known.

But it did not smile.

It looked… well, sad.

And strangely familiar. The picture! It was really like the picture! Not exactly the same – that was
why he hadn't known straightaway – but it was
very
like it.

And then, with a sudden movement, it was gone – downstairs again.

Freddie went down after it. Slowly, slowly, slowly. But there was no sign of it at all. Not at the bottom of those stairs, nor the next… and anyway, it could have gone in any direction by now.

Freddie sighed. He was disappointed.

But then he rallied. He had seen the Fynd! He had seen its
face
!

Perhaps it was the first step to them becoming real friends. If the Fynd had been seen once and not been terrified – which he was sure it hadn't been, from the way it had looked – then it might not mind being seen again, and maybe for longer this time.

But why was the Fynd sad?

Granny P might know
, he thought. Granny P was surely as wise and kind as the Fynd. She would know.

Freddie felt better immediately. He could ask Granny P and she would be sure to help. He'd just get the footstool – she'd probably been wondering why he was taking so long – then he'd go up and ask. Mind
you, wouldn't she be amazed that the Fynd absolutely, undeniably was real? And that he, Freddie Perkins, a modern-day explorer, had seen its face…

And – he realised it in a flash – he must not have been the first one to do so, after all!

He hoped Granny P wouldn't be too disappointed that she hadn't seen it yet. He was sure they would see it again. Maybe even at dinner tonight.

Freddie ran to his room to get the footstool, but then stopped short. Because on the footstool he was moving towards was a piece of paper with lots of chewed-out newspaper words on. Freddie fell on his knees to read it.

It was from the Fynd. It was going. It had probably already gone. He would never see it again.

And now he knew why the Fynd had shown itself to him. It was the final thing that it had revealed to him before it left – the truth that he wasn't the only one to have seen it.

The Fynd had helped them find so many things, but more than anything it had helped him find Granny P – to know who she really was, and that everything was going to be OK. To find his dad again. To come back to drawing. To find laughter, and excitement, and mysteries, and secrets, and… life.

And today it had allowed him to find out something really important that Granny P would want to know about. Freddie wanted to tell her right now.

* * *

Freddie arrived in the attic with the footstool just in time to see Granny P perched precariously on her tiptoes. She was looking intently into the distance through the far left corner of the far left window, and wiping a tear or two away from her eyes.

He put down the stool and ran over to her, throwing his arms round her frail body and holding on like he would never let go.

‘I love you, Granny,' he said.

‘I know, Freddie,' she said. ‘I love you too.'

After a few moments, Granny P said, ‘Come on then, quickly, get the footstool. You must see the view we have worked so hard to find.'

So Freddie did. He put it under the central gable window, and carefully climbed up on to it so he could finally see out.

‘Wow!' he cried ‘This is such an awesome view. Wow! I can see the loch and everything and I…'

‘And I what?'

‘I don't have words, Granny. It's so beautiful.'

‘I thought we might try pictures. Like you and your mum used to do.'

Freddie felt the familiar lump, but this time he let it come. One slow, quiet tear rolled down his cheek and he looked at Granny P.

‘I think Mum would have loved us to do that… and Dad too. It would make Dad really happy.'

Granny P smiled and hugged him again – which was a funny experience because he was now a lot taller than her because of the stool.

‘This would make a wonderful studio for you, Freddie,' she said. ‘And base-camp for preparing more studies and experiments…'

‘Oh,' he said, and his heart dropped, because he hated that he was going to have say it out loud. ‘Granny, the Fynd… well, I saw it, and… it's gone now.'

‘I know, Freddie,' said his granny, giving him another squeeze. ‘I was so impatient to see the view that I was standing on tiptoes trying to glimpse something. And I was doing it just at the right moment because I saw it all the way from up here – even though it was so tiny. It turned and waved. I was sure somehow that it would have said goodbye to you too.'

‘Did you see it close enough to see what its face looked like?'

‘No, I didn't.'

‘It was really like Mum's picture. Not exactly the same, of course, because Mum never saw it, just heard it described. But don't you see what this means, Granny? Grandpa P must have seen the Fynd too!'

Granny P's whole face lit up but she didn't say anything else, just hugged him even closer to her.

And they stood like that for a long time, the boy and the old lady, in the empty attic, where the Fynd had helped them to find everything they needed.

* * *

Our story ends here. Not because this is the end for Freddie, Granny P, Dad and life at Willow Beck. Their story is just beginning now. So many adventures lie ahead of the Perkins family – after all, they still have to find what that other key is for.

But our story ends here because the Fynd has gone. And so we must go too, to search for where it has gone, and who and what it will help find next.

Liz Baddaley lives a life surrounded by words, whether they're for the children's novels she has begun to create, or for the leading UK charities she writes for. Liz was born in St Albans and read English at Christ Church, Oxford, but is now most likely to be found tapping away at her laptop with a pot of tea, or exploring Ilkley's famous moor – singing along to her iPod and desperately trying to keep up with Rabbit the dog.

Copyright © 2013 A & C Black

This electronic edition published in May 2013 by Bloomsbury Publishing

Text copyright © 2013 Liz Baddaley
Illustrations copyright © 2013 Paul Fisher-Johnson

First published 2013 by
A & C Black
Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
50 Bedford Square,
London, WC1B 3DP
www.bloomsbury.com

The right of Liz Baddaley and Paul Fisher-Johnson to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages

A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.

eISBN 978-1-4081-8609-1 (e-book)

Visit
www.bloomsbury.com
to find out more about our authors and their books
You will find extracts, author interviews, author events and you can
sign up for newsletters
to be the first to hear about our latest releases and special offers