The Finding of Freddie Perkins (3 page)

‘… and that is the attic.'

‘The attic?' said Freddie, before he'd had a chance to decide whether he was going to talk to Granny P or not. ‘The attic? Why would we talk about that?'

‘Because I need help with it, Freddie,' she whispered, ‘lots of help. I want to clear it out. I've had a look at what's up there, and even with help from Mrs Quinn, I'm not sure I can manage all the lifting, carrying and sorting myself.'

Freddie didn't want to be mean, but he felt that was the biggest understatement he had ever heard.

‘Will you help me, Freddie?'

‘Um… I… well,' he stuttered.

It was not that he didn't
want
to help, exactly – he quite liked helping people. It was not even that Granny P was old and boring, because she was OK, really. But if they were doing something together, they would have to talk, wouldn't they? And what would he talk to Granny P about? Would she be trying to get him to talk about
things
, after all?

But there was nothing he could say without being rude.

And without getting into trouble with Dad.

And anyway, he got the feeling that even if he had it in him to be rude to Granny P – which he didn't – she wouldn't take no for an answer. She looked stronger and more determined than he had ever seen her before… almost bigger.

‘Sure.'

‘Oh, that's excellent, Freddie. Thank you. There really is so much to do. I cannot put it off any longer. We must begin right away – as a matter of urgency.'

And with that, she stood up, moved the chair back with the same screeching sound, and walked out of the room, leaving her soup half-eaten, and a sense of unfinished business behind her. Freddie frowned. Where was she going? Did she mean this afternoon?

But it became apparent that Granny P did not mean that afternoon, or any part of that weekend – even though Dad was away, back clearing up the last bits of the sale of Westgate Square Gardens, and not due back until late on Monday night. Freddie was at a loose end, and more bored than ever, having had the week entertaining himself alone, and now the weekend – but Granny P didn't say anything more about the attic.

* * *

By Monday lunchtime, Freddie was so fed up, and so intrigued as to why Granny P had made such a point of speaking about the attic, only to then return to silence, that he could wait no longer.

‘Granny P,' he said.

There was no response.

‘Granny P?'

Freddie sighed and put down the teaspoon he had been about to bash his boiled egg with. He hesitated. Then he got off his chair and walked down the long side of the table towards Granny P, sliding Dad's chair noisily along until he, and it, reached her side. He sat down again.

Granny P looked up and smiled. ‘Freddie!'

Freddie had never noticed before quite how much her small form lit up when she smiled. She seemed overjoyed – luminous almost. Was that all because he was sitting by her at her end of the table?

After a few moments of beaming at him, Granny P returned to her eggs.

‘Granny P?' Freddie asked again.

‘Yes, dear?'

‘I was wondering…'

‘Yes, dear.'

‘When were you wanting to start on the attic? I mean, when did you want me to start helping you with all that work you said there is to do?'

‘Why as soon as you're free, dear,' said Granny P, ‘because I'm really anxious to begin. But I didn't want to interrupt what you've been working on so busily in your room. When do you think you might be available?'

Freddie did a double take. He'd assumed they had been waiting for Granny P. No one apart from Mum had ever talked to him as if he had things to do that mattered. Well, that mattered to anyone but him, anyway. And actually, since coming to Willow Beck, and maybe even longer – since the accident – he didn't feel like he'd done anything that mattered even to him.

He felt a bit guilty. Granny P had clearly thought he was drawing or something. And he'd not really been doing anything – just sitting around being bored.

‘I, oh, I… what I mean is, I can probably take a break from what I'm doing. I've just been… well, I… I could even start this afternoon.'

‘Freddie, that is so kind of you. But I don't want you to drop everything just to help me. We'll do it when you're ready.'

‘But I
am
ready, Granny P. I… I'd like to help this afternoon.'

‘Well, why ever didn't you say so?' said Granny P with another beaming smile. ‘We'll begin just as soon as you've eaten up your eggs – go on with you.'

Freddie hadn't thought she'd noticed that he hadn't eaten his eggs. Maybe she missed a bit less than he had realised.

Freddie had decided to count the number of stairs they were climbing to get to the attic, because he imagined it would be an impressive number. But somewhere after twenty-five he lost count in the round and round of it all, and the concentrating on not treading on the backs of Granny P's slippers as
she went up ahead of him to show him the way, and the sheer endless slowness of her pace.

Freddie thought it was quite funny that she insisted on going first, especially given that she was so slow, and there was surely only one way up once you had opened the door on the landing at the bottom of the attic stairs. But for some reason, it seemed to be important to Granny P.

When they reached the top of the stairs – well, when Granny P reached the top of the stairs (Freddie was still stranded a couple of steps below her, unable to move until she entered the attic space) – she paused for a few moments to catch her breath, which she seemed to be in surprising need of, despite the slow pace of her wheezing, creaking ascent. Her shallow breathing went on for so long that Freddie wondered if he should say something or check she was alright. But then, suddenly, she said, ‘Well then Freddie, come on, don't be dawdling down there – we've got work to do.'

And Granny P was forward, unlocking the door with a big old-fashioned key, the kind you never see now, and then through into the attic.

‘Turn on your torch, Freddie,' instructed Granny P.
‘It always takes a while for me to find the light switch up here.'

Freddie shuffled into the darkness behind Granny P as he fumbled with the torch… and then suddenly, a bright beam of light sprang out, and the darkness seemed to open up a little to his eyes as he moved the beam around in front of him.

There were chests, boxes, piles, and several mysterious shapes hiding under sheets – and they were all crammed together in what felt like an impossibly small space. It wasn't until Granny P found the switch, and two or three slightly swinging light bulbs came on, that Freddie saw that the attic was in fact a huge, cavernous area.

They were in the eaves of Willow Beck, and from the front of the house there were five gables. The attic seemed to run the length of all five, and though Freddie could see nothing but stuff in the one they were standing in, he could tell that they were in one by the shape of the ceiling above them, and the outline of four more – two to the left, and two to the right. He also knew that, despite the spiralling round and round of the stairs, they must be facing forwards, out towards the front garden and the
approach to the house, because the pointy bits were in front of them.

Now, peering further through the still dimly lit space towards the gables, Freddie made out first one, then two, three, four, five faint thin glimmers of daylight, somehow penetrating the thick layers of grime and dust. Windows! Freddie could hardly imagine how far you would be able to see through them.

We're so high up here
, he thought.
You must be able to see for miles.

He felt a twinge of sadness, but as Granny P was already poking around various items in their current section, he pushed it down, and determined to help her. She was so small and frail. And there was so much stuff!

Besides, there was a faint sense of adventure building in him. Being up here in the half-light, you could almost imagine that you might find treasure after all, in the old attic of the house where four or five sets of Great-Great-Greats had lived before even Granny P's parents.

‘Now, Freddie,' said Granny P, ‘no one has sorted this attic in the longest time you could possibly
imagine. Once when I was a wee lass, younger than you for sure, your Great-Granny McCormack and I spent an afternoon up here with the intention of starting. She was looking for something in particular, I think; but she decided it was too much trouble, and she wouldn't leave me to do it on my own.

‘So for at least my lifetime and hers, and possibly even longer, McCormacks and Perkinses have been coming up here, adding more and more things, but never taking the time to look at what is behind the latest batch of “saving for a rainy day”.

‘Freddie, if we can really do it – you and me – if we can sort through all this stuff in the next month, I'm sure we will find some incredible things.'

Freddie was a little slow in answering Granny P's obvious pep talk, because his brain needed to catch up a bit with all the possibilities.

‘You mean we might find things that have been in the attic for a hundred years, Granny P? Or even longer?'

Granny P chuckled at Freddie's wide eyes and wonder-struck tone.

‘I knew you'd understand, Freddie,' she said. ‘I knew you'd understand.'

* * *

Freddie knew it had reached four o'clock because even all the way up here he could hear the chimes from the massive grandfather clock in the hallway.

He couldn't believe how long they'd been up there. Mostly they'd just been chatting. Freddie had asked Granny P why she'd not sorted the attic in all these years since she'd come back to Willow Beck and it was hers to decide about, and when she got that look that told you an adult was going to give you a long answer, Freddie had told her to wait a minute whilst he had searched for something for her to sit on.

He'd found something remarkably easily – right near the front, where he'd not noticed it before, was an old chair – and with a bit of wriggling past awkward, spiky obstacles he brought it into the small open space near the door to the stairs.

Granny P sunk gratefully into it with a little wink and a chuckle, and Freddie perched on the arm to listen.

Then Granny P told him about how, when she was young, she used to imagine all the things that were up in the attic, but that after that time Great-Granny
McCormack had talked about sorting, she had never done so again, and though Granny P had asked every summer holiday if she could do it herself, she was never allowed.

She explained that when she and Grandpa P had moved into the house after Great-Granny McCormack had died, she kept thinking she would do it at the first opportunity that came. But somehow she didn't.

‘Freddie, I don't expect I can make you understand. But when we moved into Willow Beck, I began to feel like I didn't want to change anything in the house. I didn't want to move things that my mother had decided to put in a particular place for whatever reason – even if I didn't know what that reason was, and even when it was the last place on earth I would have put something – I wanted to have it there because she had had it there. Silly, really.'

Granny P paused, and Freddie wondered whether he should say that he understood completely. He didn't think it was silly at all. But he didn't feel quite ready, and the words stuck in his throat.

‘And then it was just me not so long after that, and I did want to change things then. Maybe I didn't
want just memories. I don't know. But the attic always seemed too much to tackle on my own.

‘And so it's just been here, waiting… for a rainy day, or a brave day, or perhaps just a day when I had a friend who would enjoy it too.'

And with that Granny P smiled at him again, and the clock downstairs brought them back to the present with four chimes.

‘But Freddie, it's four o'clock! Good job I brought up some provisions.' She chuckled, and produced a couple of slightly squished muffins.

Freddie laughed. ‘Where were you hiding those, Granny P?'

Granny P patted a pocket on her dress that he'd not realised she had. ‘It might seem silly to you, Freddie, but I only ever wear dresses with pockets. You never know when you're going to need supplies,' she said conspiratorially.

This time Freddie could speak.

‘Oh, I understand that, Granny P!' And with that he dug down into his lower left leg zipped pocket and produced two similarly squished toffees. ‘Pudding,' he announced.

Granny P just laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

* * *

That first afternoon in the attic was strangely magical. As Freddie sat listening to Granny P's soft voice, and watching her wrinkled face come alive with laughter, memories and possibilities, he found himself transfixed. He got caught up in her stories, and more than that, he began to see through the wrinkles to the real Granny P inside.