The Boy with No Boots

George’s words rang in her head, but she couldn’t believe Freddie had run away to London. He’d be back in a few hours, she was sure, her frightened mind refusing to even consider what she would do if he never came back. A

She closed the book, smoothed it and put it back on his bedside table. New and startling thoughts came into her mind. Freddie was sixteen. He would want a life of his own, a wife maybe. How would she live without him? To A

‘The bread!’ A

‘Oh, what have I done?’ she wailed, slamming around with trays of charcoaled remains, brittle black shells of what should have been lovely sweet smelling buns. These were so dangerously hot that she hurled the trays outside into the back garden and left them. She began talking to herself, ‘You keep calm now. Just keep calm, get on and clear up the mess.’

By now, Freddie should have been out on his rounds with fresh loaves in the front of the bike. She would be stacking the shelves and getting the shop ready to open. Customers were already walking up the street, muffled in furry hats and scarves, willow baskets over one arm, breath steaming in the morning air. As usual, the first customer was Gladys. She knocked on the window and peered in.

‘Are you all right, A

A

‘No peace for the wicked,’ she said, and, shamefaced, she let Gladys in.

‘Pooh. What a smeech!’ Gladys came in with her reassuring busybody ma

‘Burnt the bread.’

‘Where’s Freddie?’

‘Out on the bike.’

Gladys eyed her knowingly. ‘Come on. I’ll help you,’ she said, and without waiting to be invited she took off her chocolate-brown hat, coat and gloves, rolled up her sleeves and set about scraping charcoal out of the ovens. ‘I’ll do this. You make some more dough. Put a notice in the window saying NO BREAD UNTIL MIDDAY.’

A

A

‘So where’s Freddie?’ Gladys asked, putting her coat on to leave. ‘It’s nearly two o’clock.’

‘He’ll be back later,’ said A

‘Hmmm.’ Gladys gave her a shrewd stare and left, waddling down the street with her basket. The winter sun shone hazily, and a song thrush sang for a short interval, but the frost had hardly melted. By three o’clock A

‘Abandoned, that’s what I am,’ she thought, ‘abandoned and unwanted.’

As twilight fell, she lit the two gas lamps and a few candles, her hands shaking with gathering fear. Freddie was not coming back. Her worst nightmare was coming true. She would be alone, housebound, with no one to help her. A prisoner, that’s what she would be. Despair and fear of insanity were already claiming her. She imagined the asylum with its miserable corridors and clanking, cream-painted beds, the wailing of madness around her, the unsmiling faces of doctors. A world without kindness, without love.

A

‘How can you do this to me, Freddie?’ she whispered. ‘Wasn’t I a good mother?’

The tears were brewing again. She watched two bright headlights coming slowly up the street, a big motor vehicle with its wheels bouncing over the potholes. She heard the gears grind, the brakes squeak, and the lorry shuddered to a halt, to her alarm, right outside the bakery door. She watched, horrified, as the driver got out and slammed the door shut. A tall figure walked towards the door. She saw his face in the lamplight, a face glowing red and a smile bigger than itself.

‘Freddie!’ she screamed. ‘My Freddie!’

She threw her arms around him and gazed up at his face, noticing for the first time that he was much taller than her, and his eyes were sparkling with secrets waiting to be told.

‘I can’t believe it’s you. You’re not cold.’ A

‘’Course it’s me, Mother,’ he beamed. ‘And – I bought a lorry.’

‘You did WHAT?’

Freddie could feel the shock waves emanating from his Mother. He sat down at the kitchen table, took his cap off and pushed his hair back from his brow. His face ached with unaccustomed smiling.

‘Well – first, I didn’t intend to go out like that, in the dark, mother. But George wasn’t too happy about my bag of money.’

‘He’s gone home.’

‘For good?’

‘We’ll see,’ said A

‘It’s a Scammell,’ said Freddie. ‘I was lucky to get it.’

‘Ah. You were.’ A

‘Yes, and some left over for petrol.’

‘I know. You’ve been saving for a long time.’ A

Freddie gri