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‘Go on.’ Gra
‘Don’t cry, Gran.’ Freddie was alarmed. What had he done? Then he remembered he wasn’t supposed to talk about the spirit people he saw. His father had forbidden it. ‘I’m not allowed to—’
Gra
‘Don’t you be afraid. You can tell me anything. Anything you like.’
But Freddie looked at her as if he was peering out through prison bars, the sparkle gone from his eyes.
‘You saw my William,’ she said warmly. ‘He’s often around. William, your grandfather. He’s been dead a long time, before you were born. Oh he’d have loved you, Fred. He liked to make things with his hands like you, clever he was, and a heart of gold. Heart of gold.’
Freddie was silent. He looked again at the seat next to him, and the man had gone. ‘I’ve got it wrong,’ he thought. ‘Grandfather William wanted to say something to me and I didn’t listen.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with seeing a spirit,’ said Gra
‘I like coming here,’ he said. ‘I feel happy.’
‘Good. You deserve to be happy.’ Gra
‘Mother and Dad don’t think so,’ said Freddie. ‘They think everybody’s got to suffer because of the war.’
‘Pah!’ said Gra
A golden bubble drifted through the silence that followed, and came to rest in Freddie’s soul.
Then Gra
‘You still got those blimin’ clogs!’ she cried. ‘How big are your feet? Big, aren’t they, for a seven-year-old? I’ve got some BOOTS for you!’
She tore upstairs, startling the chickens from the bottom step, pulling herself up energetically with the banister, and Freddie heard her crashing around upstairs. Then he heard a cry.
‘Got ’em! The little beauties.’
She reappeared, clambering downstairs with a pair of black boots in her hand. They looked new, the soles thick and clean, the long laces unfrayed. Freddie eyed them dubiously.
‘Are they girls’ boots?’
‘No. I wouldn’t give you girls’ boots, Fred. These were mine, yes, but they were men’s boots my William got me for working on the farm, and I never did wear them, too tight they were. But I’ve looked after them, kept rubbing in the saddle soap, kept the leather nice and soft. Go on – try them.’
Her excitement was infectious. Freddie beamed as he slipped his feet inside the boots and stood up. Immediately he felt taller and more important. He gave Gra
‘Thank you.’
‘Are they too big?’
‘A bit.’
‘Right – that’s a good thing. You’ll grow into them. And if they’re too big we’ll stuff ’em with sheep’s wool.’
She produced some of that, too, from a box next to her spi
‘When I’m grown up,’ he said, ‘I want to find a wife just like you. She’ll have long black hair and her name will be Kate.’
Chapter Five
A RED RIBBON
Freddie had always given horses a wide berth. He didn’t dislike them, he was just wary. A
The storytelling became a ritual. Round the fire on a rainswept evening, or under the apple tree on a balmy afternoon. Despite his difficulty with communication, Levi had stories too, and when he started in his gravelly voice, Freddie was transfixed. Most of Levi’s tales were fu
Some of Levi’s stories involved horses, usually casting them in a negative role, and Freddie’s wariness of horses evolved from the storytelling rather than from actual experience.
So when he found himself facing a massive Shire horse in a narrow lane, Freddie’s heart almost stopped.
A
‘Get three, if you can. And don’t drop them,’ A
‘If I run, I’ll drop the basin,’ thought Freddie, so he stood still, facing up to the Shire horse. It appeared to be loose in the lane with only a leather halter on its head. Freddie looked at the horse’s knees, which were the size of two di