“It might help!” insisted Freya.
“How?” asked Abu, his dark, almost black eyes piercing Freya. “Telling them can’t change anything.”
“It might, I just want to let Mum know I’m okay, I’m happy…” Freya’s voice broke.
Carlos put his hand on her arm. “I know what you mean, but we’d still be gone, that wouldn’t change.”
Freya’s lip wobbled. “I’ve broken their hearts, and there’s nothing I can do to help.”
A small voice piped up from the back of the group, and little Mai spoke softly in her oriental lilt. “It will pass, they’ll understand…”
“But it’s my fault, I did something stupid and now they’re sad. I’ve wrecked everything!”
“They’re just going through something terrible, but in time they’ll learn from it,” said Mai, “In time, they’ll appreciate everything good so much more. We go through the bad to heighten the good.” Mai got up and straightened her skirt then stepped lightly through the children and settled on the grass beside Freya. She looked up at her through thick, black lashes, her smile evident in her almond eyes, and spoke softly. “Freya, you’re so new, you’re still missing people, they’re still missing you, it’s still raw and it takes time for things to change, but I think there are a few things you haven’t seen.”
“What haven’t I seen?”
Mai glanced about her and got a few nods in return. “I think we should show you a few things…”
As the little girl took Freya’s hand she suddenly found herself back in Daisy’s garden with Mai at her side. Daisy leaned against the fence with a wistful smile on her face. Next-door, Freya’s mother stood on the grass watching Jasmine pull freesias from the flowerbed.
The stalks clasped in Jasmine’s hands were squashed and widely varying in length, some of the lower buds were damaged and several stalks were broken, but none of that mattered. Jasmine continued pulling up yellow and purple and white freesias, and when her hands were full she stood up and grinned in delight.
Jasmine looked up at her mother and giggled. “Mine fowers,” she said and without any hesitation she skipped over to the fence and offered the bunch to Daisy.
Daisy accepted the limp assortment with the same grace as if she’d just been offered an expensive bouquet of red roses. She held the flowers to her nose and inhaled. “Oooh, they are gorgeous!” she enthused and Freya could see the tears misting up Daisy’s eyes.
“Your fowers.” Jasmine beamed like a ray of sunshine.
Freya glanced from Daisy to her mother and Rachel pulled her cardigan sleeve over her hand to wipe away a stray tear too. These tears, however, were not of sadness but of gratitude and delight, as Jasmine made sure that Daisy would continue to receive her summer bouquets of beautifully fragrant freesias.
Freya smiled, and Mai tugged her arm. “That was because of you,” she told Freya. “Now c’mon, there’s more to see. We’re going to school.” Mai took Freya’s hand.
Before Freya could question Mai she was in her old school’s assembly hall. She couldn’t help grinning as memories flooded back and she followed Mai through the sea of red and grey.
The children all sat quiet and expectant all dressed neatly in a new term’s uniform. Boys’ trousers were smart and clean, no mud or holey knees, shoes were polished and unscuffed, and red sweatshirts were generally slightly too big or too small, as parents attempted to make them last an extra year or so.
Mai motioned for Freya to sit at the end of what would be her new year’s row. Freya sank down, cross-legged, in the space between the last pupil and the teacher’s sandaled feet. She glanced at the boy to her left, who was totally oblivious to his extra-terrestrial classmate. Giggling to herself, she leaned towards him and whispered his name in his ear. “William…”
He gave no reaction and Freya screwed up her nose and harrumphed. She looked up to her right, Mrs Atkins sat surveying her new Year Threes and a wry smile played on Freya’s face, she would have enjoyed being part of Mrs Atkins’ class. Mai settled delicately in front of her and told Freya to concentrate.
Freya looked up as Mr Buxton, the Head Teacher, rose and marched across the floor. “Good Morning, and welcome to a new school year.” He rubbed his hands together and offered the pupils a big smile as they returned his greeting with an enthusiastic harmonious. “Good morning Mr Buxton.”
Freya tuned out as Mr Buxton’s ‘New school year’ speeches bored her. She leaned forward and searched the row of children. There was Megan, halfway along, listening intently to Mr Buxton. Freya stared keenly at her best friend, willing her to glance away from the Head, but Meg’s attention was firm. Freya opened her eyes wide and concentrated hard on Meg, but it made no difference. Then she felt Mai jab her in the side. “Listen,” whispered Mai.
Mr Buxton paused in his rhetoric and took a deep breath. “Now you all remember Freya Scott?” He paused to allow the murmured assents and nods, and Freya felt a shiver tingle from the tip of her scalp to her toes. Her attention was absolute. “She died in a tragic traffic accident during spring term earlier this year. We will be doing two things to commemorate young Freya…the first thing we will be doing is planting an apple tree in the school’s wildlife patch. We will be planting the tree, which was most kindly donated by Heather’s Nurseries, this afternoon. Mrs Atkins’ Year Threes will be carrying this out just after afternoon registration.” He paused again while the Year Threes whispered amongst themselves. He cleared his throat. “The second thing will be ‘The Sunflower Award’.”
Mr Buxton turned to Miss Allen, who had risen from her chair and held out a gold-plated sunflower atop a black, plastic plinth. He strolled across the hall and took the Sunflower from Freya’s tearful Year Two teacher.
Back before the assembly he cleared his throat again and clicked his heels. “We conferred with Freya’s family after Miss Allen’s old class asked if we could have something to remind them of their sadly missed classmate. Between us, we came up with this.” He gestured to the award in his hands. “‘The Sunflower Award’. Now, you all have different weekly awards in your classes, ‘Pupil of the week’ and suchlike, this will be for the whole school. Each month we will award it to the pupil who has made us the happiest. You will receive the Sunflower to adorn your classroom for the following month, and you will receive a certificate.
“How the pupil will be chosen was also discussed, and you will notice a yellow box in the foyer, by reception, any suggestions of pupils you feel deserve the award should be posted there, and myself and the teachers will discuss and make our own recommendations at the end of the month. We very much hope that the memory of Freya, a happy and cheerful little girl herself, will help the ethos of this school. We hope that you will remember our code…” Mr Buxton paused to allow the children to join in; the younger ones did with gusto, the older ones with more than a hint of embarrassment. “‘Help us to work, and never to shirk. Thoughtful and caring, loving and sharing. This message for all, will keep our school COOL.’”
Freya giggled, along with many of the children, while Mr Buxton stood proudly, revelling in his achievements.
Mai smiled and nudged Freya. “Even your school motto makes people laugh!” she whispered. “Okay, let’s go…”
The school faded around the two girls and Mai spoke again. “Are you seeing it now?”
“Seeing what exactly?”
“Joy, happiness? And you caused these things. You haven’t wrecked anything! I can show you something else, something good that’s only happened because of you.”
A moment later and both girls were sitting on plumped up cushions, decorated with Van Gogh’s sunflowers, across the room from two very different looking women.
The women looked polar opposites in every way, except the way they both held their steaming mugs. Both women must have insulated skin, either that or neither wanted to admit to scorched palms. Freya remembered her first mug of hot chocolate, some years ago. The mug had been so hot that despite her mo
ther’s warning, she’d grasped the mug eagerly and then almost dropped it in searing surprise! In future she had always waited for the spiral of steam to vanish before gingerly taking her first sip, even if it meant that the drink was more on the cold side.
These ladies held their mugs close, with both hands wrapped around them, and sipped alike.
Freya smiled, she recognised the women. Mrs Taylor lived four, no, five doors up the road and Mrs Feldman lived next door, six doors up.
It was well known that neither woman had spoken to each other for well over a decade.
Their husbands had had a feud over the boundary hedge, and it had grown, the hedge that was, to heights it had never known!
Mrs Feldman’s husband had died first after cutting through his electric hedge-cutter’s cable, on the very day he’d had enough of waiting for the Taylor’s to the trim the hedge. After Mr Feldman’s funeral, Mr Taylor had been consumed with remorse, devastated that his stubborn refusal to cut back the offending hedge had cost his neighbour his life. He had climbed up onto his wonky step-ladder, with his own pruning shears, and promptly slipped and broken his neck.
The two grieving women had not spoken since.
It was Donald and Daisy who had engineered the repair.
Donald had told Mrs Feldman that they would take her to the funeral and Daisy had offered a lift to Mrs Taylor.
The funeral, Freya’s funeral, had touched their hearts and now they sat together, holding their mugs and laughing and gossiping as if they had been doing it all their lives.
“Life goes on,” said Freya.
People find happiness, even when things are bad.” Mai had been ready to stray from examples of happiness and contentment caused by Freya; she would have whisked her across the world showing her joy and delight. She was ready to share the wonder of gazing into a newborn’s face, the first rains of a dry season, the first throes of romance, freshly picked strawberries, the lasting happiness of an elderly couple holding hands, ice-cream at the seaside, fish and chips in newspaper, singing, catching snowflakes, dancing in the rain, swinging as high as you can, rainbows…the list was endless.
She could do the same for despair and suffering, but it wouldn’t be as much fun. Mai knew her point had been made. One couldn’t exist without the other and it was the same the whole world over.
Freya was thinking about freesias, and sunflowers and friendships, and, she smiled, Mr Hillman had all three.
Mai tugged Freya’s arm and gone was the floral living room, instead the two girls stood amid bluebells considering Mai’s illustrations.
“So,” began Freya, “it doesn’t matter what happens, happiness and sadness are all part of life. If I didn’t know sadness, I would never know happiness. Mr Hillman is…how do I explain it? He knows how much pain is stored up, and he’s just trying to, to give his wife more and more happy times, so when, when he’s gone she’ll have reserves of happiness to draw on.” Freya paused. “Did I explain that right?”
Mai ran her hand through her silky, black hair and smiled at her. “I think you did.”
Freya’s soul danced and she grabbed Mai’s hand, and they giggled and ran, zigzagging through the bluebells.
Jake and the other children joined them almost immediately and they collapsed in a riotous heap.
It was Mai who stopped giggling first, her eyes misted and her soul leapt and suddenly all was quiet. The jolt that struck the children could only be described as a flash of electricity flowing from mind to mind, and Freya, having never experienced the collective mind, reared back on her heels. “What’s going on?” she asked.
Mai got to her feet with tears rolling down her shining face. Her lips curled into a serene smile and her whole being emanated joy.
Freya glanced from one child to another and saw Mai’s expression reciprocated in every countenance. “What’s happening?”
Keira laughed gently and wiped a tear from her own eye. She scrambled up and threw herself at Mai. “I just knew you wouldn’t be here long!” she cried into Mai’s shoulder.
Mai continued to smile with a serenity Freya had never encountered before. Jake leaned close and whispered reverently. “Mai’s ready.”
“Ready?” asked Freya.
He nodded. “Ready.”
“So soon?”
Mai turned to Freya. “Showing you today what you needed to see, confirmed what I already know.” She reached up and embraced Freya. “I am ready.”
“Then what are we waiting for!” squealed Keira, all reverence forgotten, “Let’s go!”
Mai slipped her hand into Freya’s and smiled. “Let’s go.”
The troupe followed the two girls and drifted across the springy grass. Mai moved purposefully towards Freya’s orange blossom and aquilegia’s. “This way,” she said. They progressed through papery paeonies and bearded irises and as they moved through Freya’s garden the planting altered. Freya didn’t notice at first, but suddenly her wild, country flowers had smoothly transformed into delicate, oriental blossoms.
Pastel-pink camellias, surrounded by their dark leaves, overshadowed tiny orchids then the grass disappeared and gravel crunched beneath their feet. Ferns sprang up and moss blanketed the rocks that lead them past a gentle rivulet. More irises grew in the boggy grass beside the gravel path and magnolias spread their beautifully contorted branches, swathed with magnificent pink-blushed blooms, over their heads.
“Is this your garden?” whispered Freya in awe.
“Some of it.” Mai nodded.
Tall bamboo rustled, and up ahead the grey shingle stretched out across the path, widening into a courtyard.
The noise of a waterfall reached their ears, but they could not see it, instead they saw a shallow pool lying ahead filled with huge water lilies. As they moved closer, turquoise and jade dragonflies flit to and fro, dipping down to the water and up again.
At the pool Mai turned to her friends and released Freya’s hand. “From here I go alone,” she told them.
They sank down to the gravel and leaned against the stone pool, and watched as Mai stepped away and moved off down the path. They could see again where the path widened and an old gnarled wisteria stood in the centre of the garden up ahead.
Freya watched as Mai stepped lightly on. The little girl’s gait changed from shy and nervous to assured and confident, and as it did, her ivory dress altered, just slightly, the skirt lengthened and lost the girly bounce it had always had, and its ivory changed to pure white.
A breeze caught Mai’s hair and as the girl turned her head to smile and wave for the last time, all the watching children let out their breath. Mai’s whole countenance changed, for a moment they saw a woman, young, slender and beautiful, turn and wave and then she was Mai again.
In that moment a figure had appeared, with outstretched arms, at the wisteria. Mai hesitated for a moment then ran into those welcoming arms. The light that infused the garden was blinding, and when the watching children had finished rubbing their eyes, the wisteria stood alone, gnarled and beautiful, but alone.
Nobody spoke as they wandered on. They had dashed to the wisteria, open-mouthed and awestruck, but it was just a tree, nothing more. They had circled it, run their hands across the twisted trunk, and stared into its contorted boughs, but Mai had gone.
Deep in thought they wandered on through the garden, finally coming across a small pagoda.
“This was Mai’s favourite place,” Sophie told them.
“She hardly spent any time here,” said Keira.
Sophie smiled, fingering a piece of bright blue silk that whispered in the breeze. “She didn’t need to.”
Mai had decorated her small sanctuary with silken cushions and a turquoise Chinese rug. The whole effect was as if a peacock had chosen the décor himself. Deep green and blue voile hung from the ceiling and the tones were perfect set against the grey stone columns.
Sophie moved lightly up the two little steps and settled on the floor against a collection of cushions
. She grabbed the nearest teal-blue pillow and hugged it to her chest. Keira followed and did the same. As the other children entered the pagoda and sat Keira sighed deeply and spoke wistfully. “When will I be ready?”
“As soon as you want to be,” replied Abu, “I will be soon I hope.”
“Carlos will be next,” predicted Keira, prodding the boy’s arm.
Carlos nodded. “It won’t be long,” he agreed.
Freya’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You know when you’ll be ready?”
“I am ready, I’m just waiting.”
“For what?”
“Not what, but who,” he said with a smile. “Cholera’s a terrible thing, my little brother’s been and gone, my sister will be here soon, and then we’ll go and join my parents.”
“That’s awful!” said Freya wringing her hands.
Carlos shook his head. “No it’s not, it’s better than where we were.”
“That’s the truth!” Abu grinned wryly.
“Were you from the same place?” asked Freya, confused.
“Do I look Mexican?” asked Abu.
Freya shook her head.
“We lived and died in similar circumstances, but on opposite sides of the world,” said Abu.
“Cholera?”
“No, poverty.”
“Poverty induced cholera in my case,” said Carlos.
“I died of food poisoning, how ridiculous is that!” Keira joined in, her Irish accent thick with irritation. “Some idiot didn’t prepare his food well enough and I died! I’m angry and my parents are as sure as hell angry!” She smiled apologetically. “It’s gonna take me a while!”
“That’s your problem,” said Sophie ruefully. “Anger, like Abu’s stubborn bitterness.”
“It’s not stubborn, it’s justifiable…I’m missing a lot being dead, poverty or no poverty,” Abu continued, “School was just around the corner, I could have gone in a few years, I could have been someone!”
“I’m not missing anything.” Ben’s voice was quiet, but had a hard edge. Sophie rubbed his shoulders. “My parents didn’t want me and carried on as if I never existed…as you can see I didn’t last long.”
Beneath the Rainbow Page 5
