Beneath the Rainbow

by Lisa Shambrook

  The storm quelled and the dark clouds lightened. Alice began to cry, but this time the shower that left the clouds was just that, a shower. Freya extended her hand once again, and Alice moved closer, she allowed Freya to hug her, and the clouds slowly, very slowly, reverted back to a heavenly soufflé.

  Alice kept her clouds. She’d spent so much time staring up at them through windows over the last year, she felt extraordinarily comfortable living on them.

  “I wanted to die in my own bed,” she reflected, “but I think that scared Mum, you know, having me die where they all lived…she got her way with the hospice. Dad wanted me home too, but I heard them one night, she couldn’t bear the memories tainted with death if she had to keep on living there. I don’t blame her.”

  “But you said you were going to make it,” said Freya.

  Alice shrugged. “Yeah, I was, but there comes a moment, when everyone knows it won’t happen.”

  “What was it like, knowing you were going to die?” Freya couldn’t disguise her curiosity.

  Alice thought. “I was scared, at first, who wouldn’t be? Didn’t know what would happen, how it would happen, but they prepare you.”

  “How?”

  “Read you stories, talk about theories, they talk about going to sleep. Mum said I’d go home to the angels.” She grinned, “And here you are!”

  Freya smiled. “I didn’t know I was going to die, it just happened, I got run over.”

  “Is it harder knowing, or not knowing?” pondered Alice.

  “I didn’t get to say goodbye, I was just gone.”

  “We said lots of goodbyes. I’m still not sure if that’s worse or not.”

  Freya shook her head. “I didn’t get the chance to think about it, so it wasn’t scary. I didn’t have to wonder what it would be like.”

  “It’s not what I thought it would be like,” confided Alice. “I thought Granddad would be here to welcome me, not that I don’t like you, but you never gave me sweets and hugs and you didn’t teach me how to make ‘crispie cakes’. It’s not what I expected.”

  “That’s because you’re not ready yet,” Freya told her with a conspiratorial smile.

  “Ready? I’ve been ready for weeks!”

  “Not that kind of ‘ready’, not ready to die, but ready to live!”

  “Live?”

  “To go on…”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know, but I bet your Granddad will be there to greet you and hug you!” Freya assured her.

  “When does that happen then?”

  Freya shrugged. “When you’re ready.”

  They sat in contemplative silence for a while.

  “I’m not ready yet,” said Freya.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know, we’ve discussed it a lot, and some people aren’t ready because they’re waiting for someone, some can’t let go of the life they’ve left, or the people they’ve left.” She paused. “I think, I can’t let go of my family yet, it still makes me sad, I miss them…”

  “You’ll always miss them,” said Alice.

  “I know, but I watch my mum, and…she cries, she still cries, and so does Dad. Mum doesn’t know that Dad still cries for me. He won’t wear his favourite blue t-shirt, it makes him cry. Mum found it the other day, folded up underneath his pillow. She left it there.”

  “My mum doesn’t like my rabbit,” Alice shared. “It’s a white one, you’d never have guessed!” Freya laughed. “She doesn’t like him, my sisters’ don’t want him either, but Dad won’t let her get rid of him. He said, ‘Rabbits don’t last long,’ and Mum said, ‘Nor did Alice,’ but he won’t let her get rid of him.”

  “Mum won’t change my bedroom either,” said Freya, “it’s almost a year, but she won’t do it.”

  “Mine’s changed already. They took the hospital bed back.”

  “What did you think of your funeral?” asked Freya.

  Alice chewed her lip. “It was nice,” she began, “I’d rather have been buried…it’ll take me forever to collect up all those little pieces of dust!” she joked. “Actually, I liked being cremated, which were you?”

  “Buried.”

  “Oh, I was going to ask about the scattering, but you wouldn’t know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Does everyone ‘feel’ it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I, I mean, my ashes, were scattered across a stream, near where we lived, we used to play there when I was better. I ‘felt’ it,” she said. “Dad shook the urn and out I came, for a moment I felt the wind caress me. I felt the breeze lift me and let me go…but I was up here, watching.”

  “It’s memories…” Freya told her, “Your mind lets you feel what you can see. Up here, you’ve brought all your memories and experiences, and you can draw on them anytime!”

  “And more!” exclaimed Alice, “It’s amazing how much more I know!”

  Freya smiled. “Have you been back?”

  Alice nodded. “Yes, but I think it’s too soon, still too much grief.”

  Freya sighed. “That doesn’t change.”

  “Oh, it will, life goes on,” said Alice. “Life goes on for all of us, just in different places.”

  “Hmmm, you’re going to be ready sooner than I am!” Freya laughed.

  “We’ll see.”

  They both sat on Alice’s fluffy, white clouds. “Are you going to change these?” asked Freya.

  “The clouds?”

  Freya nodded.

  “I don’t know, I like them. When I was ill in bed, I couldn’t do much more than stare up at the passing clouds. Sometimes they looked like certain things, you know, a dog, or a duck, or a hand, or something, but sometimes they looked like a whole new world, like a landscape, a huge lake with snow-capped mountains behind, a beach or a valley. I used to imagine castles and kingdoms, and when the sun shone through the grey rain clouds, it just looked like magic…”

  Alice waved her hands and the clouds on her horizon turned into a majestic headland, topped with a fairytale castle, and waves beating against the shore down below. She tipped her hand and they were bathed in sunlight, gold rays shining down through turret windows and across the landscape.

  Freya could imagine the castle; she could see a princess standing on a balcony, a dragon circling in the sky, and a profusion of her favourite blooms filling the courtyard…

  “It is magic isn’t it?” said Alice.

  Freya nodded, quite enchanted.

  “I could stay here forever,” said Alice.

  “And me,” agreed Freya.

  Alice smiled with contentment. “This is my wonderland.”

  Branches hung low and dew dripped from the overhanging leaves as Freya, Jake and Alice ambled through the woods. Mist weaved through the trees, decorating leaves and blossom, and leaving crystals threaded through their tresses.

  They wandered on the boundary of Freya’s garden and Alice’s clouds, and not far ahead a new land became apparent. Freya frowned and her step faltered. She glanced sideways at Jake and spoke softly. “Yours?”

  Jake nodded.

  “Not what I expected,” said Freya, “but then I did wonder why you’d never taken me there.”

  Jake walked on and the girls followed. The woods opened and the clouds rolled across freshly mown and manicured open grass. Closely cut lavender made a hedge in front of white hydrangea, pink cistus and ruby weigela shrubs, and they lead the way to the oval pool.

  Jake moved lightly across the grass, until he came to the tiled edge of the pool. There, he crouched and let his hand skim the water. Alice sat beside him and dropped her legs over the side and kicked the blue water, grinning as she did so.

  Freya remained standing, allowing her eyes to take in the scene she was already so familiar with.

  The garden was perfect in every way, perfectly cared for, clean and fresh. The pool looked perfect to dive straight into on a hot, summer’s day. Freya took a second look, it was too perf
ect, for on the terrace, up beside the house, was a patio set, round table, four chairs and an umbrella. Sat at the table, shaded by the parasol was Jake’s mum. She sat, one leg hooked over the other, in a navy-blue, one-piece swimming costume, sunglasses pushed back on her head and a cocktail, complete with miniature umbrella, in her hand. Standing behind her, with one hand protectively resting on her shoulder, was Jake’s father.

  Freya couldn’t speak.

  “I know,” said Jake despondently without looking up from the pool.

  “I think you’re seriously repressed,” said Alice shaking her head, but nobody answered her.

  Jake moved to sit hugging his knees to him and Freya lowered herself at his side. She put her arm around his shoulders and stared at the rippling water.

  “You need to go down and see,” Freya murmured.

  Jake shrugged.

  “See what?” asked Alice, “It’s all here, recreated in perfection!”

  “You just do,” said Freya, ignoring Alice.

  “I know.” Jake nodded. “I know.”

  “She needs you.” Freya’s words touched him, and his eyes filled with tears.

  “It was my fault,” he whispered, “my fault.”

  “It was an accident.” Freya shook her head. “Not anyone’s fault.”

  Alice watched the two of them as they spoke softly.

  Freya continued. “You need to set her free, you need to set yourself free.”

  Jake sighed.

  “You need to let go,” she said.

  “We all have to let go,” said Alice.

  “Jake, you have to let go, get rid of that guilt, yours and hers…”

  “I know…”

  “She’s not the only one who’s stuck,” Freya told him, squeezing his shoulders. “You’re both trapped.”

  “Who needs guilt?” Alice shook her head. “I could feel guilty, you know, I ruined my family’s lives… I got sick and died, and they’re left with the fallout. I’m up here sunning myself! I could feel guilty, but I didn’t cause it, I didn’t do anything to get sick, it just happened. It’s how we all deal with it that matters…”

  Freya nodded vigorously. “That’s what life is about, how we deal with what’s thrown at us.”

  Alice kicked the water, sending waves across the pool. “If I felt guilty, I would shrivel up, but I’m not, I fought it and tried, and it just didn’t work out, but it’s no one’s fault. Mum once said, when I was crying and scared, she said, ‘Just be…’ that’s all ‘Just be,’ it’s good advice.”

  “Just be…” repeated Freya thoughtfully. “Just go…”

  Jake pushed his hair away from his face and nodded. “I know.”

  As Rachel ran her fingers gently across the books on the shelf, Freya concentrated hard on trying to influence her choice. Rachel thoughtfully pulled one or two partially out, and glanced at them before pushing them back in again.

  Jasmine sighed and then grunted. “Book, Mummy,” she pleaded, crossing her arms over her chest in a quick, sulky movement, reminiscent of Freya.

  Her mum smiled wryly and allowed her finger to hover over a green spine. She lingered before popping out the book. Freya punched the air!

  Rachel smiled as she contemplated the woven cover; the sleeve had been worn, torn and lost many years ago. It was an old book, much loved during her own childhood, and in turn adored by Freya. A book she hadn’t touched in almost a year, and as there was no picture on the front it held little interest for young Jasmine.

  Her daughter watched, her sulky face growing darker. She wanted the baby panda book again…

  Rachel flipped open the book and regarded the rudimentary illustrations, and read the opening verse to herself. In her head she saw Freya crouched at her feet, eyes gleaming with anticipation and face ready to mimic the little girl in the book…

  She turned the page and read silently totally oblivious to the glare sent her way from the floor. Rachel thumbed a few pages more then laughed. “Angry! Oh Freya could do that one!” She glanced at Jasmine, “And, I see, so can you!”

  She chuckled and turned to show Jasmine a picture of a little girl looking angry. Jasmine already demonstrated a lovely imitation, but her angry look turned to one of interest and Jasmine smiled.

  “No, look angry!” prompted Rachel. Jasmine did, and her mum turned the page. “Now look silly.” Encouraged by the illustration, Jasmine giggled then did as she was told. “Now happy.” Rachel was animated and her memories of Freya now swelled as Jasmine’s efforts joined them.

  Rachel moved quickly to the sofa and Jasmine followed, both glued to the book. Rachel read and her daughter copied the faces as requested, until Rachel turned a page near to the end, and a scrap of paper slipped out.

  She paused and the paper, still folded carefully in half, fell into her lap. She held the book in one hand and touched the corner of the paper with the other. She gently lifted the folded edge and glanced beneath it. Her face paled and she let the edge close.

  Jasmine stared expectantly and Rachel met her daughter’s eyes. She smiled and turned back to the task in hand, reading again. Her heart wasn’t in it, but Jasmine didn’t notice as she revelled in the conclusion.

  As her mother closed the book, Jasmine reached for it. “Carefully,” warned her mother. “Careful with it, it’s one of Mum’s best books.”

  Jasmine nodded and took it reverently then moved across the carpet to study the pictures on her own.

  Rachel touched the piece of paper in her lap. If the book had brought back memories, the writing on the scrap of paper relinquished an onslaught.

  Freya’s seven-year-old handwriting, large and round, stared up at her from the torn notepaper. Rachel took a deep breath and steeled herself to read the untidy, childish script that now presented itself. The title announced itself boldly:

  Rachel’s hand shook.

  The doorbell rang, and Rachel almost dropped the paper. She didn’t move for a moment then the bell rang again and Jasmine stood up. “Door?” she said and pointed.

  Rachel came to her senses and stood, somehow making her way to the front door. Olivia, Steph and Meg stood on the doorstep, and the girls immediately made their way inside much to Jasmine’s delight. Olivia noticed the dazed look on Rachel’s face and sent the girls upstairs. “Go play for a bit,” she told them and ushered Rachel back to her sofa.

  They sat and Olivia noted the paper in her friend’s hand. “Are you okay?” she asked. Rachel nodded. “What’s that then?” asked Olivia, lightly touching the paper.

  Rachel handed it over. Olivia gently opened it and let her eyes flicker across the page. “Freya?”

  Rachel nodded again and took the page back. “It just brought it all back… I found a book, one of Freya’s favourites and I read it to Jasmine, and near the back I found this.”

  “In the book?”

  “Mmm, just sitting there.”

  “And?” prompted Olivia.

  “What d’you mean and?” asked Rachel.

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  “Keep it, what else,” Rachel smiled as she studied the childish scrawl.

  “And?”

  Rachel glanced at Olivia in confusion. “And what? What else d’you want me to do with it?”

  Olivia sighed and shook her head as if she was talking to a child herself. “Look, see what it says, Things to do… Are you going to do them?”

  “Do them?” queried Rachel, the thought to do anything hadn’t occurred to her.

  “These are Freya’s things to do, her list, it might help to actually do them,” said Olivia.

  Rachel was quiet for a moment, and she bit her lip as she examined the words. “I haven’t been to the park…since…”

  Olivia squeezed her hand. “What are you waiting for?”

  “I don’t know.” Rachel’s eyes filled with tears, “I just can’t go there. Not yet.”

  “Number two?”

  “A sandcastle?” Rachel smiled, “I’ll m
ake one next time we go to the beach.”

  “And number three? Have you got any eggs?”

  “Eggs?”

  “For a chocolate cake.”

  Rachel’s eyebrows rose. “Now?”

  “Yes, now!” said Olivia, “Put the note somewhere safe, and let’s get to it. If Freya wants a chocolate cake, then she’s going to get a chocolate cake! A huge one with all the extras!”

  Moments later Olivia was raiding her friend’s kitchen cupboards, and Rachel was watching, her heart beating and her hands shaking.

  “Flour?”

  Rachel pointed to a shelf in the corner. “Up there, on top.”

  Olivia paused. “You okay? Do you want me to stop?”

  Rachel shook her head, and a small tear slipped out of her eye. She brushed it away quickly. “No, I want to do this, I really do. It’s just that it feels like she’s here, and…”

  “And if I get the flour and sprinkle it all over the room, she’ll appear, a little flour-coated ghost!”

  “Sort of!” laughed Rachel as Olivia reached up to the shelf.

  Soon the kitchen was a whirl of activity as the two women measured butter, flour, sugar, broke chocolate, and cracked eggs. They stirred and beat, and whipped up a frenzy, and the kitchen was filled with giggles and laughter.

  Amidst it all, stood Freya, twirling in the centre of the kitchen, trying to catch the mists of flour and reveal herself.

  All too soon and the cake was in the oven. The two friends ignored the mess and retired to the lounge, and neither saw the hilarious image that was Freya, attempting to leave floury footprints across the carpet.

  Later, when the doorbell rang again, Rachel and Olivia were by the oven. Uncle Pete joined the women and grinned as he took in the chaos that used to be the kitchen.

  “We’re making a cake for Freya,” Rachel told him.

  Pete didn’t even flinch, just smiled as if it were the most normal activity in the world.

  “We need…more chocolate,” said Olivia.

  “More?” Uncle Pete was surprised. “Looks like you’ve got the whole sweet shop in here already!”

  “We’ve got enough,” said Rachel.