He stared beyond the sun’s glare and beneath the ripples, to the shape moving across the bottom of the pool.
His mouth dropped and rain began to fall, but as Jake’s vision blurred, he realised there was no rain, only his tears, as he stared down into the water at his mother swimming like a mermaid on the bottom.
She weaved and meandered like a fish, her long, white dress clinging to her body, her arms pushing through the water, her head moving side to side like a snake, and her long, fair hair fanning out as she searched every inch of the pool floor.
Then she looked up.
Her desolate face saw Jake through the surface ripples. Her hair undulated as she paused, stunned, staring up in disbelief.
The boy, her son, was falling, replaying the nightmare that haunted her. Her mouth opened but no sound accompanied it, and no bubbles rose. She stared in anguish as Jake slipped into the water.
She kicked her legs and pushed forward as Jake began to sink in a jumble of legs and flailing arms. She hurried through the water, this time she would save him…
His blue eyes found hers and she refused to let go. She surged forward and scooped up the small boy in her outstretched arms.
They were together, finally together, mother and son.
Freya stood, poolside, staring down watching the joyous watery reunion. Jake clung to his mother, and the two bodies rolled and wheeled before rising and punching through the surface.
Freya could barely contain her excitement and helped the two out of the pool. Water slipped off them, and they moved away from the edge, leaving a puddle but no footprints.
Jake’s mother stepped back to look at her son then she hugged him to her, unable to let go after so long searching. “Oh Jake, my Jake, my boy…”
They stood like that lost within each other for a long time, his name echoing softly on the breeze.
A sharp click broke the reverie, as the back door to the house opened.
Freya started and took a step away from Jake and his mother. She opened her mouth to speak, but Jake’s mum put her finger to her lips, and instead they watched the door.
Dressed in a loose shirt and unflattering cargo shorts, Jake’s father stepped out onto his terrace. His head was bowed as he lifted his lighter to the cigarette in his mouth.
Jake ran forward as light as the wind itself and stood beside his father. The flint sparked and a flame caught. Jake pursed his lips and blew. A brief, but fierce gust brushed the flame and it sputtered out. His Dad flicked the lighter again and lifted it. The draught blew it out again. For the third time, he attempted to light up, but the flame flickered out.
He shook his head and muttered to himself then he glanced up. The pool shimmered in the bright sun and diamonds danced across the calm water.
Suddenly his breath caught, and he coughed, and the cigarette fell from his open mouth. He walked forward, shielding his eyes and staring at the side of his swimming pool. Tears glistened in his eyes, and Freya looked to where he was staring.
Jake and his mother stood, bathed in white sunlight, by the side of the pool.
Freya looked to the approaching man, panic rising, and back again to the two standing still.
Jake’s father lifted his hand to his chest, placing it gently over his heart. His heartbeats were audible. His mouth formed a word, but none escaped. He tried again. “Kerry, Jake…” Two words were all that was needed.
Freya’s worry turned to wonder, and from wonder to delight.
“Henry,” murmured Jake’s mother, and Jake whispered. “Dad.”
Freya could not contain herself. “He can see you!”
Two pairs of eyes locked with Jake’s father and Henry hesitated, just metres from his departed family.
“We’re in between,” whispered Kerry, “but we’re okay, we’re alright.”
“I can…see you…Kerry,” Tears rolled over stubbly cheeks. “Jake! You’ve grown, oh, how you’ve grown, my boy…my man.”
Freya glanced at Jake and a knife cut through her. Gone was the boy, gone was the seven-year-old, before her stood a young man, grown and gorgeous. If Freya’s heart could still beat, it would have stopped, and Freya knew time was short.
“We’re alright, we’re alright…” echoed Jake’s mother.
Freya watched as the sun shone brighter and brighter, until suddenly Jake’s father was standing alone, staring at a space beside the swimming pool. He dropped to his knees and wept, and Freya was gone in a flash.
Such was Freya’s anxiety that she couldn’t think.
She raced across her garden and dashed though the bluebell swathed woods. Alice’s cloudy turrets rose high above the canopy and Freya burst through the last few trees with sobs that nearly choked her. She stopped and bent forward, her breath tearing at her chest. She wiped away tears and shook her head.
She took a deep breath and laughed, and laughed again, hyperventilation taking her to the dizzy heights of hysteria.
She shook her head again and covered her eyes with her hands. “Stop it,” she commanded, her trembling voice echoing across the misty landscape. “Just stop it!”
Her head began to clear and her throat stopped burning, memories of running and breathlessness faded and Freya stood alone, surrounded by the edge of her forest and Alice’s clouds.
Her tears remained, resting on her face like dewdrops. She wiped them away, but more prickled behind her eyelids, and she wondered at the physical response, she hadn’t cried real tears for so long. Now is not the time to question, thought Freya and emptied her mind of everything but Jake.
More tears escaped as she recalled her last image of Jake, standing, full-grown, beside his mother. It shocked her, Jake was her constant, her companion, her everything. Now, because she had encouraged him to face his past, his future had been thrown wide open…
Freya closed her eyes and allowed her soul to guide her.
Jake stood waiting.
He looked no more than seven-years-old and Freya’s grin spread across her face. She ran and threw herself at him. “I thought you’d gone! I thought I’d missed you!” she wailed.
“How could I go without waiting for you?” he admonished.
She shook her head and buried it against his shoulder. His shoulders broadened and his arms strengthened and Freya felt eternally safe.
“I would never have gone without you.” His voice deepened and Freya moved back in surprise, looking up into his face. His blue eyes stared right back, but they were again set into the face of a young man. “It’s difficult to control,” he apologised.
She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat, understanding without the need of explanation. “You’re ready.”
“I’m more than ready!” He laughed and the timbre of his voice warmed her soul.
“You waited…for me,” she spoke softly.
“Always,” he replied.
Freya reached up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Look! I’m crying!” she said with incredulity.
He smiled. “I’ll leave you with one last thing…” he began, “learn a little more, and you’ll have more control, there is so much more to learn, you’re not even using half your brain at the moment! At those, these, peaks of emotion, you can leave impressions…like tears, ripples on the water…it’s not just memories you can evoke!” Jake bent and kissed the top of Freya’s head, “You can do anything, be anything…”
Freya nodded and hugged him once more then she stepped back and for the first time took in her surroundings.
The immaculate lawn was still bordered by shrubs and the lavender path still snaked across the grass, but Jake’s house had vanished. The swimming pool began the same as it always had, but the white tiles turned into quartz and then into granite rocks and the calm pool rolled over the edge of a precipice into a roiling waterfall.
Jake waved and dived into the swimming pool, darting through the water like a dolphin. He flipped right over the edge and let the waterfall take him.
Freya, accompani
ed by Alice, Keira and all their friends, hurried to the edge and watched as the foaming flume took him into the stream below.
The stream widened and Jake floated down the serpentine river. The river flowed flanked by beautiful granite rocks at the water’s edge, and then between fresh green meadows. Jake swam, flitting to and fro in the frothing water.
Far, far ahead, beyond a curve in the winding waterway and woodland swathed in blue, stood a willow, pale green against the bright, white light. Jake powered through the water and a figure beneath the tree leapt into the river. Jake swam to meet his mother and they both climbed ashore.
They walked on, through daisy-filled meadows, to the willow. The meadow filled with a pure, encompassing, white light, and when the willow reappeared standing alone, Freya smiled. She knew that a serpentine river now flowed alongside her willow and white roses, and that wherever he was, Jake would wait.
Laughter filled the house, along with a golden ray of sunshine peering in through the dining room window. The late afternoon sun rested on Jasmine’s animated face, and her mother leaned across the table to lift Jasmine’s fair hair out of her way. Jasmine beamed at her mother and turned back to her fingers. She plunged her index finger into a pot of green paint and giggled.
“Squishy!” Her father grinned at her and across the table he stuck his finger into crimson paint. Together they lifted their fingers and brandished them in the air.
“Careful,” said Rachel.
Oblivious her husband and daughter stabbed at the clean white paper before them. Jasmine’s giggles filled the air and Rachel pulled up a chair to sit with her family at the table.
Jasmine threw caution to the wind and plunged her whole fist into the blue pot. “That’s the spirit Jaz!” cried Joe, “Go for it!”
Rachel watched and bit her lip, trying to ignore the accumulating mess. Joe glanced at her, and allowed himself a smile. “Rachel, grab a piece of paper, c’mon liberate yourself!”
His wife glared at him.
Jasmine’s paper was a blobby, crumpled mess of blue and green.
“What are you drawing then?” asked Dad.
“Blue Ted,” she replied with a satisfied nod. “Blue Ted.”
“I’m painting you!” Her father told her.
“Me!” squealed Jasmine climbing up onto her knees and leaning across the table. Joe picked up the page and showed his daughter the rudimentary red face and big smile, two spots of green for her eyes and yellow for her hair. “It’s me!” she screeched, “Jasmine!”
Mum pulled Jasmine’s picture out from beneath her and laid it on the floor by the back door. She gave her daughter another piece of paper. Jasmine made herself busy with a mixture of red and blue handprints.
Rachel watched her husband as he dipped his finger back into the red paint and drew another circle on the page beside Jasmine. Two more green dots for eyes and then he opened a pot of brown. Rachel stiffened and got up, she moved across the room and into the kitchen. Sitting on top of the breadbin was Freya’s list complete with a smudge of chocolate. “Number four, Freya,” she whispered, “painting…” Rachel moved to the windowsill still holding the list. She picked up a paper cup, decorated with yellow poster paint spots and green squiggles. “Number five, Jasmine’s sunflower.”
Her mind backtracked and she recalled the leader of Jasmine’s playgroup pulling out a packet of sunflower seeds. The toddlers painted the paper cups then their mums filled each pot with compost, and each child pushed a sunflower seed, or two, into the cup. Then the children were read a book about a giant sunflower, that grew and grew and grew, and no one could see the top. Then Jasmine had commented that her big sister, Freya, loved sunflowers and she was probably going to be found at the top!
Rachel wandered back to the dining table and smiled as Joe held up his painting. Jasmine squealed again. “Me and Feya! Me and Feya!”
Joe nodded. “You and Freya. Aren’t you beautiful?”
Jasmine nodded then moved back to her painting. She stuck out her tongue as she concentrated and dragged her fingers across the page. Her mother smiled at the huge churned up swirl of muddy colours, and finally relaxed.
She pulled out her own piece of paper and sat down. She picked up the pot of brown and dipped in her finger. She pressed the tip onto the middle of the page and made a dot. She carried on and made a big circle of little brown spots. She washed her finger in the tub of water and reached for the yellow. She plunged her finger in with more gusto this time and smiled.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Her husband grinned at her.
She nodded and put finger to paper. Petals appeared surrounding the brown centre, long, thin, bright yellow petals. She mixed a little brown into her yellow and dabbed thin lines on some of the petals, to add depth, and then went for the green. She painted a long stem and big green leaves.
Jasmine bent forward, tipping her chair as she looked at her mother’s picture. “Feya’s sunfower,” she said.
Behind her mother, Freya shook her head, and Rachel echoed her oldest daughter’s thoughts.
“No, sweetheart, Jasmine’s sunflower.”
Number four…” said Rachel holding up the painting of her two daughters.
“Wow! Jasmine’s quite the artist, brilliant for a two-year-old!” exclaimed Olivia.
“Joe painted that!” Rachel laughed.
“And you, what did you paint?”
Rachel pointed to the sunflower fixed to the freezer.
“I like that, you are good,” praised her friend.
Rachel shrugged. “Jasmine did loads, got really carried away!” She pointed to a mass of crinkled sheets of paper covered with messy swirls, smears and blobs, held precariously by an assortment of fridge magnets.
Olivia hugged Rachel. “You did it together, and that’s what counts. And the rest of the list?”
Freya’s mother glanced up at the list, now mounted on a piece of purple card and pinned to the notice board. Freya smiled; only the most important notices got pride of place on Mum’s homemade corkboard.
“I did go back to the park…just the once, on the anniversary,”
“It’ll get easier,” offered Olivia.
“We made a cake,” Rachel placed an invisible tick beside Freya’s number three with her finger. “And at Christmas we bought all Freya’s favourite chocolates, and stuffed our faces, that, and the cake, more than covers seven and eight!” She moved her finger down the list. “Painting, flowers, we’ve never stopped giving Daisy flowers, she always takes them even when the stems are too short and the flowers are squashed!”
“So you’re left with two, nine and ten.” Olivia read.
“Jasmine painted a rainbow, does that count?”
Olivia frowned. “Not sure.”
“We’ve never made a sandcastle, you know, a real one, we’ve dumped buckets of sand upside down, but,”
“I think she meant something more adventurous,” interrupted Olivia, “turrets, moats and a drawbridge, that sort of thing.”
“Mmm.”
“Decorated with shells and flags and lolly sticks. Is Pete going to help?”
“Maybe.”
“I like building castles, never made a big sandcastle, but I did make a huge cardboard one for school, when I was about twelve.”
Rachel glanced at Olivia. “You need to give up on Pete.”
“Never give up,” said Olivia pursing her lips.
“You’ll have to this time.”
“Go on.”
“He’s besotted with Jen, you know, the red-head from the Post Office.”
“He is?” Olivia pouted then shrugged. “All’s fair in love and war.”
“Sorry Liv, you don’t stand a chance, she’s really lovely, really nice…Liv! I didn’t mean it that way, you’re lovely too, I just meant…”
“It’s okay,” Olivia grinned, “I’m only teasing! It was a long shot, he’s just so cute!”
“He’s my brother!”
“Doesn’t st
op him being cute!”
“You’d scare the life out of him!” Rachel giggled.
“Me? Scare a big, butch biker?”
Rachel nodded. “He’s really into the damsel in distress thing, you really aren’t! Not that there are any damsels in distress these days, but he sees that big bike of his as a knight’s charger…”
“The knight in shining armour routine…” Olivia sighed wistfully. “We could all do with one of those.” She stared out at the garden. “So changing the subject…how’s Jasmine’s sunflower doing? I’ve never managed to keep anything from school alive. Once it’s left the confines of the classroom, and the safety of the school gate, it wilts and dies…sunflowers, runner-bean seedlings, can’t even grow mustard and cress! I even managed to drop the jelly Steph brought out in a yoghurt pot!”
Rachel never got to reply as Olivia moved from the dining room into the lounge. Rachel followed and grinned. Despite the change of subject Olivia lifted the lace curtain and peered out of the window.
“It’s the knight’s steed, carrying not only the knight, but the princess too. Any chance I can cut off Rapunzel’s glorious locks?” Olivia let the curtain drop and turned to Rachel, she grimaced then laughed. “It’s okay, really! I’m not jealous, well only a little bit…I wish them both the best of luck!”
Rachel lightly punched her friend’s arm. “She is really nice…”
“So am I,” replied Olivia. “Maybe you’ve got another brother…”
Rachel laughed as she went to open the door. “Not that I know of!” She threw the door open with a smile. “Hi Pete, Jen.”
Pete was half way up the steps with his motorbike helmet tucked under his arm. He glanced back and waited for Jen. Jen struggled with the chinstrap on her helmet and he moved back to her and unfastened it. Jen lifted the helmet off and self-consciously touched her hair. Pete leaned to her and whispered in her ear, Jen blushed and Rachel grinned.
They made it up the steps and in through the front door. Jen wasn’t sure where to put her helmet, but Pete took it for her. Rachel ushered them inside and raised her eyes over Pete’s shoulder at Olivia. Olivia smiled brightly, and Pete grasped Jen’s hand.
Beneath the Rainbow Page 11
