Beneath the Rainbow

by Lisa Shambrook

  “I wouldn’t have taken you for a biker,” Olivia smiled as Jen shook out her auburn hair.

  Jen grinned back. “Nor would I until a week or two ago, now I can see the attraction!”

  “Getting one of your own then?” asked Olivia.

  Pete nodded vigorously. “Oh, I bet she will!”

  Jen reddened. “I think I’m quite happy riding behind you at the moment, it’s far too big for me!”

  “You look good in the gear,” Rachel told her.

  “Very good…” Pete nudged her.

  “Thank you,” said Jen graciously.

  “Maybe I should get some leathers…” Olivia gave a wicked grin. “The last time I rode was years and years ago.”

  “I never had, ‘til Pete took me out, I always said I wouldn’t! Don’t think Mum likes me on it!” Jen admitted.

  “Oh, it’s great fun!” vouched Olivia.

  “It is!” agreed Jen. “I had no idea! Now I know why old Thomas wants another go!”

  “Old Thomas?” said Rachel, “You don’t mean Thomas Hillman do you?”

  Pete nodded. “He’s asked, and he’s not shy about it either!”

  “But he’s ancient!” exclaimed Olivia.

  “You can’t let him!” objected Rachel, “Far too dangerous.”

  “I didn’t say I was letting him,” said Pete.

  Olivia cocked her head to one side. “Why not?”

  “You’re asking ‘why not’?” exclaimed Rachel. “You just said he was ancient!”

  “Why not? Yes, he’s old, but why shouldn’t he get another chance?” Olivia shook her head, “Who are we to deny an old man his dream?”

  Jen looked thoughtful. “I used to think it would be too dangerous, but…”

  Rachel shook her head briskly. “Don’t even go there, Jen. Let me take your gloves and jacket.”

  Jen glanced at Pete as she took off one glove and gave it to Rachel. As she slid off the second glove Rachel drew in her breath.

  “Oh Jen, Oh Pete!” Rachel dropped the glove and grabbed Jen’s left hand. “Oh wow!”

  “Let me see,” said Olivia with a wry smile. “Oh that’s gorgeous, beautiful!”

  Pete cleared his throat. “That’s what we were stopping by for.”

  Rachel still clutched Jen’s hand and excitement filled her voice. “Bridesmaids, flowers, cake…”

  “To the first question…Jasmine,” began Pete, “If that’s okay?”

  Rachel’s eyes filled with tears. “Jasmine will love it! I’m just…it’s just…”

  Pete took his sister’s hand. “I know, I know Freya always wanted to be a bridesmaid…”

  “Yours, she always wanted to be yours…” said Rachel.

  “I know,” Pete picked up his jacket and reached into his pocket. “That’s why we got this.”

  “At the same time as we got the ring.” Jen smiled.

  Pete pulled out a little jewellery box and opened it. Rachel took it. “Open the locket,” her brother told her.

  Rachel took the silver locket in her fingers, undid the catch and gasped. Inside, a tiny picture of Freya grinned up at her. The same photograph that sat atop the mantelpiece, hint of fairy wings and all.

  “It’s an early gift for Jasmine so both sisters will be with us on the day.” Jen touched Rachel’s shoulder.

  Freya ducked under her mother’s arms and stared at the locket. Her picture stared back and Freya laughed. Goosebumps appeared on Rachel’s arms and she hugged her brother and kissed Jen. “Thank you, thank you…”

  “Look on the front,” said Pete. “It’s a star, for our distant star, Freya.”

  Not so distant, thought Freya and she leaned forward to kiss the cold metal. Freya’s kiss was calculated to leave an impression, and for one moment every heart in the room skipped a beat, caught up in Freya’s tingling aura.

  Jake’s river cut across the countryside, gushing through a rocky outcrop and curving with the riverbank, until it flowed steadily and peacefully at the foot of Freya’s willow. It gurgled over pebbles and splashed against the grassy verge, and pooled beside the embankment.

  The tree bent and dipped its fronds allowing the water to ripple and tease its narrow leaves, and Freya dabbled her toes. Rounded bushes and white roses bloomed, lending a beautiful fragrance to the air whenever Freya retreated there.

  The scent of roses filled Freya’s mind as she sat, with the river tickling her feet, beneath the willow.

  She felt incredibly lonely.

  Memories of Jake coursed through her mind getting mixed up with thoughts of her mother, excitement from Uncle Pete’s news and concerns about old Thomas. She was relieved when Alice stepped through the tree’s hanging boughs and sat down beside her.

  They sat in silence listening only to the murmur of the stream. They did not need to speak; Alice understood only too well, every notion that swirled in Freya’s mind.

  Voices could be heard a little while later and soon the shade beneath the tree was filled with friendly faces.

  “We wondered where you were hiding,” said Keira.

  “I’m not hiding,” she replied.

  “You’re missing Jake,” Ben spoke softly and Freya smiled at him.

  She nodded and brought her feet up out of the water. She bent her knees and held them to her chest, resting her chin on them. “I am.”

  “You know he’s waiting, don’t you?” said Sophie.

  Freya nodded again.

  “You know you’re almost ready, don’t you?” Sophie continued.

  Freya’s eyes widened. “You can tell?”

  Sophie nodded.

  “How?” demanded Freya, “I don’t feel like I’m ready.”

  “I can just tell,” Sophie shrugged. “I’m ready, maybe that’s why I can tell.”

  “Are you going?” asked Freya.

  “She’s waiting for Ben,” Keira said.

  “How can you wait and still be here?” asked Freya, confusion clouding her mind. “Jake didn’t wait here, for me.”

  “He couldn’t, his mother needed him,” replied Sophie. “I can wait as there’s no one waiting for me on the other side.”

  “We’re going to go together.” Ben smiled and grasped Sophie’s hand tightly. Sophie returned his smile and gave him a motherly hug.

  “But you are almost ready,” she told Freya.

  Freya’s gaze moved back to the water. “My mother still hurts…”

  “You’ll find the answer,” Keira told her, “We all will.”

  Freya watched the ripples.

  “I’ll tell you something else…” began Sophie.

  “I already know…” Freya paused for a moment. “Thomas is almost ready too.

  It disturbed Freya, the fact that she appeared to know that old Thomas had little time left, but she wasn’t the only one who knew…

  Freya sought refuge with Pete and Jen, and accompanied them to the Hillman’s home. Jen was surprised when Joan opened the door with a twinkle in her eye.

  “You can go on up and see Thomas, he’s a bit poorly today, but I’ve got visitors…I’ll be up when his chicken soup’s ready.” Joan grinned.

  Jen followed the delicious smell of the broth and stuck her head round the kitchen door. She smiled as Mrs Feldman and Mrs Taylor waved and greeted her. “Hello ladies,” she said as Joan shuffled back to the table laden with cups and cakes.

  “Carol and Linda thought it was about time they popped by to sample my cakes,” Joan teased.

  “Oh now, Joan, you know that’s not true!” Mrs Taylor laughed loudly.

  “But they are amazing!” put in Mrs Feldman, “Well worth the visit!”

  The three ladies laughed and Jen bid a hasty retreat.

  Pete made a face and Jen grinned as they made their way up the stairs. Mr Hillman’s deep voice floated down the stairwell. “He’s singing, he can’t be that bad!” Jen whispered. She knocked and gently pushed open the bedroom door.

  The curtains were half-closed and Th
omas lay on the bed covered by a floral eiderdown and propped up by a multitude of pastel-coloured, frilled pillows. He looked pale, but beamed at them as they entered, his smile lighting the room far more than the dim afternoon light trying to get through the heavy curtains did.

  “Thomas, are you okay?” Jen asked.

  “Just a bit rough today, we all have our off days. I’m glad you came.”

  “Can’t let you down Tom,” said Pete, “What’s up then?”

  Jen shot Pete a furious glare.

  “Just the usual, a bit achy, maybe flu or something.”

  “Is your back playing up again?” Pete asked ignoring Jen.

  Thomas nodded.

  “Can you get up?”

  “Too painful today.” He grimaced as he tried to lift himself higher, but the pain was too great and his arms shook with the effort.

  “Let me help,” insisted Pete moving to Thomas’s side and carefully lifting him, and placing him against the pillows.

  “Thank you,” said Thomas. He stretched out his hand, but Jen was there quicker. “Let me,” she said as she picked up a box of tablets from his bedside. “How many?”

  “Just one,” said Thomas.

  “Co-codamol,” said Jen glancing at him. “These are strong.”

  “Good,” replied Thomas.

  She reached for a second box at the rear of the table, half hidden by an open book. She read the medication name and opened the box. She slipped out the contents and opened out the leaflet. Thomas kept one eye on her as he took the tablet and gulped down a mouthful of water. The thin paper crackled in her fingers as her eyes scanned the page, front and back.

  “Epilepsy, neuropathic pain, generalised anxiety disorder…” she read. “Are you anxious?”

  Thomas shook his head.

  “Epileptic?” Another shake. She kept on reading. “Peripheral and central pain…long-lasting pain.” She slowly folded the paper and slipped it back into its box, along with the blister pack. Jen glanced at Pete then back at the old man in bed. Thomas stared back at her, unwavering, with the expression of a twelve-year-old caught cheating. An uneasy glint gave away his nerves.

  “Have you told her,” asked Jen softly.

  Thomas paled but his eyes never left hers. Jen shook the second pack. “They don’t give you these for nothing. You don’t get these for flu or achy days…”

  She remained focussed on Thomas, ignoring the uncomfortable standoff, until his pallid eyes glazed with unshed tears. She broke eye contact and fought back her own as he murmured almost inaudibly. “You won’t tell her?”

  Jen bit the inside of her lip and her mouth formed a thin line. Pete spoke for her. “Won’t tell her what?”

  “She thinks they’re just to pep me up, keep me on my toes…” Thomas indicated the tablets. “And they work, most of the time. Today is just a bad day, tomorrow I’ll be back to myself.”

  Jen couldn’t trust herself to speak.

  “Chicken soup,” mumbled Thomas. “She thinks chicken soup will make me better, and it will. I’ll be as right as rain tomorrow, you’ll see.”

  Jen sank onto the bed. She took Thomas’s hand. “How long?” She looked into the old man’s eyes. “How long?”

  Joan’s footsteps on the stairs forced the conversation to close, but not before old Thomas looked Jen in the eye and whispered. “Not long, not long if this room full of angels is anything to go by…”

  Freya’s angels moved with her, but it was only ever Thomas who sensed them. The frisson between Freya’s parents was electric and it left no room for anything else.

  “Joe…” Rachel’s voice was hesitant, nervous even. “We need to go to the beach.”

  Freya’s father gazed at the lilac card in his hand. His eyes taking in his daughter’s hand, reading the words she had written. He ran his thumb over the chocolate smear.

  “We need to build a sandcastle,” she said softly, “a good one.”

  “And paddle in the sea.” He traced the words with his finger.

  “And Joe…”

  He heard her voice waver and he looked up. She didn’t meet his eyes.

  “Joe…can you wear your blue t-shirt?”

  She didn’t need to look at him to feel the energy in the room, but she did and this time she met his glistening eyes. He nodded and she smiled.

  Pete wandered down the passage beside the house. He was surprised that Thomas hadn’t appeared as soon as he’d pulled up. Joan had accompanied Jen and Mrs French to the drapery store, to try out colours for the wedding, and at a loose end Pete had found himself outside the Hillman’s home.

  No one had answered the door and Pete’s concern had grown, so he strolled down the passage. His apprehension lessened as singing drifted across the garden and into the corridor. Pete smiled and listened. The old man’s voice rose, its pitch mounting and falling as he sang about quests and unreachable stars…

  Pete grinned and ducked under a climbing rose. He moved into the back garden and scanned it for Thomas. The old man’s voice wavered and mumbled and it took a moment for Pete to locate him amongst the tall, purple verbena bonariensis. Thomas was bent over a rose bush with his back to the house. Pete stopped and waited, and as Thomas straightened his voice got louder. The lyrics told of a heart, true to its dreams, at peace with itself and shivers shot down Pete’s spine as he watched the old man, tall and erect, not a sign of the pain-ridden man from a month ago. Pete raised his hand to wave, and opened his mouth to call out, but he noticed the white wires twining down across Thomas’s chest, and smiled at the earphones stuck in his ears. Old Thomas sang on, his voice strengthening with every word. Words that echoed Thomas’s own heart and his desires, and strivings to reach that last distant dream…

  His voice rose to a crescendo “…the un-reach-able…” and his voice broke, and Pete struggled to hold back the tears that pricked his eyes.

  Pete couldn’t speak. Then in one reckless moment of abandon he called out, loud and clear. “Thomas, Thomas!”

  Above the music Thomas heard Pete call and he spun round. He pulled the earphones out and waved the wires. “Pete!” he called back, “This thingamabob thing actually works!” Thomas reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny MP3, he screwed up his face. “How do I stop it then?”

  “Thomas!” Pete’s heart thumped like a battering ram against his ribcage. “Thomas.”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” replied Thomas his face red and bright. Thomas dropped the pruning shears on the ground and hurried down his garden, intrigued by the urgency in Pete’s voice. “What’s up? Are the girls’ alright?”

  “They’re fine,” interrupted Pete, he took a deep breath; he couldn’t believe he was about to do this. “Thomas…”

  “Stop wasting my name and spit it out young man.”

  “I, you…”

  Thomas grinned. “Cat got your tongue?”

  “The bike…”

  Thomas started off down the passage. “What’s with the bike?”

  “Thomas, do you have a helmet?”

  Thomas stopped dead. “A what?” he asked without turning.

  “A helmet, or would Jen’s fit do you think?”

  “Jen’s would look better,” offered Thomas, “if I had to wear one. I’ve got an old jacket though, it’s a good one.”

  “Get the jacket.”

  Thomas still didn’t turn back, but moved quickly into the house and returned a few minutes later with a big blouson, black bike jacket. “It’s not fashionable, but it’s good leather and when did I ever care about fashion?” Pete took it and held it out for the old man. Thomas put his arm in one side and Pete helped with the other. Thomas zipped it up.

  Pete clumped up the passage. Thomas stayed rooted to the spot. “I haven’t got boots,” he said.

  Pete called back. “Doesn’t matter, your garden shoes are strong enough.”

  Thomas followed, his heart speeding up, threatening to match the drum that beat within Pete’s own chest.
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br />   At the bike, Pete unattached Jen’s helmet and handed it to Thomas. For a split second Thomas hesitated, and the two men stared at each other, Pete’s green eyes meeting Thomas’s piercing brown ones.

  “It’s okay, you’re not riding on your own, you’re going on the back,”

  “I don’t know if I can,” admitted Thomas, his legs suddenly turning to jelly. He reached out for the helmet, his hands trembling, and placed it upon his head. Pete tightened the chinstrap and clipped it, and lifted the visor. “I don’t know if I can…” Thomas shook his head as Pete handed him Jen’s gloves.

  “Do you want to?” asked Pete.

  Thomas nodded, his head wobbling with the weight of the helmet. “More than anything, more than anything in the world…”

  And that’s where Freya jumped in.

  Pete got on the bike and looked round at Thomas. He nodded. Thomas placed his hands on Pete’s waist and the bike, and began to lift his leg. He quivered and painful tears welled in his eyes, but suddenly he felt light and his leg straddled the bike with ease, as Freya mirrored his every move. He blinked the tears away and lowered the visor. Even clothed in thick gloves, his hands suddenly felt supple and strong and Thomas clung to Pete’s waist.

  The motorbike coughed and purred into action and Thomas grinned. Pete flipped down his visor and glanced over his shoulder and gently pulled away from the curb.

  Thomas clung tightly to Pete’s leather jacket, and behind him, Freya wrapped her arms around Thomas, her head resting against his back.

  Freya could feel the emotions surging through old Thomas, and a bond was formed as she unknowingly strengthened him.

  Pete rode carefully, steadily, gently, fully aware of the old, fragile man riding pillion. Then as they stopped at traffic lights he felt Thomas let go with one hand and heard him lift the visor. He waited; feeling guilt rise, fully expecting Thomas to ask to be taken home, but the words surprised him and made him smile. “Go on, don’t mind me…” Thomas broke into song, “This is my quest…don’t make it unreachable!”