Beneath the Rainbow

by Lisa Shambrook

He clamped his visor back down and gripped Pete tightly again, and Pete revved the engine. He heard Thomas’s muffled whoop of joy and twisted the throttle. The bike leapt away as the lights changed and Pete surged down the road, his original plan of gently wandering the local neighbourhood, quashed by the old man’s desire.

  Moments later they were speeding down the bypass, towards the back roads and Thomas was howling with delight!

  They rode, with hearts on fire. The bike moving to Pete’s every command, and Thomas, enjoying every moment. Life flowing through the old man’s veins, elation making him light-headed with every curve and weave of the road.

  Thomas was a young man again, soaring through the sky, flying like a bird, memories coursing through his old body…recollections filling every pore and thrills spilling over his soul. Thomas couldn’t remember ever feeling this good!

  Thomas knew that he had, at last, achieved his dream, the one that had kept him alive.

  The solemn assembly sat watching Freya pull petals off a white rose. “He’s ready,” she said.

  “You knew that ages ago,” pointed out Sophie.

  “But I didn’t know what to do about it then,” replied Freya.

  “He got the motorbike ride…and his wife didn’t kill him!” Keira grinned.

  “Pete didn’t kill him!” said Abu.

  Freya shot him a glare. “I was there, Uncle Pete did what he had to!” Freya cast her mind back.

  Joan had threatened to kill Thomas, she’d threatened to walk out, and Jen had, likewise threatened to cancel the wedding… The two women had arrived home to an empty house, pruning shears dumped among the roses, music player, trailing its headphones still playing songs, left halfway down the side passage and Thomas’s olive green cardigan hung on the gatepost. They had searched the house, fear growing in the pits of their bellies, until they had rushed outside at the sound of a droning motorbike.

  Joan had stopped dead at the sight of her husband dressed in an ancient leather jacket and Jen’s helmet. Jen had just managed to sidestep her and stormed up the path to the gate. “What on earth do you think you are doing?” she demanded, her eyes alight with fire.

  Thomas lifted his visor and giggled, a childish sound, and he patted Pete on the shoulder. “Sorry mate, she’s all yours!” he laughed.

  Pete glanced further and leaned back to Thomas. “Don’t like the look of yours much either,” he confided.

  The men smirked and Pete mumbled. “Do you want to go again? Shall we?” He twisted the throttle, but Thomas shook his head. “Love to mate, but I think that would only add to the flames of fury…”

  They laughed again and Thomas climbed off the bike. He bent over and dramatically kissed the seat then straightened and sighed. One last look at Pete and he stepped forward. Thomas struggled with the helmet, unable to unclasp the safety catch, and Jen unfolded her arms and reached out. She unclipped it and Thomas pulled the helmet off. He feigned a forlorn face and handed it to Jen.

  “Well, at least you were wearing it,” she said between thin lips.

  “Thank you, my dear,” Thomas tapped her on the shoulder and lifted his head to meet his wife’s glare. “Off to face the music then.” He turned back to Jen, placing his hand on her arm. “Don’t be too hard on him…he had to do it,”

  “You made him?” She looked surprised.

  Thomas chuckled and shook his head. “I had to do it, it was my unreachable star.”

  “Your what?”

  Thomas let go and moved away. Freya saw Jen turn her head and watch as he strolled nonchalantly towards his wife. He had a spring in his step and he looked years younger…

  Freya studied Joan, the old woman was mad, furious even, but behind her anger was an unguarded look of gratitude, and sadness, and as Thomas approached her Freya knew that Joan knew.

  ◆◆◆◆◆

  Up in her garden, sitting beneath the willow, Freya stared down and the river before them faded. A firm look appeared on her face. “I’m ready.”

  The small group of friends leaned forward and Keira chuckled as Freya tumbled out of heaven. “There she goes…”

  “She’s got to do what she has to do,” said Alice.

  ◆◆◆◆◆

  Thomas was frail. The summer sun was fading and Thomas along with it.

  “I don’t know what gave you those extra months, was it the bike?” Joan mused, stroking her husband’s brow. “But it was worth it, whatever it was.”

  Thomas murmured. “It was.”

  “I always knew, you know.” Joan took his hand. “Do you want to know when I first knew?”

  His head barely moved.

  “I’ll tell you,” she spoke softly. “It was at young Freya’s funeral. There was something about you…about everyone that day, it was so awful, such a baby, so little and yet gone…but you, she just about broke your heart.”

  Joan felt tears slip down her cheek as her husband squeezed her hand.

  “She loved you, Thomas, they all loved you, but the day she told you, you were her best Sunday school teacher, you were so proud,” she paused, “It was in the chapel, as we sat waiting. Then the little ones sang, all the children, they sang and it was like each little one was an angel. Thomas, I knew then, I felt it, I felt your heart break…it broke and you squeezed my hand.”

  Thomas tried to speak, but couldn’t.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” she asked. “I knew about the pills…” She choked. “I knew…”

  Thomas opened his eyes. “Here…”

  “Who’s here? I’m here, I’m always here…”

  He repeated the word and Joan frowned. “I’ll be here.”

  They sat silently, accompanied only by the soft strains of welsh baritone emanating from the CD player and Thomas tried again. “She’s here…”

  Freya nodded, moved to his side and whispered. “I’m here.”

  “You’re here,” he murmured.

  Joan stroked the back of his aged hand. “I’m here sweetheart, of course I’m here.”

  Freya whispered again. “I’m ready, I’ll wait for you.”

  “I’m ready…” Thomas’s words fought to escape his dry mouth.

  Joan faced him. “You’re ready?” she whispered. “I’m not.”

  “I’m ready,” he repeated.

  “I’m not, Tom, I’m not, not yet…Oh Tom.” Joan moved closer to her husband and rested her head beside his on the stack of pillows. She caressed his brow and knew that the time had come for goodbyes.

  The late September sun was hiding behind a cloud, but the building went on. Uncle Pete had laid the foundation and built up a huge mound of sand with help from Joe and some obstruction from Jasmine. Now Jasmine had given up on the sandcastle and was trailing her Mum and Jen collecting pebbles and shells.

  Her pockets and her bucket were stuffed with black mussels, white and lilac striped pearly shells, broken pieces of razor shell and an assortment of others. Her knees were sandy and her shorts were wet, but she was happy.

  Rachel wandered along the shore with Jen, enjoying the warmth of the late summer sea. They dragged their feet through the rippling waves and discussed Jen’s upcoming wedding.

  “Jasmine’s dress looks so gorgeous on her, the colours go so well, what flowers did you decide on in the end?” asked Rachel.

  I’ve decided on cream roses, ones with a hint of blush and lots of dark green foliage, lots of greenery, ferns and stuff. It’s my hair you see,” said Jen. “Jasmine’s dress is just the right green to go with my auburn hair, it’s too red to go for pastels or pink or even lilac, but green looks heavenly, so lots of emerald to offset the white dress and cream roses.”

  “Good choice, I really love the dress,” replied Rachel.

  “Mine or the bridesmaid’s?”

  “Both!” Rachel laughed. “Yours is beautiful, tailored just right for you, simple but so beautiful, and I love the sleeves!”

  “I love the veil,” Jen enthused and the conversation continued in the sa
me vein, so much so that Jasmine tuned out and concentrated on collecting the right shells.

  Back with Joe and Pete, Rachel announced, “We have paddled,” and the two men spread their arms to encompass the growing castle, “We are building!”

  The mound had been flattened on top and Joe was making sandcastles in the square bucket with turreted corners, which were placed on the corners of the mound. He sat back on his heels and surveyed the work while Pete continued digging a moat with his hands. “It’s easier than using the spade!” he told them pointing at the discarded children’s spade.

  “I got shells,” said Jasmine tipping out her bucket and emptying her pockets.

  “Brilliant!” said Uncle Pete. “I love those!”

  Jasmine beamed and plonked herself down beside him. Her father grabbed her bucket and filled it and placed the round bucketful in the centre of the castle. He then built up around it, smoothing the slanting sides and dumped another bucketful on top.

  “There!” he exclaimed. “That’s the castle built!”

  “Just a minute,” puffed Pete, clawing out more wet sand, “As quick as I get it out, it slips back in!”

  “Leave it, it’s fine like that,” said Jen. “Do you want us to go and get water…for the moat?”

  Joe nodded.

  Jen picked up two buckets and held out her hand for Jasmine. “C’mon then Jaz let’s go, leave the guys to it.”

  Jasmine grabbed her hand and hauled herself up then ran ahead down the beach. Jen blew Pete a kiss and chased after the little girl.

  Joe sank down beside his wife, and took her hand. “Eeergh!” She dropped his wet, sandy hand and giggled. He kissed her instead. “That’s better!” She laughed.

  “Do you like it?” he asked.

  Rachel gazed at the sandcastle and smiled. “Right, now for the decoration. Then I might like it!” she joked.

  She picked up a stick and began tracing arched windows onto the sides.

  “Be careful!” cried Pete, “Don’t knock all the sand off!”

  “I won’t,” said Rachel, drawing a door on the side.

  She then began arranging shells, pushing them in on the walls and laying them on top.

  “Careful, I said!” shouted Pete, grinning as clumps of ‘wall’ fell off the side.

  Rachel giggled. “I’m being as careful as I can!”

  “I remember the castles you made as a kid!” said Pete, “They all fell down too!”

  “Thank you!” Rachel feigned annoyance and carried on decorating.

  Joe stood up and wandered off and came back a few minutes later with a long stick and tiny square of discarded green netting. “A flag,” he told them, winding the string around the stick. Rachel nodded and he plunged it into the centre of the castle. “There.”

  “No drawbridge then?” Rachel asked Pete as he sat back, giving up on making the moat any deeper.

  “I don’t think so,” he replied. “Far too complicated!”

  “For you, maybe,” his sister joked.

  “Definitely for you!” he retorted. “And look here comes the water…”

  Rachel spun round to check the sea, but the tide was still a long way out. Wandering back up the beach came Jen and Jasmine, slopping water over the sides of their buckets.

  “Are you ready with the camera?” Rachel asked her husband.

  “Yes, but you take the picture.” He handed her the camera.

  She unclipped the lens cover and held the camera up. Jen waved and Rachel clicked. Jasmine ran and her bucket slopped even more. Rachel caught a picture of her daughter, and then Pete met Jasmine and took the bucket from her. He helped his niece pour the water into the moat and grinned at Jen as she emptied hers in too.

  “Be quick with the picture!” he cried, “The water’s draining away!”

  Rachel clicked and captured the castle then she got down onto the sand and got a frame from ground level. “Get in the picture,” she ordered. “Jaz first.” She snapped Jasmine standing behind the castle with her hands clapping in delight. Then the boys and Jen joined Jasmine. Rachel peered at the camera and mentally framed the picture she wanted. She placed the camera on a big pebble and set the timer. She scrambled up and ran behind the castle. “Smile, say cheese!” she demanded and they all waited with happy expressions fixed in place.

  Rachel checked the picture and grinned. “Brilliant, and one take! I am good!”

  They sat and basked, not in the sun, which was still veiled by cloud, but in a good day’s work. A little later Pete reached out and pulled on his t-shirt. “That’s it,” he said checking his watch, “C’mon Jen, we’ve got to go, get back to your Mum’s.”

  Joe grinned. “Are you keeping her daughter out too late?” he asked.

  Pete swiped at him with the back of his hand. “Ha, ha,” he said with sarcasm. “No, we promised to go over the order of service with her, invitations and all that, she’s got contacts, we can get a good deal.”

  Jen smiled. “It’s her wedding gift to us, she’s got some gorgeous stationary.”

  Rachel nodded. “Thanks for coming with us, it’s been lovely today.”

  “Sorry about the sun though,” said Pete, waving up at the grey sky.

  “Not to worry,” said Rachel. “It’s my fault I left it so late, it still took me ages to get my head round all of her list. Today, I don’t know why it’s today, we didn’t plan it, it’s just right today…”

  Pete nodded and tousled Jasmine’s hair. “Bye then trouble.”

  “Bye, tubble you!” Jasmine laughed and reached up for a kiss and a sandy hug.

  Jen hugged her too and they disappeared across the beach.

  Jasmine busied herself with the bucket and spade and her own sandcastle, and Joe put his arm around Rachel.

  “Why today?” murmured Rachel. “What makes today special?” She sighed.

  “There doesn’t have to be a reason.” Joe tightened his arm around her, and she leaned into him, pressing her face into his blue t-shirt.

  Rachel sighed again and Joe could feel his wife tremble. “Something’s missing,” she whispered.

  As a tear slipped out of her eye, a big fat raindrop fell from above, leaving an indentation in the wet sand. Just a few fell and Rachel stared out at the ocean. “Where are you, Freya…where are you?”

  Rachel hugged her husband’s arm to her and brushed her lips across his skin. She closed her eyes trying to block thoughts of her daughter, but the hairs along his forearm touching her lips suddenly evoked memories of soft baby hair, and she kissed his arm as if it had been Freya’s newborn head.

  Her mind whirled and her heart hiccupped and emotions overwhelmed her. Rachel fell forward onto her knees then climbed to her feet. She stared wildly at the gentle waves lapping at the shore and stumbled forward. Joe sensed the need in his wife and let her go, staying instead with his remaining daughter, his solace.

  Rachel walked across the sand, ignoring the raindrops that joined the tears making tracks down her face.

  Her feet moved swiftly over the sand, splashing through the sheen of water gilding the shore. The tide was far out and the beach almost void of people. The evening mist settled, casting a shroud over the distant coast.

  Rachel kept walking, her eyes roaming the horizon. “Freya…” she called, and listened as the word floated away on the light breeze. “Freya,” she whispered, letting her daughter’s name roll from her lips.

  Her long skirt wrapped around her legs as she walked, her heart hammered and her mind beheld her daughter, as memories swirled amid tears.

  Late September’s evening warmth enveloped her and the sun finally broke through the overcast sky. For the first time that day weak rays shone through the clouds and Rachel felt them tickle her bare arms. Goosebumps spread, sending a shiver throughout her body and she tingled.

  The rain stopped, but moisture still hung heavy in the air and Freya’s mother fell to her knees. Soft sand welcomed her and warm water seeped through her splayed fingers a
nd across her hands after she dropped to all fours. She hung her head and allowed her tears to drop, unhindered, into the surrounding ocean’s puddle. “Oh Freya, I need you, where are you?”

  Freya knelt on the sand, her nose almost touching her mother’s soft, mussed-up hair. “I’m here,” she whispered, caught between heaven and earth by her mother’s overwhelming pain.

  Rachel’s shoulders shook and her breaths came fast and choked as she tried to control the anguish that threatened to dominate, but nothing could contain her crushing grief and her silent tears became an audible lamentation. Her sorrow carried on a gust of wind that whipped her hair across her face and whisked her heartache out across the ocean.

  Her daughter stood before her, fraught innocence and intense sadness etched into her shining face, but nothing made an impression.

  “I’m here…I’m here!” Freya’s voice rose in frustration. “See me, please, see me!” But her pleas fell on deaf ears and her mother continued weeping.

  Instead, Freya lingered at her mother’s side, waiting, waiting for a lull, waiting for a sign to guide her. Freya wondered why she couldn’t touch her mother, why she couldn’t leave an impression, why she couldn’t write in the sand and connect with her mother, Freya wondered why?

  Rachel connected, but it was with wet sand, her skirt was soaked and her knees were sinking, and she had no choice but to stand. She wiped sandy hands on her sodden skirt and tucked stray hair behind her ear. Rachel sighed and took a deep breath, and finally, was quiet.

  She stared blindly out across the water and let her arms hang limply at her side. Then she began to walk steadily and resolutely towards the sea.

  Freya ran alongside her, tugging at her skirt, fretting and fussing, but to no gain, Rachel just kept walking.

  Freya tried to leave, but unseen cords held her, checking her and Freya was lost…she had no idea what to do. She was ready, but her mother’s anguish held her, and nothing could change until Freya had forged a bond, a heavenly bond with her mother.

  But time was running out. Old Thomas had a matter of moments and Freya had a promise to keep.

  Little lights flit about in the sky above them, but only Freya could see them, and then Alice dipped and was walking beside Freya while Rachel’s footprints gathered momentum behind them. Alice tapped her wrist and despite it being void of a wristwatch, Freya understood. Freya shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know what to do…I can’t leave her like this.”