The Boy with No Boots Read Free Page B

as if it were a trump card.
    ‘What kind of lies?’ he thundered.
    Freddie hurried along the lane to the village, checking inside every gateway. He paused by a stile, which marked a footpath leading to the woods, thinking his mother might have
gone looking for mushrooms or hazelnuts. He checked the stubble fields in case she was gleaning for any remaining grain, a hopeless task as the sparrows and finches had probably scoffed it all. A
few uncut heads of barley nodded in the hedge, and that was treasure. Freddie picked them happily, tearing off the stalks and cramming the bristly heads into both his pockets. Annie would add them
to the soup, boiling them until they were glutinous and soaked with the taste of beef broth.
    Freddie ran towards the distant church, his clogs in his hand, his head aching again. He found Annie sitting inside the lych gate, gripping the blackened timber. She was gasping for breath and
whimpering like a puppy.
    ‘Come on, Mother, I’ll take you home.’ Freddie unfastened her fat red fingers one by one from the gate until he had all of her hand in his. ‘Come on.’
    Annie looked at her small son in the deepest gratitude. She didn’t think she could possibly get home, but she stood up, rigid and shaking. ‘You’re hurting me,’ said
Freddie, and she loosened her grip just a little. Her eyes searched for something to hold.
    ‘Touch the wall, Mother. Hold the wall.’
    Annie set her mouth in a purple line that turned down at the ends. She wasn’t going to tell Freddie how the solid wall seemed to be swaying, and the flagstone pavement turning like a
roundabout.
    ‘Come on, take a step,’ he encouraged. ‘One small step. That’s it. And another. Just keep moving.’
    Freddie spoke gently, walking backwards in front of her so that they had eye contact. Annie held him so tightly by the hand, he had to keep reminding her not to pull him over. Step by step they
progressed along the wall and the iron railings bordering the churchyard. The lane was more difficult, with nothing to hold but brambles. Freddie needed all his strength to support his
mother’s shuffling steps. He understood that fear had a strange power over her body and he thought she might die of fright.
    ‘Just keep moving. I won’t let you fall.’
    Still walking backwards, holding her with both his hands, Freddie noticed a man in a cap coming up the lane, his head bobbing above the hedges, marching with loud boots as if he was angry. Annie
stiffened and pulled herself up proudly.
    ‘It’s Dad!’ cried Freddie. ‘Where has he been? He looks grim.’

Chapter Three
BROKEN CHINA
    Levi fumbled with the brass buckle of his leather belt as he strode towards the cottage. The boy deserved a good strapping. He’d never tell such lies again; Levi would
beat it out of him. The Barcussy family didn’t tell lies. Now Freddie had brought shame on the family. Levi had always known his last son was different, and clever, Harry Price had said. Levi
had swelled with pride, momentarily, then the lies had come scorching in, spoiling it, burning it black like a slice of good bread accidentally dropped from a toasting fork into glowing coals.
    He was close to the cottage now, his throat hot with rage. He could see Annie’s face watching him over the hedge like a rising harvest moon half hidden under the navy blue hat that loomed
on her head. Wait until she heard what Harry Price had said about her precious son.
    The rage festered in his boots as he covered the last strides to the cottage gate. His swollen feet wanted to stamp and punish the whole earth until his bones rang with the pain. The sight of
Freddie’s pale quiff of hair and luminous eyes stopped Levi in his tracks as the boy darted towards him, smiling with a radiance so disempowering that Levi could only stand locked into his
fury.
    ‘Hello, Dad. I’m better. And look what we found.’ Under Freddie’s small arm was a bristling sheaf of golden barley.
    ‘He’s a