Frozen in Time (21 page)

‘Oh, I love this!’ said Rachel, and got to her feet.

‘Do you? Do you know this? Truly?’ beamed Polly, taking her hands.

‘
Everyone
knows this!’ said Rachel. They began to dance, twirling each other around and giggling and singing along. Polly grabbed Freddy and pulled him up too and then got Ben up as well. Soon everyone was singing, dancing, and throwing their arms about. As the record ended they collapsed back onto the carpet, laughing.

‘Another one—another!’ cried Polly and whipped off the first record to replace it with another from the Stargazers’ sleeve. ‘Close the doors. They’re coming in the windows!’ Polly sang along with huge enjoyment. ‘Close the doors—they’re coming down the stairs! Close the doors, they’re coming in the windows … those ne-ne-ne-ne-ne-nehs are everywhere!’

‘
This
was in the charts?’ yelled Ben, looking both amused and horrified.

‘Don’t go there, Ben—
we
bought the “Crazy Frog”, remember,’ Rachel reminded him.

They sorted out a pile of thirty records, all beautifully kept in cardboard or paper sleeves. Most of them, it turned out, were Freddy’s. ‘Father liked some of it—his was the Mantovani and Jimmy Young and Humphrey Lyttelton,’ said Freddy.

‘
I
bought “Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White”,’ said Polly, proudly.

‘Are you sure we should sell them?’ asked Rachel. It did seem a shame. She would hate to have to sell some of her CDs. Not that she had many and not that they were worth much.

‘Yes, certainly we should,’ said Freddy. ‘It’s a matter of survival. Anyway, you can always get them back for us on eBay one day, can’t you?’

Ben and Rachel gaped. ‘You
have
been paying attention!’ said Ben.

Ben and Freddy decided they would walk back into town with the records. The antiques and collectibles shop was right on the edge of the town and not too far—and the records were way too heavy and fragile to carry on their backs while cycling, although Freddy was carrying something in his backpack too—something he said he wanted to show Ben when they got to the park. They would both take a box with fifteen records each. Rachel and Polly would stay at home to feed Bessie and take her out in the garden for an hour. As they left the house Ben could hear Polly teaching Rachel that daft Stargazers song. ‘Those ne-ne-ne-ne-ne-nehs are
everywhere
!’ he heard them both sing, collapsing into giggles, while Bessie barked excitedly. He felt bad that the record was in his box—but Polly, like Freddy, had insisted.

It was close to closing by the time they reached Past For A Present, the little shop which might want to buy the records. It was a small, dark emporium of all kinds of objects, from vases and china cups to elderly dinner suits and age-spotted mirrors. The old records, most of which
weren’t
actually
that
old, were stacked across a display at the back of the shop. Ben and Freddy went to the counter where a middle-aged man with a bald head was leaning, flicking through the local paper.

‘Excuse me, sir—we wondered if you might be interested in buying these seventy-eights,’ said Freddy in his terribly polite voice. He rested his box on the counter and Ben did the same. The man peered inside and began to flip through the records, nodding and squinting, occasionally pulling one out and going, ‘Hmm. Uhuh.’

After he’d been through Ben’s too he sighed heavily and said, ‘I’ll give you fifteen quid for the lot.’

‘Fifteen pounds! I say!’ Freddy’s eyes sparkled and Ben realized that, in his excitement, Freddy had forgotten about fifty-three years of inflation.

‘You’ve got to be k-kidding!’ said Ben. ‘There’s thirty records there—mint condition! Like they were bought last week! You trying to tell me they’re worth fifty p each? D-do me a favour!’

Freddy looked shocked. ‘I say, steady on,’ he muttered, but the man was grinning at Ben and pointing a nicotine stained finger at him.

‘I like your style, son!’ he said with a wheezy laugh. ‘All right—thirty!’

Freddy stared at Ben, excited all over again. Ben just sighed. ‘Come on, we’re wasting our time here.’ He gathered up his box.

‘Hold on, hold on—not so fast!’ said the man. ‘What do
you
think they’re worth?’

‘Well,’ said Ben, ‘considering you sell records of this age and in much worse condition for no less than a tenner, I would say they’re worth about three hundred pounds—but I know you’ve got to make your money.So I’d settle for a hundred.’

‘Get out of here! Sixty! That’s my final offer.’

‘Ninety!’

‘Eighty—and I’m doin’ you a favour!’

‘Done,’ said Ben.

Outside the shop Freddy stared in awe at the fan of ten pound notes in Ben’s hand. ‘That was whizzer! I can’t believe you got him to pay up
eighty pounds
! That was most awfully impressive. Really … cool. I think.’

Ben grinned. ‘He got a good deal. If we sold them ourselves we’d get a load more than that. But we needed the money fast, so we took a bit less. Anyway, let’s get some fish and chips and get back. The girls can do the proper shopping tomorrow.’

‘Don’t let Rachel hear you say that,’ warned Freddy. ‘She’s already called me a sexist three times today. I only asked her to press a shirt for me— honestly! You’d think I’d asked her to iron my entire wardrobe!’

‘You
did
ask her to iron your entire wardrobe, actually,’ pointed out Ben as they wandered towards the hot vinegary scent of the local chippy.

‘Ah yes—well—won’t be making
that
mistake again. Thank goodness Polly was decent enough to do it. Now, if a girl’s all right about it and much better at it, that’s not sexist, is it?’

‘Yes it is,’ sighed Ben.

‘Well, it jolly well wasn’t this time last week!’ retorted Freddy. ‘And I think 1956 was much better for it!’

‘Hello, you two—how’s your project going?’

Ben jumped and looked round. They were close to the library and right behind them was the librarian who had helped them with the old cuttings on the microfiche last week. She was standing, paused, on the steps to the old building, with some paperbacks in one arm. She smiled at them both, warmly—particularly at Freddy.

‘Hello again, miss,’ said Freddy. ‘Yes, we’re doing fine with it, thank you for asking.’

‘You know, it’s a funny subject to choose—the old Emerson murder mystery,’ she said, brightly. ‘What made you think of it? Nobody’s talked about that for
years.
’

‘Nobody knows it was a murder for sure,’ said Freddy, heatedly. Ben elbowed him but he paid no attention.

‘Well, no, I suppose not,’ she said, smiling at him again. Too much, thought Ben. He felt uneasy. ‘Quite an unusual topic for Amhill Secondary, though, isn’t it?’

‘Sorry—we have to go—we said we’d get back,’ said Ben, before Freddy could say anything else. And he yanked the boy away and along the street.

‘What
are
you doing? That was downright ill mannered!’ protested Freddy. ‘She was being friendly and helpful!’

‘Yes. Wasn’t she?’ muttered Ben.

‘What of it?’

‘I don’t know … I just … well, like
you
said, we need to be careful!’

‘Well, we needn’t be rude. Father says “manners maketh man”.’

Ben gulped and grabbed Freddy’s arm. ‘Oh no!’ Freddy glanced up quickly and saw what Ben saw: Roly O’Neal, weaving his way along the pavement in his rollerblades. A few feet behind him were the Pincer twins. A second later Roly had seen them too. This time it was Freddy yanking Ben along. He dragged him into an alleyway between two shops. ‘Can you skate?’ he said.

‘You what?’ gasped Ben.

‘Can you
skate
?’ Freddy was pulling his backpack off and now opening it. ‘Quickly! It’s important.’

‘Um … yeah. I can skate. Not brilliantly, but I get by.’ Ben had been given in-line skates last Christmas and had gone everywhere on them for a couple of weeks before he got a bit bored. Now Freddy was handing him something with wheels on.

‘Hurry—get them on. We don’t have much time.’

Ben realized he was holding a very old-fashioned pair of skates—quad skates, with four little hard wheels attached to a kind of metal sole, with leather straps and metal buckles at the ankle and toe ends. He copied Freddy, still bewildered, and strapped them on tight to his shoes. Freddy had thrown his empty bag back on his shoulders and now looked around the corner. ‘All right, you go right and I’ll go left—let me go first and head them off. I’ll catch up with you.’

‘But—’ said Ben, but Freddy was gone. ‘You’re heading straight for them …’ he added, dismally. He peered around the edge of the alleyway and saw Freddy skating like a bullet down along the wide pavement— right into the path of Roly and the Pincer twins. The boys were staring, open mouthed, as their quarry hurtled towards them. Ben saw Roly mouth ‘Oh yeah!’ with malicious delight as Freddy wobbled around a few feet in front of him and waved his arms about to stop falling.

‘Geddim!’ bawled Roly and Ben winced. Freddy was no match for Roly’s skating—the boy was fast and confident. But even as he watched, preparing to see his new friend squelched into the gutter, Ben saw Freddy give a whoop, leap up, arc around on his wheels and started hurtling back along the pavement towards him.

‘Go—go, you idiot!’ he bellowed, but he was grinning and now Ben could see why. Freddy was good—oh yes—Freddy was
very
good.

Ben turned and skated off fast and immediately noticed how much lighter his feet were in these skates than in rollerboots. It nearly spilled him at first, until he got used to it—but he began to realize why Freddy could outrun Roly and the twins. Glancing back he saw the boy powering along, his arms swinging with perfect momentum, hair streaked back from his temples, grinning like a loon.

‘Go! Go! Go!’ he laughed and Ben went. In seconds, though, Freddy had caught up with him. He seemed to be oblivious to the murderous shouts from their pursuers as he whipped along beside him. ‘Better speed up a bit,’ he advised. ‘You can go like a rocket on these things in 2009! Last time I used them it was flagstones and the gaps don’t half mess up the axles! Good job I brought these along today, hey? Or we’d be mincemeat by now. Come on!’

Ben felt like a drunk daddy-long-legs in comparison to Freddy who was now powering away ahead. He’d never seen anything like it. But he didn’t know how much longer he could outrun the others—they might be slower but they were determined and he was losing pace in spite of his light feet. He looked back over his shoulder and saw Roly mouth ‘You’re dead!’ Being able to read his lips was
not
a good sign. What was up ahead wasn’t much better when Ben whipped back around.

No! Pouring out of a gateway a few feet away came a sudden torrent of little girls in ballet outfits. Mrs Eagle’s Dance School was off to a festival. Ben wailed aloud and then went ‘Doof!’ in a comedy fashion as he was grabbed and spun to his right, into a driveway that led to the town car park.

‘This way!’ said Freddy and hared along, wheels a blur, in among the cars. Only seconds later the trio in boots turned the corner and split into three wheel-based scouts, looping around the few remaining parked cars and shouting to each other like hunters. Freddy looked at Ben, wobbly on his aching ankles, crouched beside him between a car and a weed filled ditch, and grimaced. ‘Sorry about this, old chum,’ he said. ‘You’ll thank me later.’ Then he shoved Ben into the ditch. Ben squeaked as he fell through the high weeds and seconds later was glaring up at Freddy through the leaves. ‘Stay there—they can’t see you. I’ll come back for you,’ said Freddy.

Ben scrambled back upright under the leaves and peered out, quite hidden, to see what Freddy was going to do next. To his amazement, the boy shot out in full view of the trio.

‘Come on then!’ he yelled. ‘Do you want to beat me up or do you want to show me some
real
skating? Can you do this?’ And he sped across the tarmac at immense speed before slaloming to the right in a tidal wave of grit and then leaping up and spinning in the air. He hit the ground, his knees bending like springs and swept into a tight circle, feet turned out, spinning faster and faster.

Roly immediately powered across towards him and also tried to slide to one side. His rubber wheels juddered against the tarmac and he nearly pitched over, his arms flailing madly. Enraged, he powered up again and jumped high into the air. He landed quite well, and managed a pretty good spin and then began to move meanly towards Freddy, bellowing colourful predictions of what Freddy was about to experience. Freddy laughed and pulled his skates smoothly in and out, in and out, toes and heels, toes and heels,
backwards
without once looking over his shoulder.

The Pincer twins—not great skaters themselves— stood off, watching the two boys in fascination. As Roly closed the gap, crouching low and ready, Ben guessed, to do his trademark headbutt on Freddy’s chin, Freddy suddenly flipped around and made for the exit of the car park, just as a tow-truck passed by on the road.

‘Hey, Roly!’ he called back over his shoulder. ‘Can you do
this
?’ And he launched himself over the kerb, landed, still moving, on the road and grabbed the tow-truck’s bumper, crouching low, holding his knees and wheeled feet steady and strong as the truck pulled him swiftly away. ‘See you!’ called back Freddy, and was gone.