Secrets - Freddy

The gym in Burrington draws me back and I go to see Gordon Day again. We arrange to get together for a drink at the weekend. Mel's far from happy when I tell her, especially as I promised her I wouldn't. Hoping to calm things, I take her and Robert out for dinner on Friday evening, sticking to soft drinks so she can enjoy a glass or two of wine with her pasta dish, but I can see she's concerned (and annoyed too) over my renewed contact with Gordon.

Saturday, we spend most of the day rambling near the hilly mill town of Hebden Bridge. The weather's warm and windy. Sunlight trickles through the trees, painting the lower trunks gold and red. Misty patterns form in the leaves. We stop for a sandwich and coffee lunch in a hut halfway up a hill, munching sweet apples and watching a dog chase around a mound. On the way home, we have afternoon tea in a tea shop, arts and craft style, with embroidered rugs by the doorway, where bells above the door tinkle each time a customer comes in from the wind for a cup of herbal tea or a slice of carrot cake. I've been back in the north eight days, and so far not bad – my visit to your parents, excepting.

''iya,' the man from the first floor says in the entrance hall back at The Factory.  He's rummaging through his postbox, holding a creased Ordinance map against his cagoule. 'It's a fine old day today, though a little chilly. Been somewhere nice?'

'Hebden Bridge.'
           
'Hebden Bridge? That's a fine old place, I reckon. I'd buy a flat of my own there if I could afford to. Aye, I would an' all.' 

Mel introduces him. Freddy, the guy I heard playing harmonica the night I arrived. Local poet. He's an alternative bloke, tall with a goatee style moustache and long white hair loose down his back, aged about fifty, maybe older – the type of bloke I'd expect to find in the bookshop at Burrington, delving into philosophy or beer making.

'So you must be this young lass's brother,' he says. 'Alan, am I right? I heard you were coming to stay for a little while. ' He pronounces little, lickle.  'And you are?' he says, peering through his specs at Robert. He wears rimless specs and copper bracelets on his wrists.
'Robert.'
           
'Aye, and very nice to meet you too, lad. How long are you and your dad here for?'
           
'Till the end of August,' I say.
           
'A long time then. Well, I hope you have a very enjoyable stay. The three of you must pop down for tea at mine sometime. Tea and buttered crumpets. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Robert, ay?'
           
Robert nods, and Mel says, 'That's kind of you.'
           
'Any time you like.'

'Thanks. I loved your music, by the way,' I say. 'I heard you playing the harmonica on my first night here.'

'Ah, but I'm nort special. It's just a hobby. An amateur, that's me.' 

'It sounded pretty good to me.'

'Will you teach me to play the harmonica?' Robert says, blushing slightly.  'I'd like to learn how to play. I can already play the recorder.'

'Can you now?' Freddy says. 'You must be a very clever lad then. I suppose I could show you a few tricks on the harmonica, if that's all right with your dad.'

'Well...' I begin.

'Tell you what, Robert,' Freddy says. 'You have a lickle think about it and tell your dad what you'd like to do. I have to go out for a while. Come for tea one evening after school if that's all right with you, Alan. Whenever is fine if I'm in.'