Intuition had brought him back to the pawnbroker’s. He watched with empathy as the woman left her silver teapot in the shop and departed with a meagre amount of cash in her hand, her eyes downcast. Back in January he’d stood there, miserable and penniless, and pawned the diamond ring he’d bought with such hope and joy.

‘Have you still got the ring?’ he asked, pushing the receipt across the counter. The pawnbroker peered at the receipt and opened a slim drawer in the cabinet.

‘’Tis that one,’ said Freddie, his heart soaring as he spotted the black velvet box, and he felt proud of the way it stood out, brand new amongst the collection of scruffy ring boxes. The pawnbroker seemed to enjoy creating suspense by pretending to search through the boxes, turning them over to look at numbers.

‘Have you got the money?’ he asked, finally putting the box on the counter, keeping his hand on it.

‘Would you open it, please – check the ring is in there,’ Freddie asked, and the box was opened. Both men gazed in silence at the sparkling diamond.

‘It’s a beauty. Got a bluish quality to it,’ said the pawnbroker. ‘I hope she’s worth it.’

‘She is.’

Freddie handed over the money and left, jubilant, with the box safe in his heart pocket again. It had survived his long wet journey, his accident and his illness, and its time in the pawnbroker’s shop. A symbol of hope, he thought, feeling that he could now try to answer Kate’s sad letter. And he still had money in his pocket.

‘I promise you, you won’t die of fright, Annie,’ said Joan as the two women stood on the pavement outside the bakery. Annie was clutching a willow basket filled with flowers in one hand and Levi’s walking stick in the other. Her eyes were dark with fear and the pulse was racing in her temples.

‘I can see how afraid you are,’ Joan said kindly. She looked into Annie’s eyes. ‘The fear isn’t going to go away. It’s like childbirth, Annie. The only way out of it is through it.’

Annie looked at her gratefully. She hung on to those words like a mantra. ‘The only way out of it is through it.’

‘Don’t fight it,’ said Joan, ‘let the fear come, you can’t stop it. Let it come and let it go. It will take about ten minutes. My husband says these attacks of fear only ever last for ten minutes because the body can’t sustain that level of fast breathing and racing heartbeat. The body will calm itself down, Annie, if you let it. And use the stick. If you get that giddiness, push the stick into the ground, and it will anchor you.’

‘But what will people think of me? Using a stick like an old woman?’

‘Does it matter?’ asked Joan. ‘Does that really matter MORE than you getting better?’

‘I suppose not. No.’

‘Every step you take is one step towards your freedom.’

Annie was quaking inside and she could feel the sweat prickling in her hair, but she started to do what Joan had taught her in the garden. Three steps, breathe in, three steps, breathe out.

‘Well done,’ cried Joan.

‘Shh! I don’t want the whole town to know.’

‘Keep going,’ said Joan in a gentler voice. ‘I’m with you but if I hold you it doesn’t count. You have to do it on your own.’

Annie kept going doggedly, walking and breathing as Joan minced along beside her.

‘I don’t want Freddie to know,’ she said. ‘Not until I’m sure I can do this.’

‘That’s fine. I won’t say anything,’ Joan promised. ‘Look, we’re nearly there, Annie.’

It was about a hundred yards to the church, and Annie was surprised to find herself standing in the porch.

‘There!’ said Joan triumphantly. ‘Do you want to sit down?’

‘No.’ Annie smiled and her soft eyes twinkled. ‘I want to dance!’

She put some flowers on Levi’s grave, and then the two women spent a happy hour inside the church arranging the tall spikes of larkspur, lilies and marigolds from Annie’s garden. Joan had brought a bunch of antirrhinums and some foliage.

‘That looks beautiful, doesn’t it?’ she enthused when they had finished. ‘You’ve done that pedestal very cleverly, Annie, I’d never have thought of doing it like that.’

‘I wanted to be a florist,’ Annie said, gathering up the stray leaves and stems from the floor. ‘I enjoyed doing that.’

Joan gave one of her shrieks, ‘Look at the clock! I can’t believe it’s ten past three. I promised to drive Susan to an interview for a job. I’ll have to dash. You go home on your own, Annie. You can do it. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

She ran down the church path, leaving Annie standing at the door, a look of horror on her face. Joan had abandoned her. Or was it deliberate? She’d never trusted that Joan Jarvis in the first place. Annie sat down on the porch, hoping the vicar wouldn’t turn up and find her there, hoping Freddie might come past in his lorry and see her. Then she remembered he wouldn’t be home until late. She couldn’t sit there for hours.

Trembling with anger and nervousness, Annie took her basket and Levi’s stick and set off down the path, counting her steps and chanting the mantra in her mind.

But when she went through the gate into the street, her throat closed up, her heart raced like galloping hoof-beats, and the whole street rocked and swayed, the buildings toppling, the pavement gyrating around her.

Annie was terrified.

‘I’m going to die, here on the street,’ she thought. But Joan’s words rang in her head. ‘The only way out is through it.’

‘Are you all right, Mrs Barcussy?’

Annie looked up and saw the vicar looking down at her like an inquisitive heron. She stood up straight and puffed herself up proudly. ‘I’m very well, thank you. Just on my way home. Good afternoon.’ And she walked on, her head held high. One, two, three, breathe in. Four, five, six, breathe out.

She arrived home in a state of utter exhaustion and despair. She collapsed into the old rocking chair where she rocked and cried and rocked and cried until she fell into a deep sleep with one thought blazing in her mind.

‘I’m never, EVER going out again.’

Chapter Twenty-One

TRUSTING THE DREAM

On 19 June 1930 Freddie was standing in the church porch helping to set up his statue of St Peter. With the twenty pounds stashed in his wallet, he felt satisfied as he viewed the statue from all angles, turning it to catch the light. A beam of sunlight was filtering through the tall pines and poplars that grew along the wall of the churchyard.

‘Like that?’ he said to the vicar who was earnestly inspecting the statue. ‘It needs a bit of sunlight.’

‘Yes, yes. You’re right,’ the vicar agreed. Then he looked at Freddie the same way as he’d looked at the statue. ‘You really are a very talented young man. You’ve carved the face so beautifully – and the bunch of keys – that can’t have been easy – in stone.’

‘It wasn’t.’

‘Those are the keys to the kingdom. Did you know that?’

‘Yes. Through gates of pearl,’ quoted Freddie, thinking about Levi standing by the archway in the wall. Through that archway he’d seen a golden web of light. He wanted to tell the vicar, but he felt ill at ease with him, so he asked him a question instead. ‘Do you believe in life after death?’

‘Of course I do. Jesus came to teach us that.’

Freddie frowned. ‘Then why is it wrong to talk about it?’

‘What exactly do you mean?’

‘Well – I’ll give you an example. You knew my father, didn’t you? You did his funeral. So do you believe he’s still alive?’

‘He’s with God.’

‘But do you believe that my father is alive?’

‘Yes, of course I do.’

‘So why is it wrong for me to tell you if I see him?’

‘Do you see him?’ The vicar’s eyes hardened and he looked intently at Freddie.

‘I’m not saying I do. I said IF I see him, why is that wrong?’ persisted Freddie.