The Laundry Basket

Freddy hadn’t meant for the basket to fall over. He just wanted to squeeze behind it to see if the space made a good hiding place. But now that it was lying on its side, Freddy could see a tangle of clothes inside and began to imagine that the basket had just arrived on the seashore after a long voyage across the ocean. Maybe somebody’s laundry had floated away from a beach in Egypt, he wondered. Or, perhaps it contained the last possessions of a group of sailors on a sinking ship?

Wherever it came from, a close up investigation was needed, so Freddy crawled inside.
As he did, an aroma of tobacco filled his nostrils. Immediately, Freddy thought of the times when he would clamber over his dad like a climbing frame, the smell rich on his clothing. He thought of the big hugs they had too, before he went away.
Freddy pulled his knees up to his chest and stared through the gaps in the basket weave, wondering what his dad might be up to now. He could be back at base camp talking with all the other men, or maybe they were travelling across the desert in tanks and jeeps. Perhaps he was getting ready to launch an attack on an enemy base?
With that, the basket seemed to grow and become a tunnel; a secret tunnel into the enemy’s HQ. Freddy was part of a special team sent in to take out the bad guys and bring back his dad who had been captured.
If it was going to be a proper mission, however, then he would need to get properly prepared.

Back in his room, Freddy opened the bottom drawer of his cupboard and took out his Dad’s green military belt. It still had bits of sand in it even though his mum had washed it. There was a water bottle in there too and a half empty tin of camouflage cream that had gone hard.
Freddy clipped the belt round his waist, hanging his cowboy gun through a loop on one side and slipping a plastic pirate knife in on the other.
“I’m going in,” he said and marched back out to the landing to find his mum standing in the doorway of her bedroom.
“What’s going on, Freddy?”
He looked at her then at the basket lying in the middle of the floor. “You’re not crawling around in there are you? It’s full of dirty clothes!”
“But Mum…”
“Come on, downstairs. It’s almost time for dinner.”

Freddy stirred the spinach on his plate, wondering how he was going to manage it all. It tasted horrible even with the fish fingers and mash.
His mum turned to look at him from the sink.
“Stop playing with your food, Freddy. Greens are good for you, remember? There’s lots of calcium in there for a growing boy.”
“I don’t want any calcium,” mumbled Freddy.
The phone rang. He jumped a little.
“It’s all right, Freddy,” said his mum, drying her hands on a tea towel. “Eat up your dinner.”
But Freddy just clutched his knife and fork, waiting for her to answer.
He could soon tell that it was nothing important, though. If it was anything to do with dad, her voice would go all fast and high-pitched.
Freddy turned his attention back to his dinner and set about dissecting the spinach into bits and squashing them together so that it didn’t look like so much.
“Who was it, mum?” asked Freddy, when she came back in.
“Jenny. You remember her? She has a son called Jake. They came round once.”
Freddy remembered that Jake watched TV the whole time without letting Freddy choose a channel.
“Well, I have invited them round on Sunday. His dad is away too, you know. I thought you could get to know each other."
“I don’t want to.”
“Well, it would be very nice for mummy if you tried.”
Freddy frowned and folded his arms.
"Finish your dinner, please."
"No!"
“Freddy!” His mum slapped her hand on the table.
Freddy felt his lip begin to tremble, then tears filled his eyes.
His mum let out a sigh, before moving to Freddy’s side and pulling his head to her chest.
“I’m sorry.”
Freddy pressed his face into her breast, letting his tears soak into her cardigan. Then he looked up, watery-eyed.
“Mum? Are they going to win?”
“Of course they are," she whispered hoarsely, "of course they are. It’s just going to take time, that’s all.”

Freddy switched on the torch and watched it cut through the darkness. He had got it for Christmas last year and had spent the night exploring all the rooms of the house by torchlight. He got frightened looking in the cupboard under the stairs though, because of the huge shadows that the cobwebs made.
Once Freddy got the basket back on the floor, he crawled inside. Freddy turned on his back and shone the torch through the gaps in the weave, pretending that it was a metal grill in the floor of an enemy base.
“I’m under the Control Room,” he said into his radio. “I’m going to set a time bomb for twenty seconds.” Then in a different voice, “Roger that Hawkins; go get ‘em!”
Freddy set about wiring up an imaginary device and then pushed a button on it to set off a timer. He was going to pretend to get stuck in there and then make it out just before the device exploded, but Freddy found that he was quite comfortable lying there, his head resting on the clothes in the basket. The soft murmur of the TV coming through the floor was making him feel sleepy too.
Freddy turned on to his side and closed his eyes, breathing in that same reassuring scent he had smelled before. He began to imagine that someone came along and put the basket on to a lorry, not realising he was in there, and drove all the way to Afghanistan. When he got out, his dad was there firing at the baddies in the desert. But Freddy rescued him and they drove all the way back home.

“Freddy?”
His mum padded softly up the stairs, listening for any signs of life. “Freddy? I hope you’re not playing in the bathroom again.”
She peered round the doorway to see Freddy’s feet trailing out of the basket. A torch lay next to him, illuminating the basket like a cocoon and showing his sleeping face, half-submerged in the clothes beneath him.
His mum crouched down and shook him gently by the foot.
“Time to go to bed, sweetheart.”
Freddy squirmed a little, but didn’t wake.
“Come on,” she said and reached inside, slipping a hand under his waist. As she did so, she caught a scent of tobacco; Rob's tobacco.
She closed her eyes and thought of his face, of his stubble against her cheek, his skin next to hers. It seemed silly to keep his unwashed clothes in there, but it had become a habit ever since Rob was first called to duty over a year ago. A part of her thought that as long as she didn't wash the smell away, he would always come back.
She tried to smile, but couldn’t help the tears prick at her eyes. Then she lifted Freddy up, giving him a squeeze and carried him to his bed.

Freddy hadn’t meant for the basket to fall over. He just wanted to squeeze behind it to see if the space made a good hiding place. But now that it was lying on its side, Freddy could see a tangle of clothes inside and began to imagine that the basket had just arrived on the seashore after a long voyage across the ocean. Maybe somebody’s laundry had floated away from a beach in Egypt, he wondered. Or, perhaps it contained the last possessions of a group of sailors on a sinking ship?

Wherever it came from, a close up investigation was needed, so Freddy crawled inside.
As he did, an aroma of tobacco filled his nostrils. Immediately, Freddy thought of the times when he would clamber over his dad like a climbing frame, the smell rich on his clothing. He thought of the big hugs they had too, before he went away.
Freddy pulled his knees up to his chest and stared through the gaps in the basket weave, wondering what his dad might be up to now. He could be back at base camp talking with all the other men, or maybe they were travelling across the desert in tanks and jeeps. Perhaps he was getting ready to launch an attack on an enemy base?
With that, the basket seemed to grow and become a tunnel; a secret tunnel into the enemy’s HQ. Freddy was part of a special team sent in to take out the bad guys and bring back his dad who had been captured.
If it was going to be a proper mission, however, then he would need to get properly prepared.

Back in his room, Freddy opened the bottom drawer of his cupboard and took out his Dad’s green military belt. It still had bits of sand in it even though his mum had washed it. There was a water bottle in there too and a half empty tin of camouflage cream that had gone hard.
Freddy clipped the belt round his waist, hanging his cowboy gun through a loop on one side and slipping a plastic pirate knife in on the other.
“I’m going in,” he said and marched back out to the landing to find his mum standing in the doorway of her bedroom.
“What’s going on, Freddy?”
He looked at her then at the basket lying in the middle of the floor. “You’re not crawling around in there are you? It’s full of dirty clothes!”
“But Mum…”
“Come on, downstairs. It’s almost time for dinner.”

Freddy stirred the spinach on his plate, wondering how he was going to manage it all. It tasted horrible even with the fish fingers and mash.
His mum turned to look at him from the sink.
“Stop playing with your food, Freddy. Greens are good for you, remember? There’s lots of calcium in there for a growing boy.”
“I don’t want any calcium,” mumbled Freddy.
The phone rang. He jumped a little.
“It’s all right, Freddy,” said his mum, drying her hands on a tea towel. “Eat up your dinner.”
But Freddy just clutched his knife and fork, waiting for her to answer.
He could soon tell that it was nothing important, though. If it was anything to do with dad, her voice would go all fast and high-pitched.
Freddy turned his attention back to his dinner and set about dissecting the spinach into bits and squashing them together so that it didn’t look like so much.
“Who was it, mum?” asked Freddy, when she came back in.
“Jenny. You remember her? She has a son called Jake. They came round once.”
Freddy remembered that Jake watched TV the whole time without letting Freddy choose a channel.
“Well, I have invited them round on Sunday. His dad is away too, you know. I thought you could get to know each other."
“I don’t want to.”
“Well, it would be very nice for mummy if you tried.”
Freddy frowned and folded his arms.
"Finish your dinner, please."
"No!"
“Freddy!” His mum slapped her hand on the table.
Freddy felt his lip begin to tremble, then tears filled his eyes.
His mum let out a sigh, before moving to Freddy’s side and pulling his head to her chest.
“I’m sorry.”
Freddy pressed his face into her breast, letting his tears soak into her cardigan. Then he looked up, watery-eyed.
“Mum? Are they going to win?”
“Of course they are," she whispered hoarsely, "of course they are. It’s just going to take time, that’s all.”

Freddy switched on the torch and watched it cut through the darkness. He had got it for Christmas last year and had spent the night exploring all the rooms of the house by torchlight. He got frightened looking in the cupboard under the stairs though, because of the huge shadows that the cobwebs made.
Once Freddy got the basket back on the floor, he crawled inside. Freddy turned on his back and shone the torch through the gaps in the weave, pretending that it was a metal grill in the floor of an enemy base.
“I’m under the Control Room,” he said into his radio. “I’m going to set a time bomb for twenty seconds.” Then in a different voice, “Roger that Hawkins; go get ‘em!”
Freddy set about wiring up an imaginary device and then pushed a button on it to set off a timer. He was going to pretend to get stuck in there and then make it out just before the device exploded, but Freddy found that he was quite comfortable lying there, his head resting on the clothes in the basket. The soft murmur of the TV coming through the floor was making him feel sleepy too.
Freddy turned on to his side and closed his eyes, breathing in that same reassuring scent he had smelled before. He began to imagine that someone came along and put the basket on to a lorry, not realising he was in there, and drove all the way to Afghanistan. When he got out, his dad was there firing at the baddies in the desert. But Freddy rescued him and they drove all the way back home.

“Freddy?”
His mum padded softly up the stairs, listening for any signs of life. “Freddy? I hope you’re not playing in the bathroom again.”
She peered round the doorway to see Freddy’s feet trailing out of the basket. A torch lay next to him, illuminating the basket like a cocoon and showing his sleeping face, half-submerged in the clothes beneath him.
His mum crouched down and shook him gently by the foot.
“Time to go to bed, sweetheart.”
Freddy squirmed a little, but didn’t wake.
“Come on,” she said and reached inside, slipping a hand under his waist. As she did so, she caught a scent of tobacco; Rob's tobacco.
She closed her eyes and thought of his face, of his stubble against her cheek, his skin next to hers. It seemed silly to keep his unwashed clothes in there, but it had become a habit ever since Rob was first called to duty over a year ago. A part of her thought that as long as she didn't wash the smell away, he would always come back.
She tried to smile, but couldn’t help the tears prick at her eyes. Then she lifted Freddy up, giving him a squeeze and carried him to his bed.