It wasn't a happily ever after ending, but it was a happy for the moment one. Of course the coppers didn't even bother to apologise and they wouldn't the next time they had reason to stop and search him, or to question him in relation to something, or just because they had nothing better to do and targets didn't meet themselves. It was a pause, like all the other pauses, but, this time, Frederick allowed himself a little sigh of relief.
Even had Micky not lied and said he had witnessed Frederick, he would still have been the first one they turned to. The first, and probably only, one to come under suspicion, because that was all they needed. Suspicion. As long as they suspected Frederick of wrongdoing, they could barge their way into Mum's house and make searches as often as they wanted, or to question him for as long as they were allowed to.
Just this once, though, Frederick felt a little thrill of triumph and a swell of love for that old man that he and Mum had happened to have moved next door to. He only wished he could have seen the Old Bill's face as Mister Dibbs had shown those videos. He doubted he would have managed to contain himself in that moment, though, and would have ended up drawing more attention to himself. Mister Dibbs had done enough.
"Do you think you'll rebuild it?" He stood beside Mister Dibbs, looking at the burned shell of the big shed, fire long since quenched. "I think you should rebuild it. That's if you've got the money. Are these sheds expensive? It didn't look expensive. Not that it looked bad!"
The old man gave a tut that sounded on the border of a laugh, but said no more than that. Supporting himself, heavily, on his walking stick, Mister Dibbs stepped toward the remains of the shed. Breathing so bad that Frederick could hear the breaths rattle in his chest, the old man leaned down, trying to lift some of the debris out of the way before Frederick could move.
When he did react, he lifted the fallen roof panel, flicking it to the side to reveal the frame of a bicycle. The Hanson Lightning. Frederick recognised it even though the frame had become twisted and bent by the heat. The paint had all burned away and rust had already started to form on the surface of the exposed metal, after the fire service had plastered gallons of water over the shed to quiet the flames.
The fire had ruined the bicycle, his bicycle. No sign of the tires, burned away. Likewise the seat and the handlebar grips. The brake cables had strings of plastic, caught in time, dripping from the metal wires. It was gone. The bicycle that he and Mister Dibbs had found and Mister Dibbs had fixed up as good as new. The bicycle that Frederick had only ridden once, but it was worth it. It was a lovely old bicycle. They all were. Now they were nothing but metal, scoured by flames.
"I reckon I'd be better off turning this into a veg patch. According to them doctors, I'm supposed to eat healthy from now on." The old man turned and winked. "Leastways until I get this old ticker fixed up, then I shall be having a nice bag of fish and chips, slathered with salt and pickling vinegar. Loads of scraps, too. Ee! Now I've gone and made myself hungry."
He winked again and laughed, though not with any real gusto, as though even a laugh could set off another heart attack. Despite what had happened, it would still be a good few months until Mister Dibbs could have his surgery, if not longer, so now they had to manage the condition he was in and Frederick knew well that wouldn't stand with Mister Dibbs. He didn't like to make a fuss.
Frederick glanced at the time on his phone and then looked over his shoulder toward the windows of his own house, next door. Mister Dibbs wasn't the only one that didn't want to make a fuss. His mum had much the same attitude. She had made that call, eventually, and Frederick had no idea whether things were going well or not. It wasn't something Mum liked to talk about, but Frederick had seen some difference. She took pills, now, and, when she did, it made her sleep the entire night through. That was good. Better than her sitting up half the night staring at nothing in the dark.
"Mum says, if you're a good boy, she'll make Jamaican chicken curry tonight, and she didn't mean me, either." Frederick turned away from the burned shed, it made him feel too sad at what the old man had lost. "She treats you like a kid. Except she doesn't threaten you with taking away your console."
"Nay, but I reckon soon as she works out what I favour as much as thy likes thee console, she'll be threatening that." The old man took some effort turning around to head back to the house. "Jamaican chicken curry, eh? Ee! The Duchess'd have a fit that I'm trying different foods after she'd tried to get me to try new things for years. Ee. Never mind."
"Hey! Mister Dibbs! Look!" Frederick caught the old man's attention and began wading into the rubble of the burned shed. "I think this frame ain't so bad."
"Hey! Hey! Get theesen out of there, lad! Thy cuts theesen and thy'll have to get a shot and it's not a nice one, neither!" He shook his walking stick, using it to wave to Frederick to leave the ruins. "Come on, sithee! Out! Out! Thee mother'll kill me!"
It had worked, though. Frederick had distracted the old man long enough. Before the old man could finish turning around and spoil the surprise. Now, with a glance behind the old man, Frederick saw that everyone was now ready, including Mum. Now it was time for Frederick to show the old man what he had been up to while he lay in hospital.
Frederick couldn't stay in the hospital with Mister Dibbs, and, while staying with Deano and Jeanie, he had come up with a plan. It had taken some doing, not helped by the coppers keeping an eye on him, but he had managed and everything was above board, too. He couldn't contain the grin that had broken out upon his face as he scrambled out of the wreckage of the big shed and he could see the eyes of the old man narrowing behind his glasses. He wasn't daft, as the old man liked to say.
"Well, I think you might need a new shed after all." He took hold of the old man's elbow and supported him as they both turned back to face Mister Dibbs' house. "What do you think?"
There, at the other end of the garden, lined up beside the little shed where Mister Dibbs did all his work, stood Frederick's mum, Deano and Jeanie, and Benjamin, the man who had fixed the security cameras that had proved Frederick's innocence. Each of them held a bicycle beside them and each bicycle had need of Mister Dibbs' magical touch. Mum had got them all there at just the right moment.
Mister Dibbs didn't say or do anything at first, then he began to make hobbling steps forward, back up the garden toward the gathered people. It looked like he was chewing something, his jaw moving, lips pursed, and each step seemed to take an age. Then, as he got within ten feet of them all, he stopped, reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief. This time, instead of wiping his nose, he rubbed the cloth against his eyes, lifting the glasses out of the way.
"Aye. Well." Then he wiped his nose, but he didn't put the handkerchief away. Instead, his thumb smoothed over the embroidery at the corner. "That's right grand."
"The boy had us doing it, Alfie-boy. This one ..." Deano patted the frame of the bicycle he held. Frederick knew it was a later model Hanson. A Hanson Flyer. "... I got from a geezer I met in the local boozer. Good bloke. Ask no questions, told no lies, eh. But that one ..."
"Dad! Let Freddie tell it!" Jeanie dragged her dad's hand down, stopping him tapping the side of his nose and winking.
"Benjamin got this one from an old friend." Frederick rushed across, tapping the frame of a Dillon Roughneck, an American bicycle, then moved to the one Jeanie held. "I found this one in the local scrapyard. I don't know what kind it is, though. And this one, I found on the internet. Mum says I have to wash the dishes for a year to pay for it."
He took that last one from his mum's hands and wheeled it toward Mister Dibbs. It wasn't completely ruined, but it would need a lot of work. Probably more work than all of the others combined, but it was special. It was very special. In front of Mister Dibbs, he lifted it and turned it so that the old man could get a good look at it. A Drake Rocket. He waited for the old man to say something, but he continued to rub the handkerchief with his thumb. Then, after a good long while, he shuffled a couple of steps forward.
"Frame's pitted. And those forks have had a nasty knock. The seat stay's bent." Again, he rubbed under his nose with the handkerchief before finally putting it away in his pocket. "Rest'll do, I reckon. Aye, they'll all need work, but I'll not be able to do it myself. I'll be needing help. What does thy think? Reckon you can fix bicycles as well as you made them picture frames?"
"Reckon I might try." Frederick rubbed a finger under his nose as he gave a solemn nod toward the Drake, eyeing up what work it needed.
It felt as though a dam had burst, then, and everybody came forward, bringing the bicycles with them, allowing Mister Dibbs to get a good look at his new projects. He still had his surgery to suffer, and Frederick had school to face, but he knew that time would fly by, now.
It wasn't a happily ever after ending, but Frederick thought it was just about the closest it would ever get. It was a happy right now ending, and that was good enough for him. Him and Mister Dibbs.