Pond People

Flash had looked into those eyes before. Would the cat see his bright colours in the dark of the ball?

The eyes withdrew. Flash held his breath.

The ball rocked.

It rolled, tumbling them over each other. When it stopped, most of the water was gone and one end of the split was lower. If it tipped farther, they would lose all their remaining water.

‘Grandad, you OK?’

‘Yep. Is this thing moving in the wrong direction?’

‘I think so.’

‘So do I, lad. I think it’s time we made a run for it.’

Flash thought so too, but he was no longer sure which direction the pond was. Could Grandad make it? Once out of the ball, they could lose precious seconds deciding which way to run.

And there was the cat.

The cat would notice Flash’s orange before Grandad’s bronze, which might give the old mirling a fighting chance. They didn’t have much time to decide.

‘If we rolls again, we can drop through the split.’ Mojo’s bark came from the direction of the house. ‘Then if we stays still in the grass till cat’s gone it might not spot us.’

Flash knew Grandad couldn’t do that for long and still make it to the pond.

The barking drew nearer and passed them.

The ball hadn’t moved. Mojo had chased the cat away. Relief washed through Flash, emptying his thoughts. He was climbing to look out when the split darkened again, and a long tooth speared through the gap. It brushed his side, forcing scales back and tearing his skin.

They rose from the ground.

The ball travelled at a jog. Sounds around them changed. Mother’s voice rang out.

‘Mojo’s leaving a water trail. What’ve you got there, boy?’ The split lightened as she took the ball from the dog’s mouth. ‘It’s his old ball. Ugh, there’s bugs in it. Outside, boy!’

They flew through the air, flung from one side to the other as the ball turned and the last of the water drained away.

‘Hold on, Grandad!’ (Hold on to what?) ‘Try to hang on to the edge of the split.’

A bone-shaking jolt shook the ball as it hit something and bounced.

Molly revelled in the luxury of waking up in the pond, with fresh water to breathe, space to grow and nobody relying on her. It was over, she told herself. She was safe.

She forgot to be wary.

‘Molly, we were sorry to miss you last night.’

Walter’s parents had come to find her. She took a deep breath and faced them.

His mother began. ‘We wanted to thank you for looking after Amber. And Walter.’

She gave a sob, and her husband took over. ‘He told us how you looked after them. We know you did your best.’

Molly was hot with embarrassment. ‘It was Flo who looked after Amber when she was ill, and Eddy kept her safe when they went swimming.’

But Amber’s mother wasn’t to be side-tracked. ‘Sylva told us how you’d mothered them – those were her words. And how you listened when she needed someone to talk to.’

Her husband continued. ‘Walter is afraid you’re blaming yourself.’

‘He’s blaming himself, poor soul.’ His wife hiccupped. He put an arm across her shoulders and carried on.

‘They’ve told us how you organised everyone to keep them safe.’

By the time Amber’s parents left, Molly was almost as tearful as they were.

Until now, she had been in control. When she swam out of the plastic bag yesterday, she had allowed herself, for the first time, to believe the nightmare was over. She was safe.

But Amber wasn’t.

The more she tried to forget about the tank, the more her thoughts kept returning to it. Every recollection of Amber, Grandad, even Flash, brought another pang of regret. She needed to get away from her family’s constant questions.

Feeling increasingly remote from the continuing celebrations, she swam again to the shallows to watch the waterfall’s bubbles plunge and resurface. Freedom felt unexpectedly empty.

Flo found her there, clasping the horn-shaped trophy Grandad had polished to a shine. It no longer shone. She had found it there along with the crown, which was rotting now. There was no sign of the blade.

‘Are you all right, Molly? You look glum.’

‘Oh Flo!’ She shook her head. ‘I’m so glad to be back I should be swimming somersaults.’ She gulped. ‘But Grandad should be here. It isn’t fair.’

She clasped the trophy to her chest. ‘And Flash. And Amber…’

‘I wish we’d known Amber before.’ The sweep of Flo’s arm encompassed the shallows with the waterfall’s end and the view towards the deeps. ‘Here, in the pond.’

‘How is Eddy?’

‘Angry – with himself, mostly. He thinks he should have been with Flash, helping to bring Grandad home. He’s gone to the pump this morning.’

‘Is that wise?’

‘I don’t think he’s strong enough yet, but…’ Flo shrugged. ‘Yesterday, one of his old tormentors referred to Amber as “that cripple” and Eddy punched him.’

Molly’s eyes widened and Flo nodded. ‘Exactly. He had the advantage of surprise, of course. The guy fell into the path of a streaking fish and ended up in the reeds.’ She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘The cretin’s wife gave him a swipe when he picked himself out, which their daughter thought was funny.’ She sighed. ‘So he cuffed the tiddler for laughing.’

She looked around them. ‘I came to sweep out Grandad’s place.’

Molly followed her gaze. ‘I suppose the plants will grow through again now.’

‘I thought it might be good to keep the place cleared, as a sort of meeting place. A memorial to Grandad.’

Molly nodded. ‘That’s a nice idea. It was our meeting place, wasn’t it – when he was… here.’

She looked down at the trophy she was cradling. ‘Why don’t we hold an annual tournament – like he wanted – and name it after him.’

Flo looked uncertain. ’The Grandad Games? What was his name?’

Molly shook her head. ‘Maybe it’s a daft idea… I just need to be doing something.’ Which was odd, considering how much effort she used to put into doing nothing.

‘I was thinking of setting up reed shooting sessions for youngsters.’

Flo frowned. ‘Is that wise? What if some little bruiser decides to shoot gravel instead of water?’

‘It would be too heavy to blow far. In the pond, the water would slow the pellets, and out of it, they can only hurt the idiots who stay up there to be shot at. It would give the lively ones something to do out of school instead of preying on weaker youngsters.’

She lay the trophy reverently against the reeds. ‘Tiddlers need to learn that it’s okay not to be a winner. Everyone has different strengths. I’ve been talking to my brother too, about the kids that play kickabout on the pond floor. He and his mates used to have rules and everything. They’re going to mark up a playing pitch and organise players into teams. Teams are good for learning to work together.’

Flo was surprised. ‘You’ve really thought about this.’

She was still thinking. ‘I want to get schools involved. It’s time tiddlers learned about more than herding fry and what’s safe to eat and how to bully their classmates.’

Eddy swam into view.

Flo sighed. ‘He can’t have lasted long at the pump.’

In the sky above Eddy, a blur passed over the pond. A bird, or maybe the shadow of a bird, hit the outer wall of the waterfall and rolled into it.

Eddy touched down and wandered over to them, kicking at pebbles and debris as he came. Molly thought he looked like Joel when he’d been told off.

‘Hi, Eddy.’

A pebble dropped into the water behind him. They all looked up.

Down the waterfall, the blur was gathering speed, skipping every time it hit a stone. It bounced off the last boulder and sunk through the water. Molly could now see it was the wreckage of a ball, rising with the bubbles to float just under the surface.

As it bobbed in the wash from the waterfall, a vivid orange mirling with a black streak swam out of a slit in its side and zigzagged to the bottom of the pond where he sat looking dazed.