Pond People
2 Eddy and Flo

‘I’m river mir, born and bred.’ Grandad squared his shoulders. ‘Had a mate and a son when I were netted with some sticklebacks by children who lived in the house back then. I recall their Pa weren’t best pleased when they emptied their bucket into the pond.’

‘Are there others here from the river?’ Flash asked.

‘No. We were all born here,’ Molly answered. ‘Our great-grandparents came with the fish that stocked the pond.’

‘Were your family in the pet shop t-too?’

He shook his head. ‘Just me.’

He’d been out swimming with the fish when men came to trawl their pond and he was caught up with the shoal. As a vivid orange mirling with nowhere to hide in the featureless pet shop tanks, he’d learned to swim in the shadows of the fish and keep his dark side towards the outside world.

‘I had to look after myself. If staff spotted mirlings in a tank, they’d think they were parasites and empty the tank to disinfect it.’ He had their full attention. ‘Any mir too slow to cling to a fish would be left in the empty tank.’

Flo’s eyes widened. ‘W-what happened to them?’

‘I never saw one again to ask.’ He leaned against a water-iris. ‘When the tank was emptied, they’d be washed down a drain to be eaten by a rat or poisoned by sewage. Or they could cling to the empty tank and dehydrate.’

Dehydration was a slow death. Their horror infused the surrounding water, diluting his own recurrent nightmare.

Something dropped from above, knocking Flo into Grandad, who staggered.

‘Eddy!’ shouted Molly and Flo in unison. Eddy grinned.

‘Sorry.’ Flo flushed pink. ‘He thinks he’s funny. Are you alright, Grandad?’

‘Don’t worry, lass. Takes more than a shove to upset an old river-rat.’

Flash was about to continue his interrupted account, but Molly cut in. ‘Tell Flash about your river, Grandad.’

The old mir’s eyes misted. ‘Ah, the river… it went on forever. The water were always fresh.’ Around them, the water held memories of bluebell and evening primrose.

‘The plants was thick for hiding in. They grew on the bottom too.’ All eyes went to the pond’s black liner. ‘Mind you, there were plenty to hide from. We was food to the bigger fish.’

Eddy frowned. ‘But the pond fish don’t eat us.’

‘That’s because they kn-now us.’

‘Summat like that,’ agreed Grandad. ‘Goldfish in’t wild like river fish. They’s domesticated, like dogs and cats. And they gets fed reg’lar.’

‘But they still eat the small fry.’ Eddy frowned. ‘And that’s their own family.’

This was news to Flash. In his home pond, new-laid spawn and hatched fry were separated from adult fish. He kept quiet and listened.

‘I don’t think fish realise the fry are their own hatchlings.’ Grandad watched a goldfish swim past. ‘Fish in’t very clever. If it moves, they catch it – no time to decide if it’s a baby or a bug.’

‘Maybe mirlings don’t taste good,’ suggested Molly.

‘They don’t know that till they’ve tried us,’ Flo pointed out.

Grandad shrugged. ‘The river fish never minded our taste. No more did the ducks, or the heron watching from the shallows, or the land creatures that swam after us. At least the cat don’t do that. Cats don’t like water.’

Flash hadn’t known that either. He wondered what else the old codger knew that might come in useful.

These pond mirlings were soft, but he couldn’t afford to look stupid. Here in the pond he could safely glory in his striking colours, but he would be wise to keep his darker side hidden.

Molly loved hearing about Grandad’s river, but she wouldn’t want to live there. Here, they shared the pond with nothing more threatening than mayflies, water boatmen and goldfish. And other mirlings. Grandad said everyone looked after each other when there were real threats to cope with, but she couldn’t believe he really missed being at the mercy of water voles. And herons, whatever they were. She pictured a heron as a different kind of cat.

‘There must be something we can do about that cat.’

Flash’s brow creased. ’It doesn’t hunt mirlings though, does it? It doesn’t come in the pond?’

Flash’s sprint had been all for show – she’d suspected as much. He didn’t care about saving the goldfish. She tried to explain in a way he would understand.

’They’re our fish the cat’s taking. We’ve watched them grow.’

Not that she felt any fondness for them when it was her turn to shoo them away from water plants heavy with their spawn.

‘We protect the spawn and hatchlings so at least some of them survive. We don’t do all that so the neighbour’s cat can eat them instead.’

She dismissed a shadow of guilt. It was her brother’s turn. Time he did his share of herding small fry, instead of spending his days kicking a pellet around the pond floor with his pals.

‘And w-when you’ve trained one,’ Flo added, ‘and it’s learned to trust you, it’s heart-breaking to replace it’s gone from the pond.’

‘You train them?’ Flash looked interested now.

Grandad explained. ‘The gentle ones gets taught to carry mirlings on their backs, so us oldies can ride without having to cling on like fish lice.’

Eddy’s eyes glowed. ‘Some are untrainable–’

‘Only because they’re m-more sensitive.’

‘–and they try to throw you off. We take bets on who can stay up longest.’ He weaved and ducked to illustrate the perils of rough riding.

Flo ignored him.

‘We could take turns to w-watch for the cat.’ She reddened when everyone looked at her. ‘Draw up a rota…’ her words drifted away.

Molly usually listened to Flo. She came up with some good ideas. This wasn’t one of them.

‘Sorry girls.’ Flash saluted. ‘You’ll have to count me out. Too busy.’

‘Busy posing at the pump.’ Eddy muttered from a safe distance.

‘Cat’s gone,’ announced Grandad. ‘Must be feeding time.’

The head of a tan and white terrier appeared over the edge of the pond. Mojo, the dog from the house, didn’t approve of cats in his garden. His tongue lapped the water, sending out ripples to meet those from the waterfall.

Behind the dog a man tapered towards the sky. Pellets of fish food plopped into the water. Their fishy smell drifted to Molly’s nostrils.

Fish came from every direction. Within seconds the pellets were almost gone, and the feeding frenzy began to quieten.

Out among the feeders, Eddy hovered over a young fish. He made contact in front of its dorsal fin, and it shook to throw him off. He whooped with delight as it bucked and plunged towards the deeps.

Molly watched until they were out of sight in the churning water. She turned to see Flash watching too before he looked away.

‘What an idiot!’ He waved. ‘See you later, girls. Nice to meet you, Grandad. Good luck with that cat.’ He took off with a flick of his body.

Flo stood behind her. ‘Give him a chance, M-molly. He’s got n-nobody.’

‘He doesn’t need anybody. I’m sure he can do everything he wants to all by himself.’

‘He may have saved your l-life.’

Molly resisted that thought.

It was he who’d decided she needed rescuing. She owed him nothing. Her throat tightened again at the memory of her fear, quickly displaced by the indignity of being pushed aside, like… like something in the way.

‘Eddy doesn’t like him either.’ Flo sighed. ‘I’d hoped he might make friends with the n-newcomer and stop following that crowd that see him as their court jester.’

‘That’ll never happen.’ Molly snorted. ‘They’re too different. Your Eddy takes nothing seriously, and Flash takes himself very seriously indeed.’