Pond People
20 Getting it Wrong

Molly found Flo and Eddy sitting in Grandad’s hollow, backs hunched and heads drooping. The faces that rose to greet her wore identical expressions of misery. It was the first time Molly had noticed any family resemblance.

‘You’re looking better,’ she told Eddy. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Alive?’

She changed the subject. ‘How’s Walt?’

Flo answered.

‘He’s relieved to be home, like the rest of us. Then he remembers Amber isn’t and feels guilty. Sylva’s looking after him.’

They sat against Grandad’s reeds and savoured the fresh water, cooled by the storm. Daylight rippled between the dancing bubbles of the waterfall that she’d feared she would never see again.

Grandad had loved this spot.

Flo’s red-rimmed eyes found Molly’s. ‘Where do you suppose Grandad and Flash are?’ The question was desperate with hope. ‘I saw Father put the net back in the tank.’

There was something different about Flo.

Molly told her, ‘Flash is a survivor.’

‘Yes,’ Eddy roused, ‘and he’ll look after Grandad.’

Flash was more likely to look after Flash, but Molly didn’t share that thought with the others. Flo must have read it, though, from her expression.

‘Yes, he will look after Grandad. You didn’t see, did you? When we were in the bowl on the table, Flash was in the net with the minnows. I thought he would jump.’

Eddy straightened, shocked. ‘Why didn’t he?’

‘I don’t know. Grandad was in the net too. When they took the net away, they were both still in it.’

Flo always tried to see the best in everyone. Perhaps she had misinterpreted what she saw. Eddy was nodding.

‘He looked after us too. He was patient with Amber – with both of us when we were tired. He helped us build up our strength. When we needed to rest, he’d put on a show for us, clowning around the fish until we were ready to swim again. Without Flash, we wouldn’t have lasted as long as we did.’

‘It must’ve been hard to be patient when he was so wound up himself.’ Flo wasn’t stammering – that was the difference. ‘He was like that toy car of Joel’s that shoots off when he lets it go.’

‘Only there was nowhere he could shoot off to.’ Eddy nodded at Flo. ‘If anyone can bring Grandad home, Flash can.’

Were they talking about the same Flash? When had he changed? How had she not seen?

It was too late to be sorry now.

Flash woke next morning to a glorious blue sky overhead. Grandad was up already and stood gazing through the glass. Flash joined him.

The pond looked so close.

‘Looks like there’s new plants since we left.’ Grandad turned from the pond to meet his eyes. ‘Once we’re outa this tank, lad, it’s every mir for hisself.’ His hand rested briefly on Flash’s shoulder. ‘You’ve done enough.’

He turned back to take in their view of the garden. ‘At least if I don’t make it back to the pond, I’ve ended up under an open sky, not some flat, unchanging ceiling.’

For breakfast they broke a fresh shoot from a slow-growing water plant: the one they used to save for special occasions, or to tempt a sick mirling to eat. Over breakfast and through the morning they re-examined their options for getting out of the tank. A shower raised their hopes but ended quickly and the sun came out again. The clouds that passed across it now were the white, fluffy kind that promised no rain.

The door of the house opened, and Mojo bounded past. An unfamiliar voice drew nearer. Flash had to concentrate to recognise the words.

‘…can’t thank you enough. Keisha has been going on for weeks about Bethany’s fish tank. My brother keeps tropical fish, and she spends ages watching them when we visit him.’

‘You know what you’re letting yourself in for then,’ answered Father’s voice. ‘We can’t offer you a pump, I’m afraid. It’s packed up.’

‘So Abby said. But I can afford a pump – maybe even a heater if I don’t have to buy all this.’

‘I’ll carry it out to your car. Is it open?’

‘I’ll go and unlock it,’ said Keisha’s mother.

Flash turned to Grandad, but the old mirling was already on his feet.

‘I’ll just tip out the rainwater,’ said Father, ‘and I’ll be right behind you.’

A chance.

Their last chance.

Father tipped the tank to lay flat and water gushed over its metal rim. Flash and Grandad made sure it carried them with it over the rim and across the grass.

The mirlings couldn’t afford to waste oxygen hiding from Father, but as they ran Father was struggling to lift the tank and didn’t notice them.

The grass had been mowed recently, so they could see the ball as they ran. Where the tank had emptied, wet grass kept them cool and moist for half the distance. Flash supported Grandad for the last few steps, pushing him over the edge of the split into the ball.

‘Can I help?’ Keisha’s mother was back.

Father said he was fine and lifted the tank from the garden table where he’d rested to get a better grip.

‘It’s a lovely waterfall,’ she said, admiring the pond as he led the way. ‘Will those fantails survive out here in the winter?’

‘Maybe. If it doesn’t freeze. You’re welcome to them if you want them when your tank’s set up. We can fish them out when we’re back from Spain.’

‘Thanks for the offer,’ said Keisha’s mother, ‘but I’m thinking I might get a heater and go for livebearers – guppies or mollies.’

Their voices faded as Father staggered down the side of the house, followed by Keisha’s mother.

Through the split, Flash watched them go. He dropped back into the ball and submerged himself to breathe. There wasn’t much water in there, but it was enough to keep them alive while they rested.

They lay with their gills in the water, and Flash tried not to show his impatience while Grandad recovered. He hoped he hadn’t got this wrong.

The pond looked farther away than he’d first thought.

He wasn’t going without Grandad now, though, even if he had to carry the old mir to the water’s edge.

Grandad nodded. ‘Let’s go for it.’

The split above them darkened, and yellow eyes looked in.