Pond People
3. Anything You Can Do

The pump lay at the bottom of the deep end, drawing in tired water that had travelled the pond. Its pull was strong, to send water to the filter at the top of the waterfall where it would begin its journey again.

Around the pump, keep-fit enthusiasts worked out by swimming against its drag, and any swooping fish or thrown rider would disrupt their training.

Flash watched the rough riders as he worked out. An untrained dodger-fish would head for deep water when a mirling landed on its back, so riders soon found themselves above the swimmers at the pump. Or among them.

If these idiots could ride the leaping fish, how hard could it be?

Like everyone else, he shouted at the riders, but now he noted which fish they rode. Once he was sure he would recognise them again, he left the swimmers at the pump and headed for the shallows.

He wanted to hear more about life in the river.

Grandad sat with Flo, trimming a young reed with the blade that Flash could now see was a sharpened snail shell. Flo looked up through the ripples as drops of rain dappled the pond’s surface.

‘C-cat’s gone.’

Flash touched down beside Grandad, pleased that the snooty black one wasn’t with them. Pasty little Flo was friendlier, and Grandad seemed pleased to see him.

‘Flash! You’re a sportsman. How are you at spitting?’

‘Spitting?’

‘Have you never taken part in a spitting contest, lad? Come on, see if you can beat me.’

Flash and Flo followed him up to the surface. Grandad straddled a lily stem and filled his gills; heads had to be out of water to spit. He filled his mouth and raised his head to spit water at a nearby lily flower. After several hits, he rested on a stem beneath the water.

The rain had stopped by the time Flash perfected his aim, but he wasn’t going to let an old codger beat him – not even an old river codger. It was a point of honour to be best at whatever he tried.

He’d forgotten about Flo, who waited until he had finished before taking aim. It was a shock when she hit her target first time.

‘I’ve been practising with Eddy,’ she admitted, ‘but I could never spit as far as you can.’

‘Never say never, lass.’ Grandad produced the hollow reed he’d brought with him. ‘Here, try this. You blows the water through it.’

Flo was soon targeting leaves outside the pond, and Flash was impatient to try it. Before they swam down, Grandad took the reed for some trial shots of his own. Flash watched closely, looking for tips.

Might this reed shoot underwater? Solid missiles perhaps?

The stem would eventually weaken with use. He would need a blade if he were to make his own reed shooters.

Molly had been delayed by her father lecturing on the responsibilities that came with living in leafy luxury, on a plant where goldfish went to spawn.

His words echoed around her head like an old song: it was time she started pulling her weight. Perhaps she’d prefer a life in the mud, or sleeping rough in a fold of the pond liner?

She expected to hear variations on this familiar refrain until she found a mate and moved out to start a family of her own. That was the next thing to do.

She could recall nobody from school she would want to live with, which eliminated half the eligible pond life. How did you choose a life partner anyway? What if, later on, you got to know someone you liked better?

On the other hand, she didn’t want to spend her life herding hatchlings or teaching tiddlers in one of the pond’s summer schools. She wasn’t clever with her hands, like Flo. Grandad had taught them to plait blanketweed last summer but, while Flo’s cords were fine enough to make armlets and necklaces, hers were too lumpy to barter, and she had lost interest.

When she arrived in the shallows, there was no sign of Grandad. She was about to swim home again when that swaggering newcomer zoomed out of the waterlilies.

Flo and Grandad drifted down after him.

‘What’ve you been up to, Grandad?’

‘Reed shooting. Come with me.’

He handed her the reed they’d been using and led the way to his den, where he pulled out another length of reed, slightly wider than the first.

‘I’m trimming up different lengths and widths, to replace out which shoot farthest.’

Flo took the new reed and put it to her lips. ‘This one feels too wide in my m-mouth.’

Molly thought it would suit a bigmouth like Flash.

The bigmouth was surprisingly keen. ‘You could appoint a champion?’ He grinned. ‘Then other mirlings can challenge him for the title.’

‘Or her.’ Molly turned to Flo. ‘No cat today?’

‘N-not since the rain.’

‘How about you, Molly?’ asked Grandad. ‘Like to try reed shooting?’

‘Maybe.’

She knew it wasn’t for her, and she saw no practical use for it, but Grandad looked pleased with himself. ‘If enough mirlings was interested, we could get teams together for a tournament.’

Flash nodded. ‘You’d need prizes.’

‘We’d have to stand people n-near the targets to judge the best hits.’ Flo looked doubtful. ‘M-mightn’t that be dangerous?’

Grandad looked uncertain now. ‘Sounds like it’d take some organising.’

‘I don’t mind helping you organise it,’ Molly offered, not wanting to be left out.

‘How do you feel about organising a team, then?’ asked Grandad.

‘Oh, I’d be no good at shooting.’

‘How can you tell, lass, if you haven’t tried?’

‘How about Eddy? Flo tells me he’s good at target-spitting.’

A bubble of laughter escaped Flash’s mouth. He asked Flo to pass him the wider reed and swam up with it.

Grandad’s eyes met Flo’s.

When Flash was out of range, he turned to Molly.

‘Can you picture Eddy as a team leader? Recruiting members, organising practice sessions, deciding strategy?’

Flo’s head was shaking. Molly saw their point. ‘But I’ve never led a team before.’

‘Good time ter replace out if you can.’

‘Why would anyone listen to me, who can’t even shoot?’

‘Why not?’ Grandad shrugged. ‘You can manage a team without being a player. There’s nowt to stop you appointing Eddy as team coach.’

Flo was nodding. ‘And you can always ask someone if you’re not sure about anything.’

Flash swam down from the surface as Grandad gestured to an imaginary group. ‘You can ask your team. They’ll like to be consulted. You know how teams work.’

Molly liked being part of a team. Teams were about sharing work. Stealthy herders could circle the hatchlings while the fastest swimmers chased stragglers.

But leading a team… that was scary.

‘I’ll be a team leader,’ announced Flash. ‘My team will be Flash’s Lightning Strikers. How many to a team?’

‘Let’s replace out if anyone wants to join first.’

‘So you’ll do it, M-molly?’

Three pairs of eyes were on her. Flash didn’t try to hide the amusement in his. How dare he laugh at her?

She wouldn’t let him put her off. ‘I’ll see.’

‘That’s settled then.’ Grandad rubbed his hands together. ‘How about you, Flo? Going to join Molly’s team?’

‘Oh no.’ Flo shook her head so hard her hair drifted out in a creamy cloud. ‘I’d lose my n-nerve at the last minute and let everyone down.’

‘Right-ho – you can be Chief Judge.’ Flo shrank back. ‘Find yourself a couple of assistants and decide how you’ll score the hits so there’s no argument later.’

He put a finger under her chin and gently closed her mouth. ‘I’ll help. Now clear off, all of you, and recruit. I needs me afternoon nap.’