Of course she comes back, at half-past three exactly. She has even brought a plate of fish, which Martha dashed to the market to fetch.
“Maybe you could pop that upstairs for him. If you go up there again. I’m not telling you to do it though, mind.”
Lampie had nodded.
“I promised to give him a bath at half-past three.”
“Pff,” Martha had snorted. “A monster that can tell the time?”
“He’s not a monster,” Lampie had said yet again. But she is no longer so sure about that. He is actually some kind of monster, after all.
“I’ve brought someone with me,” Lampie says to the mouldy bed. She still has not seen or heard Edward, but he must be under there again. “Lenny from downstairs. That’s not a problem, is it?” No answer. She puts down the pile of clean sheets on top of the dirty ones. “He’s a bit, um… slow. But he’s also very strong and he’s going to help me. It must take about thirty buckets to fill that bath, and I don’t really feel like—”
“No.”
“But…”
“No one is allowed to see me. That’s one of the rules. Do you understand? There are rules.” The voice comes out from under the bed, but the boy himself does not.
“But he’s already seen you, Fish. Edward.” She bends down and puts the plate of bloody chunks of fish on the floor. “He saw you this morning. He already knows that you have a tail.”
He shoots out from under the bed and suddenly he is on top of her. Lampie’s head bangs against the floor and she gives a gasp of fear. His pitch-black eyes are so close; she can feel his breath on her cheek.
“It!” he hisses. “Is! A! Deformity!”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Not a tai—Not that other thing! A deformity! My legs are just deformed! Say it!”
She tries to wriggle out from under him, but he is holding her arms too tightly.
“Um… But…”
“Say it!”
“Right,” she says. “Fine. It’s a deformity. Now let go of me.”
He lets go and slides back under the bed. “I could still grow out of it. It’s possible. If I practise lots. A doctor said so.”
“Oh,” replies Lampie. She rubs her sore head with her sore arm. What a wonderful job she has. “So what exactly do you have to practise?”
Edward does not reply.
*
Lugging thirty buckets of water is as easy as anything for Lenny. He keeps looking nervously around the room and splashing big puddles of water on the floor, but when he realizes that he cannot actually see the monster, he calms down. He empties bucket after bucket into the big iron bath. Flakes of black dirt float on the surface of the water, and dead insects. Everything here is dirty, thinks Lampie. Silently, she changes the bedclothes. Does he ever actually lie in the bed?
From under the bed she can hear the boy eating, tearing off pieces of fish with his teeth and chewing away.
“Rule number one: my head must not go under the water. Rule number two: I have to stay in for one hundred and thirty-five seconds. Exactly one hundred and thirty-five seconds, no more, no less. And you have to count the seconds. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” Lampie says with a sigh. “No problem. But why is it such a short time?”
“Short is good, shorter is better.” The boy is still lying halfway under the bed. He has taken off his shirt. He is white and thin, and his shoulder blades stick out.
“But isn’t it nicer to—”
“Can’t you just do as you’re told?”
“Yes, I can.”
“Good. And you have to count, because I’ll forget to do it.”
“Forget? But why?”
“And don’t look. When I’m in the bath, you’re not allowed to look. That’s rule number three. Is that clear? You turn around, with your face to the wall, and you count. Out loud.”
Lampie nods. She smiles at Lenny, who is waiting just outside the room.
“And when it’s time, you have to help me out of the bath. Even if I don’t want to get out. I still have to get out anyway. Is that clear?”
“Yes, it is.”
Then he comes out from under the bed and shuffles across the room, his dark tail – no, his deformity – twisting behind him. At the edge of the bath, he takes a deep breath and tries to pull himself up. It does not work. He tries again. And again.
“I can do this,” he pants. “I can always do this.”
“Shall I help you?”
“You’re looking.”
“So that’s a no.” Lampie turns around and listens to him struggling and quietly cursing himself.
“Come on, you weakling, you wimp. Come on.”
“You’ve been ill,” she says. “You almost died last night – remember?”
“So? That’s no reason to…” She hears him slipping from the bath and back onto the floor. “I have to be able to do this. No! Turn around! Don’t look!”
Lampie does not listen. She walks over to the boy and grabs him around the waist. He is so light that she lifts him into the bath without any difficulty. His tail brushes again her, as cool and smooth as a frog’s skin. Then he plunges into the water and surfaces, spluttering and shrieking.
“No! My. Head. Must. Not. Go. Under. The. Water! That’s what I said! Listen to me!”
“Oh yes. I forgot.”
“Or I’ll drown. I already told you that! Don’t you have a brain in your head?”
Lampie sighs. Stroke the rabbit. Sweet little rabbit.
“And look away! And count: seven, eight…”
“What? Already?”
“Yes, you stupid child. Ten, eleven…”
“But why? What’s the point? Fine, I’ll do it. I’m counting!” His dark eyes always make her shiver. “Um… thirteen, fourteen…” Counting slowly, Lampie walks to the door, where Lenny is watching from around the corner.
“Sixteen, seventeen…” she counts. “Thank you, Lenny. That was really kind of you. Eighteen, nineteen. I’ll be finished here soon. You can go back downstairs if you like. Twenty. Twenty-one.” She smiles at him, but then she sees that the big boy is not looking at her at all, but is staring past her and into the room, with his mouth wide open. Lampie turns around.
Edward is floating in the bath, his head half above and half under the water. His eyes are slowly opening and Lampie watches as they change colour.
Black, brown, dark-green, ochre, orange, gold. Eyes full of gold, with gold flowing from them.
Her mouth falls open too. Beside her she hears Lenny sigh, and together they stare at the dark corner of the room, which has suddenly become much lighter. She forgets that she is not allowed to look. She forgets to count.
I’m falling, thinks Edward. I’m falling and no one will catch me.
He does not trust her one bit, that child. Joseph must have said it a thousand times: short is good, shorter is better. Don’t stay any longer in the water, lad. Never. Longer is dangerous.
She probably can’t count. She is sure to make a mistake. There is no one to take care of him. He will have to do it all himself. He needs to keep his wits about him. He clings onto the edge of the bath. How long has it been? How far has he gone?
Finally he can feel water on his skin again. So cool, so soft. It’s been such a long time, maybe he could stay a little longer, just this once? Forget her, that stupid child. Forget the counting, forget everything, forget who you are… Feel how cool, feel how soft…
No! That’s it, that’s why! That is not allowed! He strains to hear how many seconds have gone by. Surely it must be time, so why isn’t she getting him out?
He can feel himself falling – falling, and no one is going to catch him.
I’ll catch you, the water whispers. Just let yourself fall. Go on.
It is only as the boy’s head slowly sinks under the water, chin, mouth, nose, only when the golden eyes are about to be extinguished with a hiss, that Lampie comes back to her senses. How many seconds has it been? She has no idea, but it must be more than…
“Um… a hundred and thirty-five!” she cries. “You can get out now!” The boy does not move, just sinks a little deeper, his hands sliding down the side of the bath. Lampie hurries over to him, reaches her arms into the cold water and tries to lift him out. She can’t do it; he seems much heavier than before. “Help me, Lenny!”
Lenny does not really want to – oh, he really, really doesn’t want to! – but when the girl asks him a second time, he very nervously ventures back into the room and lifts the dripping boy out of the water. Lenny keeps his head as far back as possible, squeezing his eyes shut as if he were holding a pile of venomous snakes in his arms. With a thud, he throws Edward onto the bed and dashes back onto the safe landing.
The golden eyes have shut, and the boy lies on the sheet, his chest calmly going up and down. His tail is so obviously a tail, thinks Lampie, now that she can see it properly. A thin white scar winds along it, from top to bottom, as if someone once tried to cut him open. She lays the clean white sheet over him.
“That was longer.” His voice seems to come from a long way off.
“No, it was—”
“It was longer.”
“I forgot to count for a moment, just for a moment. I was looking at—”
“You can’t even do that.”
“Next time I’ll… Tomorrow I’ll…”
He throws off the sheet and slides under the bed, into the darkness. “Just go away,” he whispers. “Leave me alone.”