“It really is you!” Mr Rosewood reaches out his hand as if he wants to stroke Lampie’s head, but he does not do it. “Lampie!” he says. “How good to see you, child. I’ve thought about you so often. How are you doing?”
Lampie shrugs. How is she doing? She is angry and she is worried, here with Fish in this big, open field, and she is cold and she is about to do something she really does not want to do, just to get some money.
“I’m fine,” she says.
“And how about your father? I haven’t seen him for so… People are saying that… Is it true that?…”
Before Lampie can hear what people are saying, a small woman comes striding quickly across the dark swamp that the fairground has become. She pushes her husband to one side and stands right in front of Lampie.
“Ha!” says Mrs Rosewood. “So here she is! At the fair!” She looks Lampie up and down and then stares at her cart. “You see!” She thumps her husband’s arm. “And after what everyone said… Locked up in that terrible house, that’s what they said. Eaten up by that monster, my goodness. Well, I said, I don’t believe it, not one bit, but if it’s true, I said, if it’s true, then I’ll tear up the bill for what they still owe us. Because that’s what I’m like, you know—”
“Hilda,” says Mr Rosewood with a sigh. “Do calm down, my love. We’re just happy that Lampie is still alive, aren’t we?”
“Yes, delighted!” cries the grocer’s wife. “And with all her arms and legs still attached, or so it would seem. Walking around here, having fun. With our money. That’s right. You might not think so, but it’s true. We’ve never seen a cent, so—”
“So nothing.” Mr Rosewood hooks his arm around his wife’s elbow. “So we’ll leave Lampie in peace and we’ll go home now. You did want to go home, didn’t you?”
But Mrs Rosewood does not move an inch. “So, whatever you have there in that cart, it actually belongs to us. Whatever it might be.” All three of them look at the lump under the blanket. “Actually… what is it?”
“That is none of our business!” hisses Mr Rosewood. “We’re going, Hilda. Now.”
“And so are we,” says Lampie quickly. “Um, I mean, so am I. There’s something I need to…”
Mrs Rosewood pulls her arm free and walks up to the cart. “What is it? What do you have in there?”
“Nothing.” Lampie is suddenly sick of the whole adventure. Why won’t everyone just leave her alone?
“Nothing that is any of our business,” Mr Rosewood says.
“Nonsense, it is very much our business!” Mrs Rosewood reaches out her hand to the blanket, under which something is clearly breathing.
“Oh, Hilda, please! Just stop it, let things be, leave this child alone, leave me…”
But Mrs Rosewood has never listened to her husband before – and now is no exception. She wants to know. She wants to talk about it tomorrow in the shop, and “something mysterious under a blanket” is not much of a story. What is it? What is under there? She reaches out to touch the blanket, which slowly starts to rise. Something growls and in the shadows she sees what she already suspected.
“Eek!” she shrieks. “It’s the monster, the monster from the Black House!”
No one can scream quite as well as the grocer’s wife. The sound slices through the evening air, and the entire field of fairgoers looks in her direction. What a story this is going to make tomorrow! She can’t wait. She wants to pull off more of the blanket, to take a better look, but the child is already dragging the cart away.
“Oh, help! Help me!” cries Mrs Rosewood. “It bit me, the monster bit me! I’m bleeding, I’m bleeding to death. Oh, oh, just look!”
From under his blanket, Edward stares at Lampie with dark, scared eyes. He shakes his head.
“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t bite her! Not even a nip!”
All around them, more voices start screaming. Everywhere people are screaming: “The monster! It’s the monster!”
“The what? Really?” People come running to see. Lots of people.
“Which monster is this?”
“That monster from the Black House! It just bit off half of her hand. I saw it with my own eyes!”
“Where? Where is it?” Most of them are looking in the wrong direction, or up in the air, as though they are expecting to see some giant creature. Mrs Rosewood disappears into the crowd. Lampie tries to push her way through, but she keeps getting jostled to and fro and the cart almost topples over.
“Let me past! Let me through!” she shouts. No one hears her, no one gets out of the way. But suddenly the cart feels much easier to pull. A big hand has taken hold of the wooden handle and is helping to tug the cart.
“This way.” Mr Rosewood takes charge, steering the cart straight through the curious crowd. He points back over his shoulder.
“There it is! Over there! It’s terrifying. Go and take a look!”
The crowd excitedly runs in the wrong direction.
“Come on,” he says, beckoning Lampie and pulling the cart across the field. He stops in the shadow between two tents. Lampie, unable to keep up with his big strides, runs after him, puffing and panting.
“Fish,” she says. “Fish, how are you doing?” She places her hand on the blanket, which the shivering boy has pulled tightly around himself.
“Home,” says the blanket. “Home, home, home.”
“Of course,” whispers Lampie, stroking his head. “We’re going. We’re leaving soon.” She sighs. It’s failed. The whole plan has failed. And tomorrow the fair will be gone, and it will not be back for another year.
And she still doesn’t know if the mermaid is…
“If you go that way,” says Mr Rosewood quietly, “you’ll hardly bump into anyone.”
Lampie can see him looking at the cart with Edward in it. But he does not say anything.
“He’s not a monster,” she says. “He’s really not. He’s…”
Mr Rosewood shakes his head. “I don’t need to know.” He looks at the crush in the distance. They can hear shouting and screaming. People are still looking for the monster or for some other form of entertainment, because the last evening of the fair is always one big chaotic mess.
“Right then, I’m off to see if Mrs Rosewood needs rescuing,” he says with a sigh. “Which she probably doesn’t.” He takes a few coins from his pocket and gives them to the girl. “And I’m sorry about… For… She’s not really like that, you know. Or she never used to be. Or maybe…” He sighs again. “Or maybe I just wasn’t looking properly.”
Lampie opens her hand carefully, so that nothing falls out. She sees a pile of coins, including some quarters, at least three of them.
“Can we go now?” whines Edward from the cart. “Can we go home?”
“Hmm…” says Lampie. “Maybe not right away.”