Ethan sat up in bed and looked out of his window. It was a clear sunny day, a perfect day. He had to go to the pond. He got dressed and took his notebook from the chair. He wrote a note for Mum and Dad and left it next to the kitchen kettle so they wouldn’t worry. The dipper net was still leaning against Deity. He took it up the towpath, over the stile to the pond. He found a spot at the side of the water where the ground wasn’t too muddy.

Ethan watched a shoal of darting minnows. He bent forward and gently lowered the net. He tilted it ready to scoop. Out the corner of his eye by the stile, there was a flash of red. He looked up.

“Ethan!”

It was a red coat.

Ethan drew a sharp breath. Polly was back.

He stepped away from the water. He waved to her. His feet wouldn’t stay still; he was jumping up and down and waving at the same time. Polly was running to him.

“Ethan!” Her plait was swinging. “Ethan!”

He started to run to her. The ground was soft and lumpy, but he didn’t care if he fell. It seemed to take for ever to reach her. Her cheeks were pink. “We went into town yesterday. I’m sorry I wasn’t around. Your mum said you got upset.”

He wanted to tell Polly that he had missed her, even though she hadn’t been gone very long. He could tell her everything Mum and Dad had said. Tell her Mum and Dad had explained all about the boy, that it wasn’t Dad’s fault, just like he’d hoped.

He brought out the notebook. He wrote it as quickly as he could.

The boy hit Dad.
Then the boy fell over and hurt his head.
Dad saved him.
Dad didn’t hit him.
The boy was OK.

He held up the notebook. Polly finished reading. Then Polly reached into her pocket. “I went back to the library this morning.” She held out her hand – there was a piece of folded paper in it. “Open it.”

It was a tiny newspaper story, just a few lines of words.

Good Samaritan Saves Drunk Attacker

A drunken youth who vandalized a young boy’s tree house and then attacked the boy’s father owes his life to his victim. According to witness Tim Winger, Jake Meaden called Dominic Grey an ambulance and stayed with Grey after he fell and hit his head on the towpath while trying to assault Meaden. Grey suffered head injuries but is making a stable recovery at Linford Hospital. Meaden does not wish to press charges.

“I went back to the library yesterday to make sure we hadn’t missed anything. I found this and photocopied it. It was only small. We must have scanned past it the first time around.”

Ethan put his net on the grass behind them. Warmth flowed down his arms, into the tips of his fingers. The sunlight caught the water and dazzled his eyes. His chest felt fuzzy, like it had when he had been spinning with Polly or swinging out over the water at the tree house.

He held the story tight between his thumb and finger. He read it again. His dad was a hero and Ethan was so proud.

Polly touched his arm. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

He nodded and blinked back tears. He read it again. He shut the article in his notepad and carefully put it in his pocket.

“You can’t have many pages left now,” said Polly.

Eleven. Each time he used one he felt sad, even though he could get another notepad.

Polly bent down and picked up the net. She stepped so close to Ethan that their coats were touching.

“I’m going to catch a fish,” she said.

Polly held the net on its side, just above the water. A little shoal of minnows swam towards it. Polly scooped the net into the water, then lifted it above the surface.

Two little fish lay on the netting, tails flapping, glistening.

“I did it!” said Polly. She did the same little dance as Jackie on Halloween, twisting her arms one way and her hips the other. “See? Never ever give up.”

He smiled. They watched them for a while, Polly’s fish.

Then Polly lowered the net towards the water. “I don’t want to keep them away from the others,” she said. Polly dipped the net in the pond and the minnows swam free.

“You have to tell your dad you believe him,” said Polly. “You have to tell him today.”

Ethan nodded. Polly was right.

 

Can we go now?

he wrote.

When they got back to the canal, Dad’s van was parked in the clearing.

“Do you want me to come in with you?” asked Polly.

Ethan shook his head. He wrote Polly a note.

Thank you, but I have to do it by myself.

Polly hugged him tight. “Good luck, Ethan,” she said.

Ethan climbed down the steps and into the lounge. Dad was on the sofa playing his guitar. Mum wasn’t around. Ethan went over to the sofa. “What is it, son?” said Dad quietly, putting down his guitar. Ethan took the newspaper story out of his pocket and held it out.

“What’s this?” Dad unfolded the piece of paper. He stared at the headline.

“You found it,” Dad said at last.

Ethan held out his notebook. Dad took it. His eyes scanned across the words on the page and he read them out.

You were a hero.

Dad smiled; his eyes glistened. He ruffled Ethan’s hair. “Thank you, son,” he said. Then, slowly, tears rolled down Dad’s face and on to his jumper. Dad was crying. Dad wiped the tears with his hand and Ethan sat down next to him. He turned a page. He wrote the words bigger than ever. He held out the notebook.

Dad cried harder then. “I’m sorry too, Ethan,” he said. “Sorry we didn’t talk about that boy at the time.” Dad pulled Ethan on to the sofa and hugged him tight.

“I love you, son,” he said.