Head Spinners (10 page)

‘This can't be happening!' I cried. It had all been so perfect. Splash was the only one who could help Monty come back to life. I helped Splash, and Splash would help Monty. It all made sense.

‘Splash?' I said, gripping the rim of the bucket.

I gasped again. She was curled around the side of the bucket, resting on the bottom. Some of her scales had fallen off and her pinky-orange skin looked blotchy and raw.

She didn't even move. Was something wrong with her? Did she need to go back to the river?

‘What's going on, Jamie?' Mum asked. She looked down at Splash with her nose scrunched up.

But I wasn't giving up yet.

I stood up and grabbed the apple stick on my desk. Luckily, it was still covered in leaves. ‘There!' I said, holding out the stick. ‘See? It's Monty's old stick. Splash brought it back to life!'

Mum and Dad muttered something to each other, but Connor tilted his head.

I held it out in two hands, but Connor shrugged. ‘It just looks like you broke it off a tree this morning.'

‘Jamie, you have to let us help you,' Dad said.

‘Just let me dig up Monty,' I pleaded. ‘Please. It doesn't hurt anyone. Just let me try.'

But from the looks on my parents' faces, I realised that they would send me to the loony bin before they let me dig up Monty.

I felt like screaming. Nothing made sense anymore. The pieces of trout, the branch, the tiny cow . . . it had been
magic
 . . .

But not magic enough.

Mum stepped forward and tried to hold my hands. ‘Jamie, this business with Monty . . . It's making you sick.'

I shook my head.

‘We're going to call a doctor who can help you.'

‘A doctor?' I said quietly. I didn't need a doctor. I needed . . .

‘I
killed
Monty,' I said slowly.

‘Sweetheart.' Mum tried to hug me, but I was clear now.

I stood in front of my parents with my back straight, and looked them in the eye. I felt calm. The time had come. Ever since I had left the gate open, I had been moving towards this moment.

‘I killed Monty,' I said. ‘Why aren't you mad at me? Why haven't you yelled at me?'

Mum and Dad just stared.

I said it again, slowly, so they'd have to respond: ‘I. Killed. Monty.'

‘It was an accident, sweetheart,' Mum said.

‘What do you want us to do?' Dad asked and held his hands out helplessly.

‘You're my parents! Yell at me! Make me pay for what I did.'

‘You want us to punish you?' said Dad.

I deserved to be punished. I had to make up for what I had done to Monty. If Splash wasn't going to bring Monty back to life, I had to find another way to pay for what I did.

‘Okay, we'll think of something,' Dad said. Mum patted my shoulder and they both left the room.

I sat on my bed with Connor.

‘Do you believe me about the trout?' I asked.

Connor shrugged. ‘I suppose so,' he said. ‘You don't usually make up crazy things.' But he didn't look so sure of himself.

I started talking then. I told Connor everything – about the jumping sandwich and the pieces of trout. I told him about Splash doing magic on the apple stick and Monty's old collar. Through it all, he listened quietly. He didn't laugh or even shake his head.

At the end, all he said was, ‘Jamie, you didn't kill Monty.'

‘Yes I did.' I knew exactly what I had done. I would have to live with it for the rest of my life.

‘You didn't kill Monty,' Connor said again. ‘You left the gate open and Monty ran onto the road.'

I shrugged. ‘It's the same thing.'

‘No it's not,' Connor said. He spoke slowly, as though he was saying something very important. ‘You made a mistake, but you didn't kill Monty.'

I sighed. ‘It was my fault, Connor.'

Connor didn't say anything to that. He put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze.

We sat there, waiting for Mum and Dad to come back with my punishment. And I didn't even feel silly getting a hug from my brother.

The punishment my parents thought up was typical of them. At first it sounded silly, but after a while it made sense.

Remember Monty.

That was it – they wanted me to learn how to feel happy about Monty's life. No more feeling sad and guilty when I thought of him. I had to forgive myself for leaving the gate open, and I had to honour Monty's life.

All afternoon, we pulled out photos of Monty and talked about the funny things he used to do, like climb up the woodpile and through the shed window during a thunderstorm. Or the way he could snap up a piece of cheese that we rested on the tip of his nose.

It felt good to be with my family again. No more silent looks or worried sighs. I didn't have to feel scared about what they were thinking or worry that they hated me for what I had done.

And I realised that I wanted to say sorry. Not just to Monty, but to Mum and Dad and Connor. Monty had been their dog too.

Connor said, ‘But you didn't kill Monty, remember?'

So I said, ‘Okay. I'm sorry for leaving the gate open.'

Then Connor hit me on the arm and said, ‘Just don't do it again.'

And we all laughed because the gate's open all the time now. There's no reason to shut it.

It was good to feel normal for once, but I hadn't forgotten about Splash. I kept thinking about her scales falling off. Maybe I'd kept her in a bucket too long. She needed to go back to the river. That was the only right thing to do.

I wished that I hadn't lied about Splash and kept her secret. I had thought I was protecting her, but now no one knew how special she was.

When I asked Dad if he would drive me and Splash down to the Oakdale River, he said that I could have the day off school tomorrow to think about Monty and take Splash to the river. Dad's not that bad, really.

When I went to bed that night, I gave Splash some worms and changed her water. She didn't look any worse than before. I wished she could talk. I wanted to ask her about her magic. Did it survive for only a short time? Why didn't it last forever?

‘Tomorrow, we'll take you back to the river,' I whispered. ‘You can have a normal home.'

I thought Splash might be too tired to listen to what I'd said, but she had heard. I didn't know it yet, but Splash had no plans to go back to the river.

At dawn the next morning I was woken by something wet on my face. I opened my eyes and wiped drops from my cheek.

In the dim light I saw scales flash in the air beside my bed, then disappear with a plop. I sat up and yawned. Splash was swishing in the bucket, facing my desk. When she saw me looking, she flipped her tail, as if she was pointing at something.

‘What do you want, Splash?' I whispered. The apple-tree stick was still sitting on my desk. I picked it up. ‘Do you want this?'

When Splash saw me pick up the stick, she turned in the bucket to face the door.

‘Okay,' I said, ‘if that's what you want.' With the bucket in one hand and the stick in the other I walked into the hall and stopped.

Splash, in her bucket, turned to face the kitchen. When we got to the kitchen, Splash turned around to face the back door.

‘Outside?'

As soon as we were out in the backyard Splash turned to face Monty's grave. I dared not hope.

I set the bucket down near the grave. Splash glistened in the morning sunlight but the dull patches where her scales had fallen off were bigger.

‘Can you do it now, Splash?' I asked breathlessly. ‘Can you bring back Monty?'

Her fins wilted. This wasn't the happy fish that I was so used to seeing.

‘It's okay, Splash,' I said. ‘Everything's alright. I feel better about Monty now. It's okay. Are you hungry?' The spot where Connor dug up his worms was right next to Monty's grave. It didn't take me long to dig up a worm for Splash.

When I held it in front of her face, she balanced it on her nose then tossed it to catch in her mouth.

‘Wow!' That was impressive. It reminded me of Monty eating cheese.

I looked at the spot where Connor dug up worms and then to Monty's grave. The faint glimmer of an idea took shape inside me.

Splash had eaten worms from Monty's grave, not just after she'd re-formed, but also when she'd first been caught. The bait worms that Connor sold to the cafe owner were from here. Was this where the magic had begun? From a spark of something still vital in Monty? Not his spirit exactly, but still part of him . . . a memory of who he used to be.

It made me feel happy and sad all over again to think that part of Monty had made his way back to me . . .

Splash jumped out of the water and touched her nose against Monty's apple-tree stick. When I held it near her face again she pushed it towards Monty's grave. There was still a small hole in it from where I'd been digging the day before.

‘Good idea.' I buried the roots of the stick in the hole above Monty's grave.

I stood back, brushing soil from my hands. ‘Okay now?' I asked Splash.

But her fins wilted even more.

Looking at Splash was like looking into a mirror of my feelings for Monty. It was as if Splash knew what I had been going through. She could understand how I felt.

Of course she could, something of Monty was in her . . .

I knelt next to the bucket. When she saw me kneel close, Splash jumped out of the bucket and touched my cheek with a kiss that felt like butterfly wings.

‘I'm taking you back to the river. You should go home.'

But Splash kept pointing her face to Monty's grave.

‘Do you mean . . .?' I whispered, not wanting to say it. ‘Are we saying goodbye?' I was only just managing to let go of Monty. I didn't want to say goodbye to Splash too.

But Splash jumped again and gave me another soft kiss.

A lump formed in my throat as I realised what she was giving me – a chance to say that I was sorry. A chance to say goodbye.

Slowly, I nodded. ‘Splash, I'll never forget you,' I said. ‘Thank you.'

Splash flicked her tail happily in the water. She didn't look sad now. She looked like she was ready to go.

‘Goodbye, Splash,' I whispered.

Splash jumped out of the bucket and flopped onto the upturned soil. She lay next to the stick and lifted her face to look at me.

Then she lay still.

It happened in an instant. At first I could see the life in Splash, in her gills and in her body. Then she was gone. Her body lay still. Lifeless.

Soon her fins and her scales and her other features melted away until Splash became the fishy blob that had once floated in the bucket. The big piece separated into a pile of smaller slivers of trout. I remembered them flipping around my room. Now they lay drying out in the sun.

All that life and joy, all gone.

Using my hands as a scoop, I pushed dirt over the pieces of trout until they were buried beside the stick. Then I poured the water from Splash's bucket onto the mound of dirt. I imagined it trickling past the pieces of fish and the roots of the stick, then soaking further down to where Monty's body lay.