Water Wings

by Morris Gleitzman

  Winston had heard them too.

  If he wasn’t in the freezer he’d have reminded her before she dived in.

  They called it chest weed because it wrapped itself round the chests of swimmers, and the ones that drowned ended up with it growing inside their ribcages.

  Pearl tore at it but her fingers slipped off.

  It was like slimy birthday present ribbon but a million times stronger.

  OK, she said silently to the weed. I’ll do a deal. Let me go and I’ll be grateful for Gran.

  The weed didn’t budge.

  She kicked as hard as she could and felt it cutting into her waist.

  Her heart was scrabbling.

  She was running out of breath.

  Then suddenly the water exploded and there were bubbles surging all around her.

  Pearl saw a huge dark shape moving towards her through the water.

  A whale?

  A fridge full of energetic flathead?

  No, it was Gran.

  Gran wasn’t the only one coughing as she dragged them into the shallows.

  Pearl knelt in the muddy water and coughed harder than she ever had in her life.

  She coughed up water, bits of weed, half her guts it felt like.

  When they’d all stopped, Gran grabbed Mitch by the neck.

  ‘You dopey bugger,’ she roared, ‘you know you can’t swim.’

  ‘I’m learning,’ croaked Mitch. ‘I can’t learn on dry land, can I?’

  Gran spat disgustedly into the water.

  She reached into the sodden folds of her dress and pulled out an even more sodden packet of cigarettes.

  ‘I’m beginning to reckon,’ she rasped, squeezing the packet into pulp, ‘that perhaps I shouldn’t have brung you.’

  Mitch looked so hurt that Pearl felt a bit sorry for him.

  Even though he was an idiot.

  Then Gran sighed and gave him a grin.

  ‘Only joshing,’ she said.

  She turned to Pearl.

  ‘And you,’ she said. ‘In your letter you sounded a right tragic case. Now I get here and find you’re a hero.’

  Before Pearl could answer, Gran clamped her in a painfully tight hug.

  Pearl struggled to explain that she wasn’t a tragic case, just a bit lonely, but Gran was squeezing her too hard.

  From the shore came a quiet cough.

  Pearl looked up.

  It was the taxi driver.

  ‘Hope you’ve got some dry money,’ he said.

  When Pearl came out of her room with dry clothes on, Mitch was in the rocking chair rubbing his hair with a towel.

  He looked at her sheepishly.

  ‘Thanks for trying to save me.’

  ‘S’OK,’ said Pearl. ‘I’d have done it for anyone. Well, maybe not Craigette Benson.’

  Mitch grinned.

  Don’t grin, thought Pearl, you don’t even know who Craigette Benson is.

  ‘Why did you go out so deep if you can’t swim?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ said Mitch.

  She saw he was watching her closely.

  ‘For most of my life,’ he said, ‘I’ve had a guardian angel.’

  Pearl stared at him.

  Perhaps her ears were blocked with chest weed and she hadn’t heard him properly.

  ‘Doug’s invisible,’ continued Mitch, ‘but he keeps an eye on me and stops me getting hurt.’

  Pearl rolled her eyes.

  That’s all she needed.

  A loony cousin.

  She waited for him to go on, possibly about his visits to Mars, but he was staring at the towel, picking at a thread.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said.

  Pearl wondered if there was some medicine she should be giving him.

  Gran came out of the bathroom with a towel round her and a cigarette in her mouth and her hair spiked up.

  ‘Ripper shower,’ she said. ‘Water up our way’s so full of mineral salts it’s like washing in gravel.’

  Her feet were making puddles on the carpet.

  Pearl thought about offering her the fluffy slippers.

  Not much point.

  She’d only fit a couple of toes in.

  Gran blew out smoke and had a cough.

  Perhaps she’s got a dry throat, thought Pearl.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she asked, pointing to the almost-matching china tea set on the coffee table next to Mitch.

  ‘I’d rather have a beer,’ said Gran, rummaging in one of her suitcases.

  Gran pulled out a plastic thermos and poured herself a beaker of what looked to Pearl like the brown stuff that had come out of Winston’s bottom the time he’d eaten too much muesli.

  ‘I have to guzzle this health sludge three times a day,’ said Gran, taking a swig and grimacing.

  ‘Yoghurt, bran, lecithin, kelp and some sort of pollen. Doc reckons it’ll keep me healthy. It’s pretty crook if I don’t have something to wash it down.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Pearl, feeling sick, ‘Mum doesn’t drink beer.’

  ‘No worries,’ said Gran, ‘I’ll pick up a slab later. Hey, top rocker.’

  She went over to the rocking chair and stroked it admiringly.

  Pearl took a deep breath.

  ‘I got it for you,’ she said quietly.

  Gran beamed at her.

  ‘That was very sweet Pearl, thank you.’

  Mitch stood up.

  ‘Be careful Gran,’ he said. ‘You don’t want to hurt yourself like you did when you fell backwards off Geoff Nile’s trail bike.’

  Gran aimed a pretend swipe at him.

  Then she licked her lips and rubbed her hands together.

  ‘OK,’ she said, ‘let’s give it a twirl.’

  She squeezed herself into the chair and slowly rocked back and forward, eyes closed, face glowing with pleasure.

  ‘I could spend my last days in this little beauty,’ she said, ‘no risk.’

  Pearl felt a grin creep across her own face.

  She reached for the crocheted blanket.

  Then, with a creak and a loud snap, the chair collapsed.

  ‘Gran,’ shouted Mitch.

  Gran, speechless with astonishment, lay on her back among splintered wood and pieces of shattered tea set.

  Then she roared with laughter.

  Pearl stared, horrified.

  Mitch started to laugh too.

  Pearl ran into the kitchen.

  She flung open the freezer door and stuck her head inside.

  ‘It’s a disaster, Winston,’ she said. ‘My only chance at a grandma and she’s a monster.’

  Pearl pressed Winston’s frozen fur to her wet cheek.

  ‘I don’t know what we’re going to do,’ she whispered.

  Winston’s eye didn’t glint.

  He obviously didn’t have any suggestions.

  7

  ‘Twenty-three minutes,’ said Pearl indignantly.

  She pressed her ear to the bedroom wall.

  The shower was still running and Mitch was still singing the theme to ‘Star Trek’.

  ‘Twenty-three minutes he’s been in there,’ she said to Winston. ‘Mum’ll go spare when she gets back and sees the electricity bill.’

  A tear rolled down Winston’s cheek and plopped onto the bedspread.

  Pearl picked him up anxiously.

  ‘It’s not that serious,’ she said.

  Then she realised it was just his ice melting.

  ‘Come on,’ she said sadly, ‘better get you back to the freezer.’

  She wrapped Winston in a clean T-shirt and hurried out into the hallway.

  And stopped dead.

  Gran was blocking the way.

  Pearl could feel melting ice running down her arm.

  She wished she’d wrapped Winston in something bigger.

  A sheet or a raincoat.

  Gran saw Pearl and smiled.

  ‘Sorry his lordship’s hogging the bathroom,’ she sa
id. ‘We had a drought for eight years before the flood and he’s never been in a shower that goes for longer than two minutes.’

  Pearl clutched the T-shirt and desperately hoped she hadn’t left any bits of Winston poking out.

  Grans who broke rocking chairs and tea sets, even if they did pretend they were sorry later, weren’t the sort of grans who’d understand about frozen guinea pigs.

  Pearl had an awful vision of Winston in the garbage and Gran yelling about rodents.

  Or even worse, in a casserole dish.

  She’d heard about outback people. In droughts they ate anything that moved.

  ‘Mitch,’ yelled Gran. ‘Out of that shower or I’ll put a knot in the hot water pipe.’

  Her eyesight must be going, thought Pearl gratefully. She hasn’t even noticed I’m holding a soggy T-shirt.

  Gran turned back to Pearl and pointed to the soggy T-shirt.

  ‘When you’ve finished your washing,’ she said, ‘fancy giving me a hand? I’ve promised Mitch a swimming lesson this morning and I’m still feeling a bit tuckered out after our dip in the lake yesterday.’

  Pearl desperately tried to think of an excuse.

  She couldn’t.

  All she could think of was getting Winston to the kitchen before he completely defrosted.

  ‘OK,’ she said.

  ‘Good-o,’ said Gran, and wheezed into Mum’s bedroom.

  Pearl hurried down the hall.

  ‘Relax,’ she whispered to the T-shirt. ‘She didn’t see you.’

  Pearl stood in the shallow end of the pool and wished she was somewhere else.

  Bed.

  The movies.

  The dentist.

  She glanced over at the wooden bench outside the changing rooms.

  Gran waved encouragingly.

  Oh well, thought Pearl, let’s get it over with.

  ‘Watch closely what I do with my arms and legs,’ she said to Mitch, ‘then you try it.’

  She swam across the pool, weaving through the other swimmers.

  Mitch watched closely.

  Then he tried it.

  After two strokes he sank.

  ‘OK,’ said Pearl, after he’d surfaced spluttering, ‘watch carefully how I float.’

  She floated on her back for thirty seconds.

  Mitch watched closely.

  Then he tried it.

  After two seconds he sank.

  While he surfaced spluttering, Pearl took a weary breath.

  The pool didn’t close for another six hours.

  ‘OK,’ she said, ‘I’ll hold you.’

  Mitch lay back onto the water and Pearl held him under his shoulders.

  ‘Yes!’ he shouted. ‘I’m floating. Gran, look.’

  Gran waved encouragingly.

  ‘Let go,’ yelled Mitch.

  Pearl sighed and let go.

  Mitch sank.

  ‘Mitch,’ said Pearl, after he’d surfaced spluttering, ‘I’m not a very good swimming teacher. Gran’d be much better.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ said Mitch, digging water out of his ear. ‘I’ve got heavy bones. Dad’s the same. You’re doing a really good job.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Pearl.

  She wondered what a bad job would be. Holding him under and drowning him?

  ‘Anyway,’ said Mitch, ‘Gran shouldn’t go into swimming pools. She’s got a bad chest.’

  ‘She managed OK in the lake,’ said Pearl.

  She turned towards the bench to plead with Gran to take over.

  Gran was talking to one of the pool attendants.

  At last, thought Pearl, she’s bringing in a professional.

  Gran came to the edge of the pool.

  ‘I’m feeling a bit tuckered out,’ she said, ‘so I’m going home for a health sludge and a lie down. This nice bloke’ll keep an eye on you both. Oo-roo.’

  The pool attendant waved encouragingly.

  Pearl sighed.

  Gran gave them a thumbs up and walked off.

  Pearl turned back to Mitch.

  ‘Why do you want to learn to swim anyway?’ she asked. ‘Where you live there’s a drought most of the time.’

  ‘And floods the rest of the time,’ said Mitch. ‘That’s why I’ve decided to devote my life to flood control. Floods wreak terrible havoc on sheep and soft furnishings and families. My family’s been torn apart by one. Mum and Dad sent me down here with Gran cause there’s poo floating in our main street and they’re too busy coordinating the clean-up committee to keep an eye on me. I want to find a way of harnessing the power of floods and using it for the good of humanity and livestock and families.’

  Pearl stared at him.

  His eyes were shining with excitement and chlorine.

  ‘If you’re going to control floods,’ she said, ‘why do you need to be able to swim?’

  Mitch grinned.

  ‘For when I make mistakes.’

  Pearl found herself grinning too.

  It was exactly the sort of thing Winston would say.

  ‘Let’s try backstroke,’ said Mitch.

  Pearl did backstroke across the pool.

  Mitch watched closely.

  Then he tried it.

  After two metres he sank.

  Exasperated, Pearl waited for him to surface spluttering.

  ‘Mitch,’ she said. ‘This guardian angel you reckon you’ve got. Why don’t you ask him to keep you afloat?’

  Mitch’s face dropped.

  ‘He’s not around any more. Guardian angels are for little kids, see, and he was spending too much time looking after me and I was really worried there’d be little kids missing out, so I told him to nick off.’

  He bit his lip and stared at a four year old doing backstroke.

  ‘I really miss him, but.’

  Pearl realised she was biting her lip too.

  This is ridiculous, she thought.

  He’s a total loony.

  Off with the fairies.

  A sandbag short of a flood control levee.

  So how come I know how he feels?

  Pearl dumped her swimming bag on her bedroom floor and dumped herself down next to it.

  I’m going to stay here for the rest of my life, she thought, and be a shoe rack.

  At least it won’t be as exhausting as being a swimming teacher.

  She heard Mitch in the kitchen telling Gran that the swimming lesson had lasted more than three hours.

  ‘So can you swim?’ she heard Gran ask.

  Pearl shook her head.

  ‘How about float?’ she heard Gran ask.

  Pearl shook her head.

  ‘He can sink,’ she muttered.

  Then she smelt something.

  She dragged herself to her feet, sniffing frantically, panic clawing inside her.

  She could smell cooked peas and sweet corn.

  And something else she didn’t recognise.

  She sprinted to the kitchen, heart scrabbling.

  Gran was at the stove, shovelling food from the wok onto plates.

  ‘G’day,’ said Gran. ‘I’ve done a bit of a stir-fry for tea. Found a few things in the freezer.’

  Pearl stared at the peas and corn and nearly fainted.

  Mixed in with them were small strips of pale meat.

  8

  Pearl felt her blood go cold. Even colder than Winston’s had been until recently.

  Gran and Mitch were staring at her.

  Then Gran started to laugh.

  Even though the kitchen was spinning and Pearl felt like she was going to throw up, she still managed to calculate the number of years jail Gran would get for cooking a member of the family.

  Twenty at least.

  And an extra ten for laughing.

  Then she realised Gran was shaking her and saying something.

  ‘It’s chicken,’ Gran was shouting, eyes wet with mirth.

  ‘Chicken?’ Pearl heard herself say.

  ‘Chicken,’ said Gran.
>
  Pearl flung open the freezer and rummaged frantically through the apple pies and mini pizzas.

  No Winston.

  She turned back to Gran.

  ‘If that’s not Winston in the wok,’ she demanded, ‘where is he?’

  Gran reached into the back of the freezer and opened a plastic salad crisper.

  Inside lay Winston on a slice of bread.

  Pearl felt relief flood through her.

  ‘The ice was making his fur sodden,’ said Gran, ‘so I put him in there. The bread’ll soak up the humidity and stop him going mouldy.’

  She put a big sympathetic hand on Pearl’s shoulder.

  Shaking, Pearl picked up the crisper.

  ‘We’re feeling a bit tuckered out,’ Pearl said with dignity, ‘so we’re going to our room for a lie down.’

  Later, after Pearl’s breathing was back to normal and she’d apologised to Winston for her relative’s rudeness in making him move home without asking, there was a tap at her door.

  Mitch poked his head in.

  He was holding a plate of stir-fry.

  ‘Do you want any?’ he asked.

  Pearl glared at him.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, and went.

  Pearl lay with Winston for a long time and thought about a lot of things, including feral grans and mad cousins and becoming a vegetarian.

  Later still, when Winston was starting to thaw, Pearl took him back to the freezer and tucked him in with a fresh slice of bread and said goodnight.

  On her way back down the hall she heard a noise coming from Mum’s room.

  It sounded like more mirth.

  Probably Gran still having a chuckle about my mistake, thought Pearl.

  Then she realised it wasn’t laughter.

  It was sobbing.

  The door was open a crack.

  Pearl peered in.

  Gran was sitting on the bed in a thick nightie, shoulders heaving, tears streaming.

  Pearl stared, shocked.

  Then she understood.

  She tapped on the door, went in and put her hand on Gran’s shoulder.

  Gran looked up, startled.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Pearl. ‘You don’t have to be sad. Even though it was a tragedy Winston dying, he and I still have a pretty good relationship.’

  She grabbed a handful of tissues from Mum’s bedside table and pushed them into Gran’s hands.

  Gran seemed confused.

  Then she managed a small grin through her tears.

  Phew, thought Pearl. Glad I spotted that. She might have been blubbing all night.