Finally, Mousey was back on dry land. I shouted for him to help me. But he and Piggy just stared at me from the top of the bank; Mousey wet through and shivering; Piggy shivering nearly as hard; just staring at me in silence, as if they were waiting for something. Now that I saw them so close together, I could tell they were brothers. They had the same blue eyes, the same mousy hair, the same look—except that Mousey was thin, of course. This is the wrong way around, I thought. The swine should be in the water, not me.

It was the dog that saved me. Someone walking his own dog heard it and came to investigate. He found me still in the water, and Piggy having a choking fit, with Mousey trying to shut up the dog by feeding it biscuit after biscuit. I know. It sounds quite funny now. Even so, I might have died. I might have drowned, like Bunny.

Both of us left Netherton Green after that; Mousey, to Abbey Road Juniors. My mum and dad tried to teach me at home, at least until they were sure of me. I never saw Mousey again. Of course, I denied his story that I’d pushed him in, and although his brother supported his tale, the waters had been muddied enough for me to escape retribution. The school made a few inquiries, but by then I was already gone. I don’t suppose there was much point after that. I think my dad guessed something, though. In any case, I got to see a whole lot of specialists; people from different Churches who decided that I was susceptible, and that My Condition (yes, that was what they were calling it now) needed careful monitoring.

And that is how, eventually, I ended up at St. Oswald’s, which has actually turned out to have quite a few compensations. At least until Poodle messed it all up. Talking about me behind my back. Taking my place with Mr. Clarke. Just like that business at Netherton Green.

Just like you, Mousey.

Chapter 8

8

September 26, 2005