It was getting darker now, and Marty looked over at the pumpkin. It seemed to be almost glowing in the firelight. It was an illusion, of course, but there was something about its orange skin that made it look molten. Like it had been poured from a furnace. He got up, leaving the fire’s warmth behind. He went to sit next to it.

Getting the pumpkin to the size of a small car by the end of summer still felt impossible. They’d need it to be big enough to fit Marty and Grandad comfortably, and tall enough not to sit too low in the water. They’d need the skin to be thick enough to withstand the water and the waves, and the walls of the pumpkin to be strong enough to withstand any rough weather. It was a big, big ask. Marty eyed the pumpkin. Its skin was a deep and shocking orange.

He sat for a moment before pulling out the little statue of the Eiffel Tower from his pocket. It was only a few inches high. Made of a silver metal that by now had chipped here and there. He turned it in his fingers and watched as it glinted in the warm light. It felt so familiar under his fingers. He knew every angle. Every curve.

“Grandad said we’re going to sail in you,” he whispered to the pumpkin. “I think it’s absolutely bonkers, but he says that you’re going to take us to see the Eiffel Tower.”

Marty listened. There was nothing but the sound of Grandad tinkering and the crackle of the fire.

“I know it’s not true, but…”—Marty smiled—“there’s a part of me that wishes it was…”

Marty kept smiling wistfully. He looked over. Grandad was finishing up fiddling with the engine, so Marty got up and started to walk over to him to help him clear away his tools. It was late, and they needed to get home.

Behind him, the pumpkin creaked. Its skin was luminous in the firelight. Its tendrils curled a little as its rotund body swelled and groaned. It expanded. Pushed out its waist. It became bigger and bigger until it was the size of a truck tire. By the time Marty and Grandad closed the gate home, it sat resplendent and huge like a fat happy Buddha on the rich soil.

NINETEEN

MARTY COULDN’T BELIEVE his eyes. Grandad stood next to him in wonder. Grandad took off his hat and scratched his head.

“What on earth did you give it last night?”

Marty could feel his heart beating in his chest. His mouth was dry.

“I don’t know … I…”

“But it’s doubled in size, overnight?”

Marty looked at it in confusion.

“I … I … I gave it some tea … like you told me to … and I…”

The pumpkin’s sides were spilling out over the raised bed. Like a large bottom on a narrow train seat.