The next time they went to the lake shore they called and called, and their voices echoed back to them across the water but there was no sign of the crocodile, and Jimmy wondered whether they had said something to offend or frighten her.

At last the still surface seemed to move, and the ripples came closer and closer until the lumpy green back of the crocodile emerged from the surface, and she hauled herself out onto the beach beside them.

‘Where have you been?’ Jimmy asked.

‘You’re not going to kill me, are you?’ The slits in her green eyes grew wider as she looked at him.

‘Don’t be silly. Why should I want to kill you?’

‘You and that boy were talking about killing the crocodile. You didn’t mean me, did you?’

Jimmy realised that she must have overheard them talking with Kit in the boat. ‘It was just make-believe,’ he said. ‘They’re characters from the book I showed you.’

‘Do they want to kill crocodiles?’

It was so hard to explain. ‘Captain Hook is a pirate and a bad man and wants to kill Peter Pan. He also wants to kill the crocodile, because it bit off his hand and he has to wear a hook instead. That’s why he’s called Captain Hook. Fortunately the crocodile has swallowed a clock, so you can tell where he is by the ticking noise. Peter fools the captain by mimicking the sound of the clock. And it all ends happily ever after.’

‘Thank goodness for that,’ the crocodile said, laughing. ‘And you say none of this really happened? It’s just a story?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And the crocodile is not evil then?’

‘In some ways it’s quite friendly. To Peter, at least.’

‘Are they friends?’

‘Sort of. Not proper friends, like you and me and Molly. And Kit.’

Her face brightened. ‘We’re all friends?’

‘Of course we are. We talk, we keep each other company. Most important of all, we trust each other,’ Jimmy said.

‘That’s wonderful. Thank you.’ She danced a little jig on her short stubby legs, kicking up a shower of sand and pebbles. ‘Hurray, I’ve got three new friends.’

17

Almost every day Jimmy badgered me to take him to see Eli, but the old man seemed to have gone AWOL. We visited twice that following week, but his hut was locked and deserted.

I worried that he might have given up the fight and walked away – heaven knew where. Pa assured me he’d have heard, had Eli already been moved into a council house. But he was nowhere to be seen in the churchyard or around the village, and no one in the pub had any knowledge of him. I began to imagine him dead or dying in a ditch somewhere.