A YELLOW BALLOON

I was twelve when we moved to Dunby.  Rosie was only young then, maybe two or three. She lived next door, with Mr and Mrs Smith – and she was lovely, with her brown eyes as deep as pools and her long, soft locks of deep auburn tumbling down like the feathers of a beautiful bird.

She and I became inseparable.  Like me, she was an only one and it became the natural thing for me to call round for her every morning in the school holidays.  We played together all day; even though she was much younger than me, I never wanted to be with anyone else.

We played in our garden, and in the Smiths’ too, which was much bigger with lots of places to hide.  And in the woods, where there were trees for me to climb (but not Rosie, it wouldn’t have been safe) and in the park with its swings and roundabouts.  She loved to jump on the roundabout while it was moving, and I had to be careful not to go too fast.  In those days it was safe, with supervision, to swim in the little river, and I learned there.  Rosie was a natural at that, she didn’t need any teaching.  And if we found a bit of old rope, or even just strong string, we’d play tug of war.

Then tragedy struck.  Mr and Mrs Smith were both killed in a car accident only five miles from home.  They had no relatives who could take Rosie and after a lot of heart-searching by my parents (and a lot of pleading from me) it was agreed that she would come to live with us.

Despite the tragic circumstances, things eventually settled down; and my life was even more pleasant with Rosie living at our house.  My teenage years passed quickly, bringing my story up to the present time.

I’m 19 now and I’m at university.  After I moved into a room on the campus, my parents decided to make their oft-discussed move to the seaside.  They now live in Westwick-on-Sea, in a bungalow just across the road from the beach.  It’s great for Rosie, now 10, and whenever It’s end of term I come back to see them all.  That weekend, I brought my girlfriend, Sally.  We’ve been going out for a couple of months now and I’d been meaning to introduce her to Mum and Dad, as I’m beginning to think this may be the real thing.  There was a special deal on the train, a second ticket for just 50p on the Thursday evening only; we students are always short of money, as you know, so I went for it.

Of course, I introduced Sally to Rosie, too.  I hoped they’d get on well but I have to say that at first, Sally was a bit cool.  I can’t blame her, I’ve probably rabbited on so much about Rosie that Sally was sick of the sight of her before she’d even seen her (if you know what I mean).  Anyway, on the Sunday afternoon Sally and I fancied a quiet time together, so we  went for a walk on the beach.  A little girl was playing happily with a yellow balloon, but she  lost control of the string and it floated off on the wind and out to sea.

The little one was crying and her Mum was trying to comfort her, without success.  There was only one thing to do – I went in to get it for her.  But the wind blew it out of my reach.  I struck out hard to swim a little closer, but then I was immobilised by an agonising pain in my right leg.  It was cramp, and I couldn’t swim another stroke.  I was having trouble, in fact, just to stay afloat – I was in real danger of drowning.

Sally, bless her, did her best.  She could only swim about fifty yards or so; and that was in the friendly atmosphere of the uni pool, in her spotted blue bikini.  Not in sweater and jeans, in a Channel swell.  But she tried, she waded in waist deep, but couldn’t reach me.

Then she saw Dad and Rosie, further along the beach.  Sally waved and called to them.  In a flash, Rosie had rushed past Sally and was by my side in the water.  With my arms locked around her neck, she pulled me clear into the shallows.  I’ll always be grateful that we’d gone swimming those years ago, and that she’d loved it and had become such a strong swimmer.  Not bad for a ten year-old!

Slowly recovering my breath, and rubbing my sore leg, I was a pitiful sight there on the sand.  But my arms were around both of my girls, who, between them, had saved me: Sally, my darling girlfriend and Rosie, my lovely red setter.