Ten

At that moment, Nancy had been about to show Edward what she’d just found in the grave. The spongy, fragile remains of wood among the bones of the adult skeleton.

One part at the chest, the other between the jaws.

*   *   *

They hear Mat’s cry, and the tumble of the earth, and from that moment on, everything is blurry.

*   *   *

In a moment, they are at the pit.

At first, they are simply relieved to see that Mat is not fully covered, as they take in the mess of mud, Mat, and the ladder. Then they see the horror on his face, as he points wordlessly to the shell, now hanging out of the collapsed wall, right above his head.

“Oh, God,” says Edward, in a very small voice.

Then he shouts, “Go! To Eric’s house. His mother can call Emergency. Go!”

The girls run, and Edward edges around to the slightly safer end of the trench.

“Mat. It’s going to be okay. They’ve gone for help. They’ll get some help.”

Mat is scared. In shock from the fall, maybe a bone broken, too. “Edward,” he says. “Edward, Edward…”

“Help will come soon,” Edward says, but then he thinks that’s probably not true. There’s not even a police station on the island, which means sending a boat from the mainland, from Skarpness, which will take at least half an hour.

At that thought, Edward looks up to the far end of the trench, at the bomb, and at the same moment he hears a scream.

The scream is Merle, running across the field.

She’s screaming because Eric is kneeling at the trench, by the bomb.

Nancy and Isabella catch up with Merle, and grab her wrists, dragging her backward, trying to stop her from reaching Eric.

“No! Eric, no!” she wails.

Nancy pulls her back, hard, no longer languid.

Edward looks across the pit at Eric.

There’s no way he can rush him, get around to him in time. He thinks quickly, speaks calmly but firmly.

“No, Eric. It’s dangerous. Go to your mother, now, Eric. It’s dangerous here.”

Mat is lying at the bottom of the hole, fully comprehending the situation.

“Edward, Edward, Edward,” he whimpers, repeatedly.

“Eric. No!”

Eric takes no notice of Edward.

He leans over, and closes his fingers around the tail fin of the rusty shell, dropped by a dive-bomber in the closing stages of the War.

Now, no one dares breathe, even Merle has gone quiet, though she struggles to break free.

At the trench, Eric stands. The bomb is in his hands.

Edward stands, too, his legs turning to water.

Eric looks up at him.

“Eric. It’s dangerous.”

By way of reply, Eric stuffs his hare into his jacket pocket, then takes hold of the shell again with both hands.

In the pit, Mat is moaning.

Above it, Edward, Merle, Nancy, and Isabella watch as Eric walks across the meadow with the unexploded bomb, heading for the quayside.

In slow motion, they see him climb the steps onto the quay, walk slowly along the stone pier, past all the fishing boats, and stand, a lone figure isolated against the seascape beyond.

He drops the shell into the water, where it slips immediately and quietly out of sight with barely a splash, and calmly Eric turns back to the meadow.

As they run to meet him, and throw their arms around him, he is chewing the ear of his hare.

“It’s dangerous, Mommy,” he says.

Merle cries, and cries, and Edward cries, too, then pulls himself together. He is responsible here.

“Eric, you are so strong. We need to get Mat out of the hole. Can you do that? Can you help us?”

Eric nods.

*   *   *

Later that day, when everyone has calmed down, they sit around the table in Merle’s house.

Mat is fine, with just a sprained knee to show for his near premature burial. Everyone is drinking herbal tea, which Merle assures them is the best thing for their nerves.

“It’ll help you sleep tonight,” she says. “You, too, Eric. Drink up.”

She comes and stands behind her son, and puts her hands on his shoulders.

“You silly boy,” she says, trying to sound bright. “You could have been hurt. You could have been killed.”

Eric turns and looks up at his mother. “No. I couldn’t die. I’m not quite the last.”

Nancy and Isabella look at Edward for some explanation. He shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about Eric,” Merle explains. “He sometimes says things that don’t really make sense to me.”

“I wouldn’t have him any other way,” Edward says, putting his arm around Merle, because it just feels right to.

He’s never had children of his own. He thought that time was past, but who knows, he thinks, maybe it’s not too late yet.

He knows he’d be proud to call Eric his son, even if he does say strange things sometimes.

Eric smiles.

“I’m not quite the last,” he says again.