October Exclusive - "Bobbing" - Part 1

ONE

Bobbing for apples is for babies, like Lucy, already in her Halloween costume (a pink, polyester monstrosity inspired by Paw Patrol). She got to try bobbing first, while Mummy held back the fuzzy brown ears of Lucy’s headpiece.

A pink toddler, looking with trepidation at her watery reflection. Like any two year old, she isn’t self-conscious of her padded rear (Why isn’t she potty-trained yet? Her big brother asked, just yesterday, tired of the smells and the wipes for their mother to reply, You were just the same! In fact, I remember you wearing nappies at bedtime until you were four).

No, Lucy doesn’t worry about her underwear, but she does worry about monsters, and what might be lurking at the bottom of the bowl. Besides, she doesn’t even like getting wet.

After just a second, she rears back up, like a horse refusing to jump a fence. Lucy is all about Halloween, but shy of her third birthday, she’s not a fan of water on her face, just like when it’s time to rinse the shampoo from her hair at bath-time, and especially if – as her thirteen-year-old brother insists – the water is spooky.

Because spooky sounds bad, spooky sounds like a monster under the bed and all the other things her big brother been talking about for the last few days.

“Phew,” he says, nodding at Lucy. “You just got a way with that, I saw a ghostie in there getting ready to bite your face off.” He opens his mouth and chomps down for effect, and Lucy squeaks with fright, and then pats at her lips and noise reflexively, as if checking that everything is still in the right place.

“Robin,” says their mother. “Stop trying to scare your sister.”

Trying? Robin smirks. “It’s Halloween, Mum, things are supposed to get a little bit scary, otherwise what’s the point?”

Mum picks up Lucy and replies, “The point is to have fun. To dress up and get sweeties. Isn’t that right, sweet girl?”

The toddler nods, her brown ears flapping in agreement.

No witches or goblins for Lucy, Robin notes. He remembers Auntie Sarah showing up to the house with a bag of costumes, leaving two at the house when Lucy just…couldn’t…decide between one fantastically un-spooky option and the other.

(If forced to choose, Robin would agree that dressing up as Skye from Paw Patrol, despite the pinkness, is still better than the alternative, a costume that made his teeth hurt just to look at it.)

“Good girl,” says Mum, tapping the girl’s painted-brown nose. “Good doggie.” Lucy giggles and squirms in her mother’s arms while Robin rolls his eyes at the scene. He’s played plenty of make-believe games with Lucy, but seriously, can he go now? Can he get out of here before the kitchen descends into pure sugary stupidity?

“Want to try the apples again?” Mum asks Lucy gently, “Or is it time to get sweeties?”

Lucy looks down at the bowl with evident suspicion. Robin imagines how the little girl’s brain works, deciding between novelty and a known pleasure. He snorts with laughter. His sister has been plumping for safe, for sugary-sweet since she could express a preference.

And then Lucy surprises him by going for a third option. She points at her brother. “Robin do it.”

Her brother immediately waves the idea away. “Thanks, but no thanks.” He’s not about to get down on his hands and knees and stick his head in a bowl of water. He’s twelve years old, he’s basically a teenager!

“Robin,” his mother says, her voice laced with that same disappointed town she’s been using since he got home from school. “Play along. It’s just a little game.”

“Mum,” Robin says, with that two-syllable Muh-um whine. “I’m already late.”

Late for what? Hanging with his friends. And one of them will bring beer or alcopops, and they will wait on a street corner for those trick or treaters who are old enough to walk the neighborhood on their own but not old enough to fight off Robin and his mates. But isn’t this just a rite of passage? Robin was bullied, now he’s the bully.

“You can spare two minutes.” His mum gives him a pleading look. “Be a good big brother, Lucy doesn’t ask for much.” Mum looks tired – and doesn’t she always look tired these days, since Dad walked out, since their family went pear-shaped? Mum adds softly, as if the two-year-old isn’t going to hear, “She worships you.”

Robin holds up his hands in submission. “Fine. I’ll have one go.” He sticks his tongue out at Lucy. “I’ll only need one try anyway.”

He kneels down on the floor, glad that his friends aren’t here to see him take part in such a childish game. An indulgence to make his little sister happy and to get his mum off his back. And then he can go out with his mates, off the hook.

“You do it,” Lucy declares with seeming confidence. “You do it, Robin.”

Mum’s right. She does worship him. And that’s not such a hardship, most of the time. Robin’s okay reading bedtimes stories like The Lonely Snowman, of the one about the starfish, or even Lucy’s favorite, Snow White and the Good Witch. Reading those words and letting Lucy turn the page, reading those words and seeing his little sister’s eyes drift shut. The goodnight hug, the ‘I love yous’, the air kisses from the bedroom door. Robin is okay with all of that; but he also needs time off for good behaviour, and it’s pretty much his right as an almost-teenager to get wasted with his mates at Halloween.

Robin gives his sister a wink before lowering his head into the bowl. This shouldn’t take long; he knows the art of bobbing for apples. He holds his breath and pushes an apple all the way down to the bottom of the bowl before attempting to bite it.

He’s fine holding his breath, he has no problem opening his eyes underwater, and Robin is calm, he is cool, green grass, until he bites into the apple.

Instead of raising his head out of the water and claiming victor, Robin is overcome by a rush of sweet juice, as if the apple were more balloon than fruit, read to burst. He gags, then chokes, and suddenly he is drowning, now he will surely die in a bowl of water on the kitchen floor.

He’s stuck in the bowl, he’s stuck forever, and his friends will laugh when they hear, and the monster will bite off his face.

No. Rubbish. Robin gets a grip, he pushes with his hands, but his hands are too small, they’re toy hands, and he falls forward, sucking in water with surprise, and now, yes, he’s drowning for real.

Strong, adult-sized hands reach under his armpits and pull him away, out of the water, and somehow he is in his mother’s arms.

“Oh my goodness!” Mum exclaims, wiping at Robin’s face with a free hand. “You got all wet! You’re soaking!” Her tone is sweet and caring, but it’s also amused.

Robin coughs up water, stares at his mother. Didn’t she just see what happened? He looks around for witnesses, and spies Lucy standing beneath them, looking up with wide eyes.

“Magic,” she says solemnly, pointing at her brother.

“Muh-um,” whines Robin, “I nearly died!” But he doesn’t quite say that. Because his tongue misbehaves, his words are a mess. Muhhh…neh-dye!

“You’re okay,” says Mum. She takes a tea towel to his face, just the same way that she wipes at Lucy’s mouth after dinner.

“Muh-um!” Robin tries again. He waves his hands at her. But yes, his hands are those toy hands. He stares at them, incredulous.

“What a soggy boy,” says Mum, using the sing-song voice she normally saves just for Lucy. “And your top is wet too!” She puts him down on the ground, and Robin stands on his toy feet and legs. Mum looks at her son, and just like that, she seems surprised, shocked.

Robin nods. Exactly. He’s tiny, come on. Something weird is-

“Mummy forgot all about your costume, sweetie!” And she looks crestfallen, as if this is the issue, as if there’s nothing else at stake.

Robin turns to face Lucy and feels a stone of fear in his stomach when he discovers that they’re the same height. In fact, his baby sister might just have an inch or two on him. He stands in the bedraggled mess of his school uniform, trousers and boxers falling to his ankles, his modesty saved by the wet school shirt that now hangs like a dress.

“Magic,” says Lucy again. And Robin understands that in this extraordinary moment, Lucy understands what has happened more clearly than their mother.

Robin shakes his head in bewilderment. How is it that a not-quite three-year-old girl has a better handle on what’s happened than Mum.

Magic. That’s impossible. But if it isn’t? Then anything’s possible. And besides, Lucy’s head is filled with princesses and talking snowmen. Her brother getting younger is hardly the strangest thing she’s heard of.

“Oh, I know what we can do,” says Mum.

“Hospital,” Robin declares. “Emergency!” Hoh-pibbuh. Emeh…gee!

“You can wear the other costume Auntie Sarah brought.” Mum looks at her two children and nods with growing certainty. “It was a little small on your sister anyway.”

Robin blinks, and then his face grows warm with a mix of fear and fury. No, his mind cries. There’s no way.

Mum sighs. “You’re going to look so cute!”

Robin shakes his head. Somehow, he’s back to being a toddler. This isn’t a problem cured by a change of clothing. But the way his mother looks at him, her eyes soft and adoring, tells Robin that he’s not in charge of what happens next.