A Puddle

The puddle was where it always had been after rain. It appeared
every few days in this damp March, and lay between the tarmac of the
car park and the scrubby grass that surrounded the rugby pitch. It was
always the same muddy black colour. But when Jack came out to wait for
his friends on the empty car park after school it was the biggest he
had ever seen it. The car park was a good place to play. It belonged to
Jack because Sam, who had owned it before, had given it to him when he
and his Dad had moved away to Scotland. He had to look after it, to
make sure the others treated it properly. You had to treat Jack's car
park with respect.

While he waited for the others he threw stones into all the puddles
around where he sat on the scruffy ground. He chose each stone to suit
the size of the puddle, so when he came to the big black puddle he had
to get up and find a rock. He threw it in, expecting a big splash.
There wasn't a splash. The stone just went in and disappeared. Jack was
puzzled. As far as he knew, it was the rules that puddles had to make a
splash when you threw stones into them. He reached into the water to
get his lump of tarmac and try again. But the rock had gone. And the
puddle didn't seem to have a bottom any more. Jack pulled his hand out
of the water and sat back to think. He was going to dry his hand on his
trousers - but he didn't need to. Jack scratched his head with his
surprisingly dry hand. There was clearly something odd going on. He
looked round and saw Matthew and Simon sauntering across the
tarmac.
'Hurry up you lot! Come and look at this!' he shouted.
His shouts didn't have much effect on the two boys but they got there
eventually. Jack explained what he had just found. 'Wow,' said Simon
slowly after trying his hand in the puddle. 'What do you think it
is?'
'I don't know,' said Jack. 'But you can help me find out.'
Jack explained the plan that had occurred to him while he was waiting
for the others to arrive. Matthew wasn't very happy with it, but Jack
reminded him that it was his car park. Matthew shrugged and said it was
OK after all.
'Come on then,' Jack ordered.

He lay on the ground with his head over the puddle. His friends picked
up his ankles. Jack's stomach slithered over the stony ground and
followed his head, chest and arms into the puddle. Matthew and Simon
looked silently at each other as they counted up to fifteen in their
heads. Then they yanked on his legs and pulled him out on to the rough
ground. Jack leaped to his feet.
'Wow! That's amazing! Have a go, have a look!'

Matthew and Simon stared at him. 'What's going on?' Simon asked.
Jack couldn't answer him. He jumped up and down and shouted about the
puddle. Simon looked at him jumping around and decided that, since he
wasn't wet, and therefore his mum wouldn't find out, he would have a
go. When Jack had calmed down enough Simon lay down and Jack and
Matthew held his legs.

When Simon emerged, as dry as when he went in, and shouting as loudly
as Jack that it was great, Matthew didn't hesitate. He looked at the
grinning faces and lay down even before Jack could say anything.
Matthew was seized by his big grey woolly socks, and disappeared into
the puddle.

When they brought him up again he found himself surrounded by people.
Tom and Jeff and some of the girls they had always said were smelly had
run over in the meantime to see what was going on. Matthew didn't care
how smelly the girls were at that moment. 'Look in the puddle!' he kept
shouting.
Some of the girls weren't too keen - they thought it might be some
trick - but when Tom and Jeff had both gone in and emerged dry with big
smiles and bright eyes, they said 'OK then.'
Soon everyone had had a turn and they were all jumping around with
excitement. None of them could say what they had seen in the puddle,
but they all agreed that it was the best thing ever. Some of them
wanted a second go, but Jack, who, even in his excitement stayed very
aware of his status as owner of the car park, said that they would have
to wait until tomorrow. 'We don't want to use it up.' he said.

Everyone played together after that. They would all queue up every
evening and take their turns in the puddle. Every morning Jack would go
out and make sure that when he dipped his hand in the puddle it came
out dry. Then he would sniff the air and wander back into the house. He
had worried that the puddle would dry up if it didn't rain. Then he
worried that if it did rain the spell would be broken. But it wasn't.
Every day it was the same, but they never got bored. What they saw in
the puddle was always more thrilling than they expected it to be. Jack
smiled to himself and patted the tarmac happily.

The parents noticed that something was going on. It was very nice, they
thought, that the children seemed to be playing together nowadays. They
always came home clean as well. But was it normal? It was odd not
having at least one tantrum to deal with every week, or cut knees, or
something. So all the parents in the houses that backed on to the car
park began to garden in the evening, pruning back bushes or mowing the
lawn. 'It can't do the grass any harm.' they said.

From where they peered through rose bushes and over garden sheds they
could see exactly what the children were doing, but no reason that
could account for why they were doing it. So they took the simplest
route. They just asked. The children told them. Then there were the
usual conversations. 'Is it safe? Are you sure you won't get your
clothes dirty?' The children pointed out that they'd been doing this
for weeks. Had they ever got wet? The parents frowned. It all sounded
very silly, but they began to wonder if the children were on to
something.

Finally, curiosity got the better of them. One night they all tiptoed
out across the darkened car park, navigating by the light from bedroom
windows. Jeff's dad knelt down by the side of the puddle and put his
hand into it. It came out completely dry. A hushed thrill went round
the assembled parents. Matthew's mum clasped her hands together and
sighed with excitement. 'I'm going in,' said Jeff's dad. He got his
wife and Matthew's mum to hold him by the arms. This business of going
in head first had sounded too dangerous for him. There was a silence
broken only by Jack's mum counting nervously to fifteen. Then, with a
grunt and a gasp, Jeff's dad emerged from the puddle. It was 'bloody
marvellous' down there, he told them. They all gathered round to have a
go.

Jack could tell something had happened. Some of his favourite weeds had
been trampled on in an over-enthusiastic father kind of way. But the
puddle seemed to be all right. He went to school mostly
reassured.

So for a few more weeks, as the days lengthened and the sun began to
put in an occasional appearance, the puddle had two sets of visitors -
the children during daylight hours, the parents at night. Both groups
were endlessly amazed at what was in the puddle. Everyone was happy.
Tom's family even took down the Christmas decorations they had left up
in the garden, including the four-foot Santa Claus.

Eventually though, word got round. Some kids from other roads turned up
at the car park. Jack let them experience the puddle - he didn't want
to be mean - though he made sure they always knew when they were
allowed to come, and who to ask for. At night the parents' friends
began to add to the queues that shuffled patiently along to have their
turn. Jack began to find litter - not the ordinary litter that blew off
the streets and which always seemed to be slightly damp, but sweet
wrappers and crisp packets. He knew something was going on, but he
couldn't be sure who was responsible for it. One night he kept watch,
and was not really surprised to have his suspicions confirmed. All
those parents were making the mess! What could he do? He'd told his mum
a few times that he owned the car park, but she'd always smile sweetly
at him and make a cup of tea. So instead of asserting his rights as the
owner, he resorted to a time-honoured tactic. Emotional blackmail. He
came into the house one evening rubbing his eyes and looking very
miserable, and complaining that some nasty vandals had left rubbish
everywhere where he wanted to play. And the magic of the puddle worked.
Almost without thinking, teams of parents got together and scoured the
car park for rubbish. It was so tidy afterwards that even the crumbling
bits of tarmac had been gathered up. Jack smiled and admired the
neatness that the puddle had caused.

The shock of discovering the parents' late-night visits to the puddle
was nothing to the sight that greeted Jack just as the summer holidays
were starting. He woke up one morning and heard lots of voices. Outside
in the car park there were literally hundreds of people! Jack was not
impressed. Nor were his friends, and nor were their parents. It turned
out that one of the people who had come along in the evenings worked
for the local newspaper, and now Jack's car park was filled with people
he hadn't invited, or allowed on to it. There were even cars parked on
it! The noise and bustle went on all day, with people queuing for hours
to get their fifteen seconds in the puddle. They all went away utterly
delighted. Sometime during mid-morning two muscular men with bald heads
began to charge 50p a go to lower people in. The local hot dog stall
followed them. In the houses that backed on to the car park there were
many disgruntled people. It was their puddle! They tut-tutted and went
around slamming doors and muttering about the hot dog man. When people
started turning up to the puddle in fancy dress they rolled their eyes
up to heaven and hung net curtains in all the windows visible from the
car park.

But if the parents were irritated by the visitors, the children were
furious. Jack sat on the rugby field in silent protest, but no one
noticed him. Sometimes the paper that had wrapped their hot dogs blew
onto him and stuck to his hair. No one from the houses nearby could get
anywhere near the puddle any more. The queues started early in the
morning and went on until late at night, even when the hot dog man had
sold out of his greasy wares. During the day the children moped on the
rugby field near Jack. During the night their parents brewed camomile
tea and flipped through double glazing catalogues. The people outside
never got bored. It seemed as though everybody in the country had been
at least twice. Jack could understand why they had - the puddle was
wonderful after all - but he wished that they'd do it somewhere
else.

It felt as though it couldn't get any worse, but on the ninth day there
was a collective groan from the houses. A coach with a grumbly engine
trundled on to the car park. It had rained the night before and the
water from other puddles splashed up round its wheels and dampened the
cow costumes that were the theme of the day. The coach chugged slowly
across the car park. Everyone watching fell silent as it made its
unwelcome way towards the wonderful puddle. Its brakes hissed and it
came to a stop only inches away. The two burly men who lowered people
in were soaked by the spray from its wheels. And the splashed water
spattered on to the wonderful puddle.

That evening all the parents and children picked up the rubbish from
the car park. They were happy doing it. Jack directed the clearing up
operation from his position in the puddle. It went up to his ankles,
but no deeper.

The first person to discover that the puddle was no longer wonderful
had been the man who had ordered the coach. He had stood in it in his
posh suit for five seconds, feeling the water seep into his expensive
shoes, before stalking back on to his vehicle and leaving rapidly. The
crowd had taken longer to disperse but by the time the sun had set even
the hot dog man had gone. Their departure was greeted with almost as
much delight as each visit to the puddle had given. The parents hugged
each other and their children. No one was too upset that the puddle was
only a puddle again. At least it would be quiet when they went to
bed.

Jack waited until they had all gone inside and then sat down in the
puddle. As the cold muddy water swirled about his buttocks he yawned
slowly and happily. The car park was his own again.