Image: © Yinglan
The last thing we heard was his cry, “There’s something weird under here.”
The last thing we saw was his bum in the air, hockey stick in hand.
It wasn’t unusual for Josh to go exploring and carry his beloved hockey stick with him.
We were finishing off the lunch preparations when Joan looked up and said, “I can’t see your brother.”
“Oh no,” I uttered, “the silly buggers fallen in.”
We rushed down onto the bridge and looked everywhere.
The pool of water beneath us looked undisturbed.
“Josh!” I screamed, “Josh!”
There was nothing but silence. Joan ran for help, and I continued along the waters edge calling his name.
Then I heard him. He was under the bridge. I looked and found him clinging to the bridge support. With coaxing, I got him out, and we both sat on the bridge, soaked but glad to be together.
“Something took my hockey stick,” he said.