YO-YO wallows in blood-warm water in the COZEE NOOK's white bathtub. He has been chased by a bunch of brown-blazered boys from St Peter's who took a dislike to his cherry-red Minster School jacket and called him a 'nonce' and a 'poof' and a 'bum-sucking queer' or something similarly witty.
''Little bastards,'' growled Lily Gusset. ''I'll go sort 'em out. Stealing your clothes and dressing you in a poncey choirboy's kit. They need their nuts gnawing off.''
Yo-yo read the name-tag sewn into the blazer collar and asked his aunt to return it to MARTIN mizzenmast 'With Thanks'.
''Whatever you say,'' Aunty Latch answered mildly.
Yo-yo lies back in the bathtub and reflects on the day. He doesn't know how to tell them that he has lost his jewel. He blames himself. If he hadn't allowed Rue to lead him by the loins, none of this would have happened. What's more annoying is that Doctor Molasses will really enjoy it, even more than the streaking incident. Smiling dryly, he will lay Yo-yo down on his hard, brown couch and drawl his questions.
''So, Yo-yo, why did you want to be degraded by those women?''
''You didn't see them, Doc.''
Yo-yo will describe Rue and Dax and Jax in such glowing detail that Doctor Molasses will have to excuse himself. But he won't. Doctor Molasses has the blood of a reptile. Matron Majeiskii would understand. She always excuses herself when Yo-yo describes his fantasy women. Which is often.
Yo-yo sinks further into the bubble-bath. The last time he'd tried to activate the imagination of Doctor Molasses by describing his fantasy woman had ended in humiliating failure. Yo-yo had been rapidly strapped to a trolley with a drip in his left wrist, a sedative cocktail lining his stomach, Orderly Henke's hand in his pale blue pyjamas 'to calm him' and Doctor Molasses ticking his list as he'd jerked against the restraints. They'd wheeled him away at a breakneck speed and kept him sedated, isolated and under constant observation for three days and three nights.
''Don't be afraid,'' squeaks the yellow, foam-floating duck. ''You will prevail.''
''You're a plastic duck,'' Yo-yo retorts. ''What do you know?''
''Plastic ducks know everything,'' it quacks. ''People confide things in their baths.''
''So why won't my soap lather?'' says Yo-yo.
''You need to wet it first, then rub it in circles,'' the duck replies.
Yo-yo scrubs himself as directed. Lather builds on his stomach.
''There you are,'' says the duck. ''I told you we know everything.''
''You're quackers,'' laughs Yo-yo.
''That's a demeaning comment,'' huffs the duck, ''Insulting to duck-kind. Putting me down with your ill-chosen puns so you can feel superior. Well, it's not on.''
''Fair enough,'' says Yo-yo, soaping his feet. ''How can I get my ring back?'' The duck falls silent. Yo-yo soaps between his toes. ''Where is Mister Vanilla? Don't you have a cousin who is Mister Vanilla's bath-time companion?'' Yo-yo soaps his legs. The duck doesn't reply. ''There!'' says Yo-yo. ''You don't know everything.'' He tosses the duck out of the bath. It lands on the fluffy blue mat with an indignant quack. Yo-yo slides under the surface of the water, under the pine-scented bubbles, and opens his eyes. The bottom of the bath is covered in limb-licking weeds. Over near the plug, a hundred yards away, is a stripy tent. Yo-yo turns on his stomach and swims towards it. The sides of the bath seem to expand as he twists and turns away from the green light. A mermaid beckons to him and calls his name softly and flutingly - ''Yo-yo, Yo-yo.'' Her silver-grey fish-tail gleams in the murky bathwater light. She holds up the emerald, the jewel in the ring, holds it out teasingly, beckoning, calling. Yo-yo kicks and propels himself forward, his red hair streaming. He misses the mermaid, turns back and treads water. She smiles. The ring's in her hand. Her long, golden locks flow over her plump, naked breasts. Yo-yo swims forward again. She darts away, peeps from behind a rock. Yo-yo sculls with his hands. The mermaid smiles again. She purses her lips and blows him a kiss. It shimmies through the water to bubble against his lips.
he mouths
The mermaid's tail sways lazily in the current. She perches on the edge of a pink scallop shell, a regular Venus, and combs her golden mane with long, languid sweeps of a brush. Yo-yo swims closer.
he bubbles, resting on the sand at the sea-bottom. Fronds of weed gently sway. The mermaid ducks coyly behind a jagged rock.