he pleads in silver bubbles. She plays peek-a-boo with him then shakes her tail seductively. Yo-yo stretches out his hand. His fingertips brush one soft, silken breast, his lips purse, she pouts, they yearn to touch, closer, closer...
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The mermaid dissolves. Disappointed, Yo-yo treads water, squinting through the greenish water to the surface.
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He glances around. The rock has gone. The weeds have gone. He is back in the bath. He surges up out of the water, soapsuds sliding over his skin, and opens the window to the blackbird called Baby.
''All right?'' says Baby, hopping through onto the tiled window sill.
''You bastard,'' says Yo-yo. ''I was on there.''
''Nah,'' says Baby. ''She was just teasing you.'' He pecks at Yo-yo's loofah. ''How you doing?''
''Not so good.'' Yo-yo closes the window. ''They took my ring.''
''That nice shiny emerald?'' says Baby, ''I know. I saw the Lettuce Brothers. Constable Kipper's trapped in the mirrors with Mister Vanilla. Truss has the ring at the circus.''
Yo-yo looks at the blackbird in despair. ''What can I do?''
Baby hops onto the taps. ''Do you remember Mildew Lollipop?'' he says. ''Mrs Lollipop's husband?''
''Not really,'' says Yo-yo. ''I wasn't a day over eight when they got married.'' But he remembers the wedding. He sits down again in the bath.
What a wedding it had been. Mildew Lollipop, stringily sallow, all dressed up in a white shirt with the most enormous collar and a tiny, grey suit which barely contained him, an unfeasibly large top-hat in his hand, his bride-to-be in a knitted white bed-jacket and a brand-new white cap, the bed itself decked out in ribbons and streamers, a board on the back reading TILL BED DO US