Page 119 of The Two of Us at the End of the World

What do you love about her? Mouse, she says. What are the Five Things?

Somehow meeting her eyes and not looking away seems to hold me up and gives me the strength to answer, as if her hard, direct look is something I can lean on.

That she saved me, I say. That she was my only-one even when she was so alone and so very young too with no one to talk to. That she was always tough. That the warmth of her sleeping beside me, the sound of her breathing made it feel like home, wherever we were.

I think you missed something, Mouse, says the old woman. I think it’s so big you can’t see it.

She pointed at the baby in my arms, who was staring up at me with a huge smile.

She taught you how to love. That’s a big thing, Mouse, she says. Maybe the biggest…

Maybe it’s everything, says Bear Shirt, sliding in next to me on the bench, holding the cooking pot.

Grey Hair grins and then looks up, catching Scar Girl looking at us all.

What? says Scar Girl.

You tell me, says Grey Hair, grinning wider.

Scar Girl looks irritated at everyone looking at her.

You’re all so… sentimental, she says.

All of us? says Ferg.

All of you, says Scar Girl.

So why are you the one with the wet eyes? says Bar.

Shut up and pass the stew, says Scar Girl, reaching for the bowl and showing it to me. Hey, Mouse. It’s rabbit stew. It’s good.

She scoops some on to a plate and lets Bear Shirt hand it to me. Grey Hair doesn’t ever eat much, so she takes the baby and lets me eat.

Scar Girl points her spoon at Bear Shirt across the fire.

We have to help Mouse name the babies, she says. It’s time. Otherwise, they’ll be like your imaginary friend.

What imaginary friend? I say.

Bear Shirt just scowls at Scar Girl, but then reaches behind and pulls a much patched-up journal from the shelf.

It’s a story, like a diary about all of us. Only there was no one to talk to, so it’s written to their imaginary friend, said Scar Girl. You should read it. Then you’ll know a bit of our story too.

Bear Shirt flipped open the cover and showed me the old photo stuck in the front of it. A boy and a dog, both jumping on a beach, caught in mid-air.

Who’s that? I say.

Bear Shirt shrugs and grins.

Just a boy and his dog, at the end of the world most likely. Like she said, imaginary friends. Don’t know their names. Which is sad. And why she’s right, even though she’s annoying, Mouse. You have to name these, or we’ll do it for you.

He looks weightless, I say. Happy. Like nothing could make him stop smiling.

Bear Shirt nodded. It’s companionable, all of us together, sitting and talking, so close I can feel the warmth of Bear Shirt’s leg against mine as they lean in beside me to look at the photograph with a smile that no longer looks sad in the way it did when I first saw it through the tank slit. And just like that moment, I suddenly feel my heart bump in a way I can’t quite understand. For some reason I worry that they’ll notice, so I lean over the photograph and take an even closer look at the happy face of the weightless boy.

I wonder what happened to him, I say.

Chapter 42