Page 53 of Carry Me Home

‘In your heart?’

‘My heart isn’t that big.’

‘Your boat?’

‘Now you’re just being stupid.’

Jude throws again. The coconut wobbles violently, spins on its stand, and settles back into position with what I swear is a smug little shimmy.

‘That should have counted,’ Jude says, lips turning down, his sandy hair flopping into his gaze.

‘It didn’t fall off,’ Tom says. ‘Those are the rules.’

‘Your rules are broken. The system is rigged.’

‘The system has worked since 1953. Possibly since pirates. You’re just bad at it.’

‘I’m not bad at it. The coconuts are weighted wrong.’

‘The coconuts are coconuts. They don’t have settings.’

I’m laughing before I can stop myself, and both of them turn. Tom’s expression changes when he sees me. I’ve been noticing more lately – it softens, but then seems to catch itself, settles into the dry expression he wears like armour. The whole thing takes about half a second. I don’t know why I’m tracking the stages.

‘Nina.’ Jude gestures dramatically at the stall. ‘Please explain to your friend that this game is a scam designed to humiliate honest men.’

‘It’s not a scam,’ Tom says.

‘Then prove it. Show me. Since you’re such an expert.’

‘I’m running the stall. I can’t compete.’

‘You can compete once. For science. For the advancement of human knowledge.’

‘That’s not⁠—’

‘For Brynn.’ Jude plays his final card. ‘She wants the bear. I can’t win the bear. You win the bear. Simple.’

Tom looks at Brynn. Brynn holds up her hands.

‘I really don’t want the bear.’

‘She wants the bear,’ Jude says firmly. ‘She’s being modest. Win her the bear, Tom.’

‘This is ridiculous.’

‘This is tradition. This is what friends do.’

Tom sighs and picks up a ball. The crowd around the stall has grown; people sensing drama are flocking with the British bloodlust for fairground competition. ‘One throw,’ he says. ‘Just to prove it’s not rigged. Then you can stop complaining.’

‘Fine. One throw. But it has to be the big one.’ Jude points at the enormous teddy bear hanging from the top of the stall. It’s bright pink, vaguely terrifying, and roughly the size of a small refrigerator. ‘That one.’

‘That one requires three coconuts in a row.’

‘Then throw three times. I believe in you.’

‘You just said one throw.’

‘I’ve revised my position. Three throws. Go.’