the yard

Then at half past four the yard heard that there were fifty-four lanterns and not fifty-five, and Oopsy went cold.

"It was me. I think it was me. I had nine and I put them —"

"Oopsy. Stop."

"But if I've lost one and Rainbow's walking up a dark bit and —"

Peeky said it out loud before I got there. Twice. The second time the whole yard stopped.

The moment the yard heard fifty-four, I went cold.

Because I had carried nine lanterns up from that ditch, and I had put them down in a hurry to go and help with something else, and I could not — standing there, at half past four, with everybody looking at the wall — swear on any account that all nine of them had made it.

"It was me," I said. "I think it was me. I had nine and I put them —"

"Oopsy," said Mendy. "Stop."

"Um," I said. "There's one missing."

The yard did not stop. The yard was very busy. Somebody said "mm" in my general direction and carried on with what they were doing.

That is the part I know best. You say the thing. You do say it. And it goes into the noise and comes out the other side as nothing at all, and everybody carries on, and afterwards you are not even sure you said it.

The old rule in my head is very clear about what happens next. You said it. That was your go. Now be quiet.

It took Peeky walking into the middle of the yard and saying it twice before anybody moved.

And they were both right. There were fifty-four on that wall. Nothing was wrong — Snoozy had taken the fifty-fifth indoors at six that morning and never mentioned it — but that is not the point and I know it is not the point. Nobody knew that at half past four. At half past four there was a gap on a wall and a fluff telling me about it and a board telling me otherwise, and I believed the board.

And at half past four Peeky said there was a lantern missing, twice, because the first time nobody heard it.