"I think it's in the pond."
We stared together into the black murk and I half heartedly stirred its depths with a bean cane.
"It would float would it not?" I asked, not needing an answer.
"I think it might have hit a rose."
We both looked at the bush. Bare of blooms. Petals littered around it like a dropped skirt. Her eyes stared deeply into mine then. And I knew there was no ball. Not this time. Searching was pointless. Her hand. Small and sticky sought out mine. Her eyes, wide and trusting, rolled downwards and glazed with tears.