Eleven Minutes of Warmth

Maeve and Fynn reached the car boot sale at six. The field was already full of cars. Sellers opened their boots and set out folding tables.

Maeve needed old parts for the school science fair. She wanted to build a small machine. Fynn held a list of cheap things to find.

"Look for wires first," said Fynn. "Then small motors."

"And anything strange," said Maeve.

They walked down the first row. A man sold old plates. A girl sold toy cars. A boy sold broken radios, but he wanted too much money.

"Everything here is rubbish," said Fynn.

"Everything here is a treasure," said Maeve. "You just do not know it yet."

At the end of the row, Maeve stopped. A woman sat behind a table of rubber things. There were boots, a swim cap and a pink hot-water bottle.

The bottle was fat and soft. Maeve touched it. Every other thing on the table felt cold. The bottle felt warm.

"Is this one hot?" she asked.

"No," said the woman. "It only leaks. Fifty pence."

"Where did you get it?"

"It came in a box from an old house," said the woman. "I did not look inside."

Maeve held the bottle to her ear. Something inside went tick, tick, tick.

"Fynn, come here," she said.

Fynn listened. His eyes grew wide. "Bottles do not tick," he said.

"I know," said Maeve. She paid the woman. Her hand shook a little.

They carried the bottle behind some crates at the edge. Maeve opened the cap. Water ran out of a thin crack at the bottom. A drop fell every second.

Inside the bottle sat a silver egg. It was the size of an apple. A soft blue light shone from it. On its side was a tiny screen. The screen showed a number. It said 34.

"It is a machine," said Fynn.

"Look," said Maeve. "It moves."

The egg turned slowly in the water. Then it made a sound like tiny bells. A thin voice came out of it.

"Cold," said the egg. "Cold. Cold."

Fynn sat down hard on a crate. "It talks," he said.

"It is afraid," said Maeve. "I think it needs the warm water."

The number changed. Now it said 33. The blue light grew a little weaker.

Fynn took out his notebook. He looked at his watch and wrote fast. Two minutes later, the number said 31.

"The number is its temperature," he said. "One number goes every minute. If it reaches twenty, the light goes out."

"How long is that?" asked Maeve.

"Eleven minutes," said Fynn. "Maybe less. The water gets colder and colder."

Maeve thought fast. "We need two things," she said. "We must stop the leak. And we need hot water."

"My kettle is at home," said Fynn. "Home is twenty minutes away."

"Then we do not go home," said Maeve. "We find hot water here."

Fynn looked around the field. There were many tables and no kettles. Then he smiled. "The coffee van," he said. "It is at the far gate."

"Leak first," said Maeve.

They ran to a stall that sold bike parts. A man sat there with a tin of patches and some glue.

"We need a patch," said Maeve. "Please. Right now."

"One pound," said the man. He cut a patch and gave her the glue. "Press it for one minute," he said. "Then it holds."

Maeve dried the bottle with her sleeve. She spread the glue and pressed the patch over the crack. Fynn counted out loud. Sixty seconds felt very long.

The number said 28 when she let go. The patch held. No more drops fell.

"Now the van," said Fynn.

They looked down the field. The sellers parked their cars in long rows. The path around the edge was full of buyers. They walked slowly and stopped at every table.

"It takes ten minutes that way," said Fynn. "We only have eight."

Maeve looked at the rows of cars. Between two vans she saw a narrow gap. Behind the cars, a strip of grass ran along the hedge. It was empty.

"Nobody walks behind the cars," she said. "That is our shortcut."

They squeezed between the vans. Maeve held the bottle against her chest. Fynn ran in front and pushed branches out of the way.

"Cold," said the voice. "So cold."

"We will be there," said Maeve. "Wait for us."

They ran past bins and boxes and a pile of old tyres. A dog barked at them. They jumped over a rope. They did not stop once.

At the far gate, many buyers waited at the coffee van. The number said 23. Maeve pushed to the front.

"Please," she said. "I need hot water. Only a little. It is for a very small friend."

The man in the van looked at the pink bottle. The blue light shone through the rubber. He did not ask a single question. He filled a jug from his shiny tap.

"Careful," he said. "This water is very hot."

Fynn stopped her hand.

"Too hot," he said. "Maybe it breaks the egg."

Maeve stared at him. The number said 22. She felt her heart beat fast.

"Do you have a thermometer?" she asked the man.

"For the milk," said the man. He gave her a long glass one. He also gave her a bottle of cold water. "Mix them in the jug."

Maeve poured the cold water in. Fynn read the thermometer.

"Sixty," he said. "Still too hot."

She added more.

"Forty," he said. "Add a little more cold."

She did.

"Thirty-six," said Fynn. "That is good."

The number said 21. The blue light went very dim.

"Now," said Maeve. She poured the water into the bottle. Fynn held the cap open with both hands. Some water splashed on his shoes. Nobody cared.

For three long seconds, nothing happened. Then the number said 22. Then 24. Then 27.

The egg made its bell sound. The light grew bright and steady.

"Warm," said the egg. "Warm. Warm."

Fynn laughed and sat down on the grass. His legs shook. Maeve screwed the cap on tight. The man in the van gave them a thumbs up.

The number climbed to 34 and stopped. Maeve and Fynn watched it for a long time. Behind them, the line of buyers grew short. Sellers began to pack their boots. Cars drove out of the field one by one.

Fynn wrote a last line in his notebook. He showed it to Maeve. It said: Ask the egg where it comes from.

Maeve smiled and put the bottle in her lap. Her small machine for the science fair did not matter now. The field became empty and quiet. The blue light glowed through the pink rubber. The little bells rang softly in the grass.