Pippa:Maybe we should start a business offering fake relationships.
Andrew:We’d make a fortune!
Andrew:Okay, I have to go. Flying soon.
Pippa:Have a good flight.
Andrew:Blue skies and tailwinds.
Pippa:What’s that?
Andrew:That’s how you wish pilots good luck.
Pippa:Like ‘break a limb’ to actors.
Andrew:Leg. But same principle.
Pippa:I’ll remember that.
Andrew:I wonder what one says to an ATC?
Pippa:I don’t know.
Andrew:I’ll have to think about it. Chat soon.
Even though Andrew had said not to buy his mother a present, I knew thatmymom would be horrified to find out I’d arrived at a party without bringing a gift. To her, that would be sacrilege. Gifts, gifting, buying gifts and wrapping gifts were some of my mother’s favorite pastimes. And she always chose the perfect, most thoughtful gifts. She had a real gift for giving gifts; it was a talent. Me, on the other hand, I was a terrible gift-giver. So much so that now I just gave people gift vouchers and let them choose their own presents. I’d thought about what to get Andrew’s mom all week, but nothing felt right until I walked into the pet shop to stock up on fish food. That’s when I saw it. Hidden away at the very back of the shop, alone and isolated in a tank. I walked up to the tank. Something about this lonely, segregated fish intrigued me. I felt drawn to it.
‘Why is this fish alone?’ I asked Adam, the shop assistant, who knew me well.
‘He’s in recovery. He has a bacterial infection, we’re giving him anti-bacterial drops.’
I leaned in to inspect. The poor fish had tail and fin flop. His sides were covered in white patches, but then I saw it! I wasn’t sure I was seeing correctly, so I pushed my face right up against the glass.
‘I know. Interesting markings,’ Adam said. ‘Looks like two eyes on his back.’
‘No! Looks like the number sixty.’
Adam cocked his head to the side. ‘Oh my God, you’re right. How about that. Sixty.’
‘I’ll take him!’ I said.
‘He’s not for sale. Not until his infection clears.’
‘But you know me. I have lots of experience looking after fish.’
‘Fine, but I can’t guarantee he’ll survive.’
‘That’s okay. But he will survive!’
I walked out of there ten minutes later with what had to be the best present ever.
A few days later, I was back in Andrew’s car. His parents lived about an hour outside of the city, and I was looking forward to the drive. Andrew had put the roof down and the weather was warm and sunny. Synonyms included words I loved, likeluminous, radiantandbrilliant. The day was brilliantly luminous and I felt radiant. We’d driven the entire way with the roof down, wind blowing in my hair and face and rushing over my ears so it sounded like I was on a rollercoaster. I loved this, and every now and then I’d squeeze the fishbowl tightly between my thighs and put both hands in the air. I splayed my fingers and kept them loose, allowing the wind to move them back and forth, as if playing a jazzy tune on an invisible piano in the sky. And whenever I did this, Andrew would turn and smile at me.
His parents’ house was very different to my parents’ house. It was small and humble, and the garden was absolutely crammed with Wendy houses, slides and swings. So much so that I wondered if he’d forgotten to tell me that his parents ran a day-care centre from their home. We parked in the street and climbed out. My nerves buzzed and hummed as I clutched the bowl. I looked down into it; Sixty looked a little shaken up, but not seriously. The bright sunlight brought out his golden sheen and the red in his now fully healed tail and fins. He was a beautiful fish, and a part of me was sad to let him go.
‘You ready?’ Andrew asked.
I nodded as he opened the gate and we walked into the small garden. I almost tripped over a small black plastic bike. It was the kind that small children rode on while making zooming noises, a game I’d never understood as a child. Making imaginary sounds on what was clearlynota real bike was beyond me. Did they know how silly they looked, playing this imagined game? I hadn’t liked imaginary games when I was young; I’d much preferred having discussions with people, usually older people, and doing something practical, like reading, or drawing. Hide and seek was probably the only game I’d enjoyed, but only because I was so good at hiding that no one ever found me, which meant that I was free to enjoy some very long peaceful moments alone in a box, or up a tree, or sandwiched between the back of the school piano and the wall.
