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I splashed through the sodden grass and climbed over the fence and into the playground. The water very nearly reached the top of my boots.
“What are you doing?” asked Adam.
“I…I d-don’t know, really. I just realised I could be somewhere nobody else has been.”
“You mean like when you see a fresh patch of snow and you just have to jump all over it?”
“Exactly like that.”
Adam swung himself over the fence. “This should be a disaster movie. All it needs is a child’s teddy bear to go floating past.” He mimed playing a violin.
“It’s s-s-six inches of water. It would be a pretty dull movie. I meant w-what would the tagline be? ‘Some people get their feet a bit wet’?”
“You’re selling it wrong. ‘Groundwater Exclamation Mark 3-D. Do you dare…to get your feet wet?’”
The top of the merry-go-round was still just above the water level, although without the base it looked a little bit like a floating cart wheel. I stepped onto the submerged platform and sat down where the spokes met, my feet dangling. Adam braced himself on the bars, watching me and smiling a little as he turned me back and forth through the water.
“Want to hear my favourite joke?” he asked.
“Abso-f-fucking-lutely.”
“Three logicians walk into a bar. The barman says, ‘So, does everybody want a drink?’ First logician says, ‘I don’t know.’ Second logician says, ‘I don’t know.’ Third logician says, ‘Yes.’”
I stared at him. “I don’t get—Oh, wait.” And then I was laughing, not because of the joke, but because it was so very, very Adam.
“What’s yours?”
“I…I’m not sure I’ve ever really thought about it.”
“Nuh-uh. Everyone has a favourite joke, even if they don’t know it.”59
He was right, of course. Our old friend Max had one aboutpurple-spotted pineapples that was basically a lengthy misdirect for a pun—it was epically dire, but the direness was its charm. Marius had liked the one about the master of wit and ready repartee, which was less of a joke than a performance, amusing mainly because ofhowhe told it. I had rather envied him for being able to rattle it off so stylishly and effortlessly that people would actually request him to do it. But, now I thought about it, I realised I had my own joke. One I could tell without a single stumble. “Ask me if I’m an orange.”
His head tilted quizzically. “Are you an orange?”
“No.”
I loved his laugh. I loved being able to make him laugh.
“You know,” he said, a little breathlessly, “I was having a bugger of a day until you showed up. So, thank you.”
“You c-can’t save the world, Adam.”
“I get that, but sometimes I like to try anyway.”
I brought my hand to rest lightly over his. “You can s-save me.”
“I don’t think you need saving.” He interlaced his fingers with mine. “I think you’re doing just fine.”
“W-well, maybe you can save my sofa. It’s halfway up the stairs.”
“Like inDirk Gently?”
My turn to laugh. “Well, I hope it won’t be permanently stuck there. It might severely dent the resale value of my house.”
“You want to sell?”
“Oh no. It’s my home. I want to s-stay here…forever.”
