Seahorses Are Real Read Free Page A

I know. I was just having a laugh with you.’
    â€˜Well, anyway,’ Marly went on, irritated a little by his effervescence, ‘there was this kid who’d been attacked. It was ninety degrees apparently and the puppy had a seizure. It was so bad they couldn’t show the pictures – he was just skeleton and teeth.’
    â€˜Jesus,’ David muttered appropriately, not yet having a clue what she was on about.
    â€˜They made a face for him out of his arms and legs – like me mam, d’you remember, when she had her neck grafted with fat from her bottom. She said her backside afterwards looked like a wrinkled elephant’s. Oh dear.’ Marly lapsed hysterically into a giggle.
    David nodded, remembering. ‘It’s alright, my love.’
    â€˜They’ll be transplanting faces soon apparently. They had this monkey – it was horrible – with a transplanted head. They said, “It’s so exciting, his eyes are tracking us.” They kept going on about how marvellous it was they’d saved this kid’s life and everything with this miracle surgery but... I mean... you should’ve seen him. He looked terrible.’
    David rolled his eyes in mock despair. Here we go, he thought.
    â€˜I mean it’s hard enough for most people to live, to exist, let alone a kid with a face made up of arms and legs. What sort of life’s he going to have?’ He’ll miss out on the adolescent vitamin for sure, she thought. ‘I don’t know, it should be wonderful, the fact that he’s alive and that but… it might’ve been better... people have such terrible lives.’
    â€˜That’s true,’ said David tonelessly.
    â€˜It’s like the bit of an end of a documentary I saw…’
    â€˜Yeah, yeah, bet you saw the whole…’
    â€˜No, seriously, when you were at your evening class. There was this Russian woman who had to sweep the streets from ten thirty at night till four in the morning and she only got paid three quid for it. We don’t know we’re born,’ Marly added.
    â€˜That’s true,’ agreed David and then quickly, ‘I love you,’ because it was his job, he felt, to nip things in the bud, to bring her back before she was anywhere near close to the brink. ‘I think you’re marvellous.’
    â€˜Am I?’ she cried, falling as always – childishly eager – into the trap. ‘In what way am I marvellous?’
    David put his finger to his chin as if pondering the question for the first time. ‘Every way. Ironing shirts, washing socks…’
    â€˜Hor ri d! ’
    He laughed and opened his arms wide. ‘You’re beautiful and soft and gentle and,’ stupidly, ‘you’re a poor little thing.’
    â€˜I’m alright,’ Marly pushed back at him, sealing up the vulnerability, pleased to hear she was such things yet feeling none of them.
    He put the television on then, flicking through the channels with a cumbersome grace, his arms still close about her.
    â€˜You don’t care do you?’ she remonstrated, breaking free, feeling there was still some point or other to be made, that the depth of their discussion wasn’t up for grabs, didn’t warrant the usual crisp-packet-in-the-cinema routine which he employed for effect in moments of high seriousness. ‘D’you want a crisp?’ he’d whispered once, loud and rustling into the dark, tense, tenterhooked silence, much to Marly’s amused embarrassment. ‘D’you want a crisp?’ She eyed him suspiciously now but he was innocent enough, his face sad, angry even.
    â€˜It’s because I care. To distract you. Stop you moping about.’ And it was true he’d turned it on to distract her, as well as himself, from her misery, her unrelenting misery that brought him down, sometimes, as low as she. I work hard all day, he thought, and come back to