Seahorses Are Real Read Free Page B

this.
    â€˜I’m not moping,’ she muttered sulkily, sitting very straight on the sofa and opening her book at ‘Lilian’s Caesarean Section’, tears welling up in her eyes. He’ll never understand, she thought, it’ll never work, and she read a sentence blurrily over and over: ‘I felt I’d missed out on the real thing, having a Caesarean. I felt I’d missed out on the real thing, having a Caesarean. I felt I’d missed out on the real…’
    David chuckled and nudged her. She focused even harder on the sentence though her ears, in spite of herself, were listening. ‘I felt I’d missed…’
    â€˜In a tropical jungle like this one,’ came an excited little whisper from the television, ‘bright colours signify genuine nastiness.’ Marly looked up and saw a man in shorts and a Panama hat. ‘But this little humdinger of a treecreeper’s got everything he wants right here under his very nose, a veritable cornucopia right under his nose. Figs! It’s all he eats. He relishes them, can’t get enough of them.’
    â€˜Relishes ’em,’ spluttered David. ‘I bet he’s sick to death of them!’
    Marly giggled and put down her book. ‘You’d be off for a slap-up curry,’ she teased, sarcastically enough to sound as if she hadn’t quite given in yet. ‘With ketchup,’ she added.
    â€˜What, what!’ David obliged, being the proprietor of Mariners where he – she never let him forget – had had ketchup with everything. Mariners, where they’d stayed two nights for one of his interviews, where Marly had laughed and smiled at the sea view, the little sachets of hot chocolate, the bourbons and custard creams; and the proprietor who’d looked like a toad, made his own clocks and gone about saying ‘what what’ all the time. ‘“Full English breakfast is it again sir? With ketchup? You’re a brave man sir. What what!”’
    â€˜You scoffed all the custard creams,’ she reminded him delightedly. ‘Remember that china dog on the mantelpiece you said looked like it had worms!’
    â€˜Well, it was the position of its legs,’ David explained for the umpteenth time, knowing how much it amused her. ‘It was uncannily like our old dog Rosie when she slid her bottom….’
    â€˜Yes yes, thank you very much. I think we’ve heard quite enough about that. Mind you,’ Marly’s eyes glimmered, ‘I had a worm remember, when I was little.... It kept sliding back up my…’
    David leapt up and ran out of the room, pretending to be horrified at the story.
    Marly giggled and he came back in. They sat together in happy silence, holding hands beneath the red sleeping bag and watching television. ‘At least he’s passionate about it,’ Marly said after a while, meaning the man in shorts and a Panama hat. ‘I bet you wouldn’t mind a few students like that.’
    â€˜Well, I don’t know,’ David grimaced. ‘It’s not normal to be keen at their age. I think I prefer Ross Newman’s belching. Honestly, that’s all he does: leans back on his chair with his can of coke and belches!’
    â€˜He doesn’t!’
    David perched himself on the edge of the sofa with a dopey expression on his face. ‘“Do we need our books today sir?” Every bleeding lesson he says it. “Do we need our books today sir? Do we need our books on Friday sir?” I said: “Bring ’em anyway, it’ll keep you fit!’’’
    Marly rested her head on his shoulder and listened to his anecdotes, knowing he was making an effort and grateful, too, for every last detail of Ross Newman’s belching, of Anton the French teacher who always said ‘ Bonjour Class’ and whose students ran amok and sent messages to each other on their mobile phones, because these were things