by Alan Durant
It was the note Ruby had posted through our letter box the day after the funeral. You can talk to me any time, she’d written. I’m always here for you. I felt a pang of guilt because weeks had gone by and I hadn’t spoken to her – or Tom, or any of my friends. I’d been so busy with the aquarium and Dad and Violet – rude, bossy, spiteful Violet. I wondered for a moment how they were, what they’d been doing, what they were doing now… But thinking about it just made me feel even more weary.
I was putting some books back on the shelf over my desk when I came across something else: a small pile of greetings cards. I took them down to have a look. They were from my last birthday. The one at the top was from Dad (Mum and Dad always gave me separate birthday cards). Happy Birthday, Son! was the message, but it was the picture I was gazing at. It was a clownfish swimming away from its anemone. I never really paid attention to cards – I was too eager to open the presents that went with them – and I’d totally forgotten that this one, my last birthday card from Dad, had a clownfish on it.
I opened it up. Inside it read, Wishing you a Wonderful Day (only Dad had crossed out the first “W” and replaced it with an “F”). Under this Dad had added in brackets and many more of them. Then he’d written – well, scrawled – to my favourite son with love for ever Dad xx. I swallowed hard, trying to take everything in – the picture, Dad’s words… With love for ever, I read – and read again, a lump in my throat the size of a baseball.
When Dad had written those words he could never have dreamed – none of us could – that it would be the last birthday card he’d ever give me, that in just a few months he’d be gone, changed, a clownfish in Stephan’s aquarium. I wanted him to be here. Now. I wanted it to be like that moment in Finding Nemo when Marlin and Nemo are finally reunited and Marlin gives Nemo a fish hug and says, “It’s OK. Daddy’s here. Daddy’s got you.”
But this wasn’t a film; this was real life. I thought about my idea of bringing Dad home and looking after him in a tank and realized how stupid and childish it was. Even if Stephan did give me some of his equipment I wasn’t expert enough to use it properly. Hadn’t I seen when Johnny had taken Violet and me on his behind-the-scenes tour just how much knowledge and expertise you needed? All the technology and science that was required to keep a tropical fish healthy and alive? I put the birthday cards back up on the shelf and got ready for bed.
I lay for ages wishing sleep would come, but closing my eyes only made my brain whirl. Failure, failure, failure, echoed in my head over and over. After a while I heard Mrs Baxter leaving, the front door shut, then Mum’s footsteps on the stairs. She came into my room and over to the bed.
“You look so tired,” she said with a sympathetic smile.
“I’m all right,” I replied.
“You don’t look it, love.” She knelt by the bed and stroked my forehead. “I really am proud of what you did,” she said, adding hesitantly, “and Violet too.”
I scowled. Just the mention of her name made me prickle. Mum sighed. “She really has upset you, hasn’t she?”
I nodded.
“I think she wants to make up with you,” Mum said.
“I don’t want to make up with her.”
“She seemed … well, sorry.”
I gaped at Mum. “You’ve seen her?”
Mum nodded. “She came round, when you were out. She wanted to see you. She said she thought she’d upset you really badly and she wanted to apologize.”
I snorted incredulously. “Violet apologize? I don’t think so! She only cares about herself.”
“Well, she seemed genuine.” Mum held out a small white envelope. “She gave me this to give to you.”
I turned my head away. But Mum was insistent. “We all make mistakes, Dak. They say the hardest thing’s to say sorry. But actually the hardest thing’s to accept an apology when someone’s really hurt you.” She held the note out again, but still I wouldn’t take it. A sudden thought worried me. “Did Dad ever hurt you?”
“Yes, and I’m sure I hurt him – though he’d never have shown it.” She smiled, but her smile seemed sad. “Everything was a joke to your dad.” I could see tears glistening in her eyes. “I suppose… I suppose…” She took a deep, unsteady breath. “Well, I wish sometimes he’d taken things more seriously.”
I thought about Dad and the sea poem and the message of love on the card. “He could be serious sometimes,” I said.
Mum nodded. “Yes, I know, love. Just not always when it mattered.”
I thought more about that when I was on my own again. I remembered that conversation I’d overheard between Mum and Dad. You really ought to see the doctor, Mum had said. Dad had just laughed it off, but had there been something wrong with him? Should he have gone to the doctor? What if…? My thoughts became confused, drowsy. I kept hearing Dad, standing in the kitchen grinning, telling “Doctor, doctor” jokes. He loved “Doctor, doctor” jokes:
“Doctor, Doctor, I feel like a pair of curtains.”
“Pull yourself together.”
“Doctor, Doctor, people keep ignoring me.”
“Next, please.”
“Doctor, Doctor, I feel like a pony.”
“Don’t worry you’re just a little hoarse.”
“Doctor, Doctor, I keep seeing Donald Duck, Mickey Mouse and Pluto.”
“Sounds like you’re suffering from Disney spells.”
“Doctor, Doctor, I’ve got a bit of lettuce sticking out of my bottom.”
“I’m afraid that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”
When I woke it was dark and the rain was clattering against the window. There was a whoosh in the air like the sound of the sea.
Someone was standing over me by my bedside but I wasn’t scared. I made out a fluorescent-yellow high-visibility jacket with grey reflective bands, dark trousers with two white hoops around the calves, big black boots…
“Dad!” I sat up excitedly. “You came back. I knew you would. I knew you weren’t dead. I knew you couldn’t be dead.”
Dad stood there in his work clothes, looking down at me through the clear lenses of his tortoiseshell glasses. He smiled, but faintly, and shook his head. “I came to tell you—”
“That you’re alive!” I cried. I leapt out of bed and threw my arms around him. He smelled of sweat and soiled plastic and the vegetably odour of old rubbish and I sniffed it in eagerly as if it were a heavenly aroma. “You’re alive!” I didn’t want to let go. Ever. But I felt him shifting, sliding from my grasp. When I looked up, his brown eyes were deep and intense. “I love you, Dak,” he said. “Don’t ever forget that. I love you. For ever.” His face smoothed into a smile. “Even if you did call my classic motor a wreck.”
I could sense Dad fading and was desperate to stop him. There was so much I wanted to say, so much I needed to understand. “I did what you said, Dad, with that interview. I did it with dignity.”
He nodded. “I’m sure you did, Dak. You’re a good boy.” He was so pale he was almost see-through now. “Thanks for looking after Mum. Tell her I love her. Take care of yourself.”
I clung on to him. There were things I had to know. “Why didn’t you go to the doctor, Dad – when Mum said you should?”
He shrugged. “What would I have said? ‘Doctor, Doctor, I’ve got a twinge in my chest’?”
I grabbed his arms. “Yes, why not, if you had one? You’d have made me go to the doctor if there was anything wrong with me.”
Dad nodded. “You’re right.” His features were blurring now.
“Then why didn’t you go?”
“Because … because I was scared, I suppose. I didn’t want to hear bad news.” He shrugged again and sighed. His voice was barely a whisper now. “And anyway, I knew what he’d say.”
“What?”
Dad’s voice was barely more than a breath: “Well, that’s nothing, sir, I’ve got a skeleton in my closet.”
He was just a faint glow now. “Dad. I need you, Dad. Don’t go. Please.
”
I tried to hold on to him but it was no use: my hands were just clawing air.
When I woke it was dark and the rain was clattering against the window. There was a whoosh in the air like the sound of the sea. I sat up and lifted the edge of the curtain. Daylight grey as a ghost glanced in. Through the rain I heard the bleating of a seagull chick.
I was alone.
Turning away from the window I could see my bedroom was just as it always was. I lay down again and pressed my face into the pillow, one hand sliding underneath for the sweatshirt. It was there, but there was something else. My fingers touched paper and I pulled out an envelope – Violet’s note. Mum must have slipped it under my pillow when she kissed me goodnight. I stared at it, caught between my trembling fingers. It was like I was holding a booby-trap bomb. I didn’t want to open it. I didn’t want to open it. I didn’t want to open it… I had to open it. I slid one shaky finger under the flap and tore it open.
Dear Dak,
I’m so sorry I upset you. I shouldn’t have said those things. It was stupid, like you said. I know you’re angry and I don’t blame you. You called me bossy and bad-tempered and selfish and I know I can be all of those things. I don’t understand exactly what you meant about the clownfish being your dad but it was horrible and unkind of me to make fun of you – and him. I was angry with my dad and I took it out on you and that was wrong. I’m really sorry.
You’re absolutely the best friend I’ve ever had. It’s not the same here at the aquarium without you. Uncle Stephan’s miserable and so is Johnny. He keeps asking me about you and when you’re going to come back. We’ve had lots more calls about the campaign, but no one’s got the heart to carry on with it. It’s all really sad.
My dad Skyped me last night. Stephan sent him a link to our interview on TV and he’d watched it out there in Africa! He said he was really proud of me and he asked me lots of questions about the aquarium and what we’d been doing – and about you. He thought you were amazing. He and mum are flying back in a few days, so I’ll be going home. I hope we can see each other and make up before I go. I don’t want us to leave things like this after all we’ve been through together.
I hope you’re OK.
Lots of love (and apologies),
Violet xxxx
P.S. I’ve been talking to the clownfish – your dad – but he won’t talk to me. I think he’s missing you. You have to come back soon!
P.P.S. I miss you.
P.P.P.S. Forgive me PLEASE!
I read the letter several times, skimming backwards and forwards, my attention snagging on the same line: I know you’re angry and I don’t blame you. Was I angry? I had been. Just last night I’d said I’d never make up with Violet, hadn’t I? But right now, I wasn’t angry. I was tired, I was worried, I was sad…
You’re absolutely the best friend I’ve ever had. Wasn’t that the same for me? Ruby and Tom had been my best friends since I started secondary school and I really liked them, but it was different with Violet. No one else could make me laugh or upset me the way she did.
I’ll be going home. I’d known she wouldn’t be there for ever but I hadn’t thought about her leaving, about my life without her, about the great hole she’d leave behind. But it was the P.S. that kept drawing me back, making my heart race: I’ve been talking to the clownfish – your dad – but he won’t talk to me. I think he’s missing you…
Of course he wouldn’t talk to her; he would only talk to me. And now he was all on his own. I hadn’t seen him for nearly two days. He wouldn’t know what was going on. He’d think I’d abandoned him… I had to go to the aquarium right away.
I got out of bed and threw on my clothes. I almost fell down the stairs in my haste. Then I was opening the front door and hurrying out into the damp street.
I ran and ran, the wind roaring in my ears.
The aquarium doors were still locked and I beat them with my fists. “Open up!” I shouted. “Open up!” I had to get to Dad. I had to get to him. What if he was sick? Or had something important to tell me? What if he’d been waiting all these hours, wondering where on earth I was – if I’d ever come back?
Stephan appeared from the office, looking confused. I watched impatiently as he walked across the foyer then fiddled with his keys, finally unlocking the doors.
“Dak, what is it? Are you all right?”
But I was already racing past him into the tunnel to the main hall.
On I ran, past the pike, grayling, barbel… Past the bream and the pollack and the mackerel, the skinny-tailed sturgeon and the sly conger eel… Past the ugly perch and the rays in their open-topped pool. Past the exotic fish with their strange names: the long-spined porcupinefish, the reef stonefish, the foxface rabbitfish, the crown squirrelfish, the flashlight fish… Past the grim piranhas. Past the jellyfish floating like cellophane parachutes. Past the tanks of brightly coloured tropical fish: the vagabond butterflyfish, the bug-eyed Picasso triggerfish, the stripey lionfish with its skirts and deadly spines, Peter’s elephant-nose and the tiny cardinal tetra. Past the delicate, bobbing seahorses. On and on…
At last, breathless, I arrived at the large tank, where blue damsel-fish, green chromis and now the purple orchid dottyback flickered among reefs of rusty-brown coral. My eyes passed over them … and, there he was, my dad, the clownfish, rising from his fluffy white sea-urchin bed and waddling through the water: black beady eyes, pink nose, thick Alice-band ring of white, bubbles rising from his tiny pouting mouth. With relief I watched him swim to the front of the tank. It was fine. Dad was fine. He was alive and well.
“Dad!” I said. “Dad, I’m back.”
He turned and flickered away, his fins fluttering like butterfly wings. I watched him circle the tank until he was back in front of me again.
“Dad. It’s me, Dak. I’ve come back. Sorry I left you on your own for so long.”
The clownfish blew out silent bubbles.
I nodded at the dottyback. “How are you getting on with Flash Gordon?” He wiggled but said nothing. “Have you had that race with the damselfish yet? Did you win? Dad?” I leant forward and put my hands on the glass. “Tell me a fish joke. You know, like that one about the ray?” He turned and flickered away. My heart sank then rose again as he did a quick about-turn and swam back. “Wild thing! You make my heart sing,” I sang, wiggling my own body in a kind of dance. The fish opened its mouth as if it were about to join in, but just blew out more bubbles. “Talk to me, Dad,” I pleaded. “Please. Talk to me.” The clownfish stared out, its eyes black and expressionless. Its tiny bottom fins rippled as if waving, but it said nothing. “Dad… Dad… Please.” My sight blurred as I stared at Dad and saw … just a fish. A cowed, compliant fish.
I pressed my forehead against the glass, my eyes wet and blind, barely aware of the quick footsteps on the floor behind me. In an instant, arms wrapped themselves around me and a head pressed down on mine. I smelt vanilla. “He’s gone, love,” Mum breathed into my hair. I swallowed deeply, my tears moistening the glass. Then I beat my head against it, sobbing. The tank was coffin-hard, unyielding. I slumped and let myself be turned and taken into Mum’s arms.
“I don’t want him to be dead,” I wailed. “I don’t want him to be dead.”
Mum’s hug tightened. “I know, love. I know.” Her voice was shaky too. “But you have to let him go.”
I glanced over her shoulder and saw Violet standing in the archway, her green eyes tearful too. I reached out a hand and she stepped forward and clutched it in her own fingers. Then my eyes squeezed shut once more and I howled and howled until it felt as if a whole sea was flooding out of me.
I cried for two days.
Mum sat with me for hour after hour, hugging me, offering comforting sounds and words. I slept cradled in her arms. We barely spoke – what was there to say? I knew she understood everything. We cried and cried together. I couldn’t bear to be parted from her. I couldn’t bear to be alive.
By the third day I
felt totally drained, exhausted. The pain was still there, but no longer like an open wound, more like a scar that wouldn’t heal. Violet called and I agreed to see her. She only stayed for a short while but it helped a little. The next day she came again. The day after that Johnny stopped by with a card (with a picture of fish of course). He hovered uncomfortably in the hallway and told me the fish were missing me. They weren’t feeding as well as usual. I was sure it wasn’t true, but I smiled because I knew he was only trying to make me feel better.
There was more talk about the aquarium the following day when Stephan showed up with Violet and a big bunch of red roses for Mum. She made tea and we all sat together in the living room. He had good news about the campaign, which he said was going well.
“We might save it yet,” he said with unusual lightness. I guessed he was trying to make me feel better too.
“You’ve got something to ask Dak, haven’t you, Uncle Stephan?” Violet prompted.
“Ah yes, I have,” Stephan said. “Indeed I have.”
I was worried for a moment that he might ask me to do another interview or something, but it was nothing like that.
“I’d like you to write something. Just a couple of lines—”
Violet jumped in, unable to contain herself. “About fish.”
“About fish?” I repeated.
“Yes,” said Stephan. “A quote – that we can put up on the wall alongside the others.”
“That’s such a lovely idea,” said Mum. I couldn’t think what to say. I just gawped at Stephan. What on earth would I write? I thought.
“Maybe you could write about the clownfish,” Violet suggested hesitantly, as if she’d read my mind.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
I thought about it for the rest of the day. It didn’t exactly take my mind off things but it was good to be thinking about something fun, something creative – like when we’d been coming up with ideas for the campaign. I scribbled lots of things down then crossed them all out. Nothing was good enough. Nothing was quite right. I knew I didn’t want it to be gloomy like that Robert Lowell quote. I wanted it to be happy. I wanted it to be something that would have made Dad smile.