Two Fish

two || elver

According to Elver Harrison James, if he was ever given a fish, he would kill it. But in fact, he wouldn’t, for he was too afraid. There was something about those water loving freaks that unnerved him. He wasn’t sure whether it was the scaly skin, the fact that they lived underwater, or the way that they stared that so terrified him, but when he had been given one on his eighth birthday, he had hidden under his duvet and refused to come out. The pond at the bottom of his garden didn’t help. It was inhabited by what seemed like fifty thousand fish. This pond had caused so much disruption in everyday life that his oversensitive and protective mother had called their gardener to dig it up. But, as Elver was a sensitive, warm-hearted boy, he refused to let that happen.

“All those fish losing their lives,” he had told his confused mother. The outcome: Elver spent no time in the garden, but that’s not to say he didn’t like the outdoors; far from it. He loved the way the cool sea air felt against his skin. He spent almost all day every day lying on the sand, listening to the children laugh and play, the sound of the waves washing over the shore. That was the life for him; he was fine as long as he didn’t go in the sea, though that was when he was ten. Since he’d turned seventeen, he’d spent more time out with his friends in his beloved car than enjoying the fresh air. But that love for the outdoors never faded from his heart.

Elver woke up with his duvet in a heap on the floor, the sheet tangled in his arms and his iPod gently buzzing with his morning wake-up call. Many a time had he tried to get it to buzz louder but this iPod seemed to be a grumpy teenager, doing what she wanted, when she wanted. He groaned: he hadn’t thought to cancel his alarm now it was the holidays. He had six party filled weeks ahead of him, alcohol and girls galore and he couldn’t wait. This summer would be good, he knew it.

Before Elver could plan his party though, he was violently shaken awake by his younger sister Cathy.

“What the heck, come on, it’s Sunday. You know, the day of rest,” Elver grunted.

“Oh, just get up. Mum’s friends are coming in an hour, have you seen the bathroom? Get dressed and start tidying,” Cathy said. She stepped over some dirty clothes and turned back. “You know, like right now,” she added, noticing Elver drift back to sleep.

A plate of perfectly cooked scrambled egg on toast was waiting for him on the polished kitchen table. His parents were rushing around, adding water to fake flowers and washing dishes. “Morning, honey. Did you have a good night?” his mother asked.

“Oh yea-” he started, but no-one was listening. They were in mad-dash tidy-up mode.

“Take this up to Cathy, hun,” his mother said, thrusting several pink notebooks and a handful of pens into his arms. He shovelled down his breakfast and stumbled up the stairs, his eyes still blurred with sleep. He knocked on Cathy’s open door and saw her lying across her bed, crying. For an awkward moment, he stood in the doorway before he sat down beside her.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asked softly.

“Get out!” she screamed at him. He retreated to the door, taken aback.

“I’m sorry Cath-”

“I said get out.”

So he did what he was told. Downstairs, he waited for his mother to finish talking on the phone.

“Er, Mum, I think Cathy needs you, I think it might be about something girly,” he mumbled awkwardly. His mother sighed and rushed upstairs, shouting back down asking Elver to hoover the sofas. Elver sighed. His mother’s friends were fussy women, always wiping the seats before they sat down and checking for coffee stains on the tables.

An hour later, the house was pristine and Cathy’s crisis had been dealt with – nothing Elver cared to bother himself with –  and his mother’s friends were sitting stiffly on the beautiful cream sofas, courtesy of Elver. They began with the typical awkward chit chat.

“How’s school? Which a-levels?” But then one of the women, a tad less uptight that her friends, took it a little further.

“So Elver, how’s your love life?” With her hands neatly folded in her lap, she smiled at him. There was a piercing silence as everyone took in what had been said and looked at the poor boy.

“Oh, well, I don’t really, um, have a girlfriend or anything like that …” Elver trailed off.

“How absurd, a good-looking seventeen year old boy without  girlfriend? I’ve never heard such nonsense,” the woman carried on. “I mean, aren’t your friends in relationships?”

“Honey, could you get the cherry pie from the oven,” Elver’s mother asked, a feeble attempt at making things less awkward. The friend smiled like nothing was wrong. Elver rushed out of the room and didn’t come back.

The cherry pie, in typical James family fashion, was burnt. Smoke poured out of the oven and Elver choked, wafting it away.

“Everything ok in there?” his father called from the dining room, where he was taking refuge from his wife’s friends with the help of a coffee and the newspaper.

Elver sighed and took out the black pie with a too-thin teacloth, burning his hand. “Absolutely fine.”