The Fishmonger

06 Aug

(RTÉ, 2006);


The run-up to our anniversary has been like the run-up to Christmas. It has involved no running. Only a few heavy sighs – and they might have nothing to do with any anniversary. Never mind. We remain as we are. Today’s the day. I was up early. Couldn’t sleep.

It’s a lovely day for an anniversary. People in hot climates don’t know what this kind of a sunny day is like. Sun beating down on our street.

He’ll be at the door of the shop, sweating on his chair. Breathing through his gills. Pouting like a big mullet. He should drink more water. I’m drinking more water. ‘It’s good for the kiddlies,’ I tell him and he laughs. ‘Diddle I already know that,’ says he.

I’ll be in the cool of our dry aquarium. Behind the ranks. I might have a little sing. Just to mark the occasion. I Dreamt that I Dwelt in Marble Halls.

I have something for him. Something small. I’m putting it on the mantelpiece. He won’t see it, of course. I’ll have to point it out to him this evening.

It’s a gold tie-pin, and cuff-links with his initials engraved.
’Maybe he hasn’t forgotten. Maybe he has something for me that would fit in his pocket.



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