………

‘I’m honestly not the greatest of experts on the matter – it’s just more of an … an instinct, I suppose. A journey of the heart. And only you can know if it’ll make you feel more positive about …’

‘WAH!’

………

‘Yes. The missing photos are one reason why you might not feel as if you can entirely …’

………

‘WAH!’

‘Well, it’s not really down to us to stand in judgement, is it?’

………

‘But it’s not simply a question of tit-for-tat, though, Carla, because if it were …’

‘WAH!’

………

‘Exactly. The dead shark.’

………

‘WAH!’

‘Oh Carla! I just wish I could be of a little more …’

‘OW! OW! YOU EVIL, LITTLE BUGGER! GET YOUR …! STOP THAT! STOP THAT!’

(?!)

‘Good heavens! Carla! Did you just …?’

………

‘Baldo! I swear! He just said …’

………

‘Yes! Clear as a bell! An entire sentence!’

………

‘I know! But what a sentence, Carla!’

‘WAH!’

………

‘They must’ve! Yes! Oh my goodness! Baldo! Baldo! You can’t just go around yelling out dreadful things like that in polite society without so much as a …!’

‘WAH!’

………

‘He’s preening himself, Carla, proud as punch! I mean she … herself.’

………

‘She is! Well let’s pray to God that it was simply a one-off!’

………

‘Yes I do! A very good mind to tell them! I just forked out for a £250 vet’s bill, Carla! And this is how they go about … ?!’

[Shrill, high-pitched whistle.]

………

‘Baldo! What were you thinking, eh?’

‘BALDO! BALDO! BALDO! BALDO! BALDO! BALDO! WAAAH!’

‘He’s all …’

………

‘Yes. Sorry. I probably better had, Carla.’

‘WAAAAH!’

‘He is!’

WAAAAAAAAAH!’

‘I mean sh—’

‘WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA …’

………

‘… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA …’

‘Okay. Yes. Okay …’

‘… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA …’

………

‘… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA …’

‘Goodbye then, darling!’

‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA …’

‘And the very best of British … uh …!’

‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAK!!’

47

Mr Franklin D. Huff

I’d been in dreadful pain. Dreadful pain. But things (you know, ahem, ‘things’) improved dramatically when I cut down on the analgesics (those awful sounds – roaring, keening, strangely individuated – slowly abated). So it was almost worth it. And the pain itself was a distraction. A sharpener. A kind of … of motivator of sorts.

Although there was still a strong suggestion of … you know … if I moved my head too quickly … a subtle, golden dusting of … a … an ominous feeling … this dreadful … this wretched … this terrible, all-pervasive atmosphere of yearning, aching need … all these endless legions of … suddenly emerging. That dreadful atmosphere of crushing loneliness!

But it was manageable. Perfectly manageable. With the odd careful adjustment. So long as I kept Mrs Meadows hanging around the place. Which was actually a kind of torment in itself. A kind of punishment in itself. Her slavish adoration. Almost as bad as being loathed by Miss Hahn (I’d even been cruelly abandoned by her voice! Her voice! Even her voice was gone! Which I suppose, if I’m honest about it, was really my voice in the guise of Miss Hahn’s voice. Don’t they sometimes say that loving someone else is actually only another means of loving the self? Don’t they say that?).