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Back The Octopus and I Save as PDF
Chapters (19)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. PRAISE
  3. TITLE PAGE
  4. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  5. DEDICATION
  6. CONTENTS
  7. ONE
  8. CROSSING ISTHMUS
  9. THE OCTOPUS INCIDENT
  10. TWO
  11. A SEAL’S TAKE
  12. THE MULTI-COLOURED KNITTED KNOCKERS
  13. NO BIRD IS ONLY AN I
  14. THREE
  15. I AM SHE
  16. SPUN AIR
  17. THE OCTOPUS AND I
  18. NOTES AND REFERENCES
  19. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I let my body wash in and out and out and in and out and out as currents and waves swirl and churn about me and my arms spiral and curl and coil as the water bubbles against me and I am light am drifting am ushered out to where the water is full and languid and the currents billow in long ocean arcs. I touch I taste I see the water so clean and clear and full and ready and perfect for my eggs and the water curls about me and caresses my pain and my body is full is ready.

THE OCTOPUS INCIDENT

THE OCTOPUS INCIDENT

‘What are you knitting?’ Harry asks. He’s just plonked himself down in one of the old, grey tweed armchairs. It, like the matching chair Lucy is sitting on, is reminiscent of the lounge suite Lucy’s grandparents used to have, with its screw-in wooden feet and its wooden hand-rests, which emerge from the softly mottled upholstery like a sheep’s snout protrudes from the shorn fleece of its brow. Harry’s mother, Flo, sits on the leather three-seater couch, and she and Lucy both hold knitting needles, poised at the ready. On their laps are nests of mismatched wool. The colour scheme of Flo’s is oceanic greens and blues, while Lucy’s ranges from fiery reds to buttercup yellows.

‘None of your business,’ Flo says, at the exact same time Lucy says: ‘Breasts.’ As she says it, an awkward smile tickles her lips, even though it’s not that funny.

Except it is.

The whole thing is ridiculous.

It’s like the word acts as an invitation. Harry’s gaze shifts to Lucy’s chest and lingers there. A frown flits across his face as he takes in her flatness; it’s like he’s only just noticed it.

And how does she feel under the touch of his eyes?

She feels knobbly with scars, a little bit tipsy from the beers, and bizarrely, she also feels a little bit slinky, a little bit … you know. All in all, she thinks she feels okay—really okay, actually—which is a small miracle in and of itself. It makes her love Harry, if only for the duration of the moment, which ends as his gaze shifts to the beer clutched in his tall-man’s fist. The tan of his face deepens as it blends with a red hue.

What a vibrant, rich blush he has, Lucy notes idly.

Eventually, he says, ‘Sorry if this is a weird question, but did you used to have them?’