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Two of them in particular proved almost indestructible. These were a couple of clownfish, like Finding Nemos, who lived happily together inside a log. They outlived all the other fish and five years after the fiancé left they had the full run of the tank. The extra house space only strengthened their constitutions further and very soon one of them was extremely large and in danger of becoming lodged in the log. I had to find outsize aquarium furniture — a pirate’s chest — and special food robust enough to satisfy their appetites.
They had a great lust for life. Each day I would go into my study and peer into the tank, thinking surely one morning I would discover the inevitable. But the years went by — nearly ten years — and the inevitable did not happen.
Until a few days ago, when I found one of them floating upside-down. I had dreaded this outcome more than anything. Please, God, let them both go together, I used to pray, knowing how much they lived for each other. But, alas, the Almighty has a lot on his mind these days, what with the world economy melting down, and so the biggest fish, the one I assumed to be a male, was left alone.
He swam into his log and did not come out again. I tried giving him his favourite blood worms, I tried talking to him through the glass. But it was no use. He had given up. He didn’t want to live without her. I tried to rationalise it. If this was a person they would just have to get used to life alone. I resolved to be firm and not get too sentimental. I couldn’t buy another fish, or I would be faced with the same problem when this one died. But I had to do something. Every few hours I checked the widower and he was still lying senseless with grief in his log.
I prayed for inspiration. And then, from nowhere, I had the idea to grab the Yellow Pages and look up aquarium suppliers. I rang the very first one in the listings. It turned out to be a shop not five minutes from my house, which I had driven past many times and strangely never noticed before.
A gravelly south London voice answered the phone, ‘’Ello?’ ‘I know this is going to sound mad,’ I said, ‘but I’ve got a grief-stricken clownfish who’s just lost his partner of nearly ten years and I don’t think he’s going to make it. I was wondering if maybe you could ask around some of your customers and find someone who has a clownfish he could be with…’
I stopped talking. This was ridiculous. What was I saying? But the deep voice said, ‘Do you mean a clown loach? Tropical?’ ‘Yes, yes, that’s it.’ ‘Well, it’s funny, dear, because I’ve got a clown loach who’s on her own. I lost one recently myself. I could take it if you want.’
‘No! Really?’ I gasped with joy. ‘Can I bring him round today?’ The man said that I could. ‘Oh, thank you, and what’s your name?’ ‘Sue,’ he said gruffly.
I bagged up my poor clownfish as Sue instructed, with water from the tank and lots of air in the top of the bag, and took him to the shop.
Unaccountably, there was a parking space right outside. Inside, Sue was sitting behind the counter and revealed herself to be very much a woman. That’s some telephone voice you’ve got there, I nearly said. I put the fish on the counter. I had always thought it was a boy but Sue informed me that it was, in fact, a girl.
I had never named the fish before, thinking this silly. But as I left the shop I fought back tears as I took one last look at my clown loach twitching its whiskers: goodbye, Sue.
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