The Wishfish
Doris dumped her shopping bag on the kitchen floor and untied the strings of her rainhood. Dreadful weather, they'd had no summer at all. And her knee was playing up again. She lit the gas under the kettle and began to put away the shopping, leaving the kipper for Alf's tea out on the table. She did not care for kippers herself, they repeated on her, but Alf was very partial to them. Had to be the real thing, mind, with their heads and tails still on, none of that boil-in- the-bag rubbish. She stared down at it morosely. The kipper stared back. "Don't eat me," it said. "Pardon?" said Doris. "I can grant wishes," it went on eagerly. "Health. Wealth. Power. Anything you like. Only not if you eat me." Doris sat down heavily, the kitchen chair creaking beneath her weight. "Fish don't talk," she said. "I do," said the kipper. "I'm magic. Ever hear the story about the fisherman and his wife?" Doris shook her head. "He was dirt poor till one day he caught a magic fish in his net. It gave him everything he asked for, until his wife got too greedy . . . I was that fish." "But you can't be the same one," protested Doris. "I mean . . . " "I'm immortal, aren't I? Must be," it added glumly, "to survive kippering. But I won't survive eating. So what do you say?" "What about Alf's tea?" "Give him something else! Think. You could have everything you ever dreamed of." The kettle was boiling away, unnoticed. Doris got up and made the tea. Anything she wanted! She didn't know where to start. That dress in Overdale's window, a new stair carpet, the bathroom window fixed . . . nothing seemed quite important enough. "I could do him egg and chips, I suppose," she said. "That's the spirit!" said the kipper. "What'll it be?" Doris brought her tea back to the table. Her feet were killing her, and she was sure her ankles were swelling. Everything hurt. "I wish . . . I wish I was young again," she said slowly. "And beautiful," she added for good measure. "No problem," said the kipper. It was a most extraordinary feeling. All her aches and pains drained away, leaving her feeling strangely light. She jumped from her chair and raced upstairs, clutching the waistband of her skirt to stop it falling down. She had to see what she looked like! A vision stared back at her from the mirror. Herself forty years younger, but not as she had ever been. Her hair had never been that thick and glossy. Her face was still her face, just about, but its planes and proportions had been subtly altered. She was gorgeous. Wait till Alf saw her! He'd be back soon. She never let him in before four o'clock. He may be retired but that didn't mean she wanted him under her feet all day. Heavens! The kipper! He mustn't see that. She flew downstairs and had just stowed it safely away in the freezer when she heard his key in the door. Alf's expression when he walked into the kitchen was everything she could have wished. His jaw dropped, his eyes bulged, and he had to take several deep breaths before he could speak. "Who the hell are you?" he said. Unfortunately it proved totally impossible to get Alf to accept that she really was Doris. The more she insisted, the more he fixed her with a blank stare and replied, "No, you're not." That was Alf all over. Once he got an idea in his head nothing would shift it. Bedtime was the worst. No sooner had she settled in her half of the bed when he came shuffling in with his teeth in a glass, saw her, and yelped, "Get out!" Well, no-one was going to turf Doris out of the bed she'd slept in all her married life. But there was no way she could get him to join her. "I daren't, I daren't," he whimpered. "What if Doris comes back? She'll kill me." In the end Doris gave him a couple of blankets and sent him downstairs to sleep on the sofa. She decided she had made a fundamental mistake. She should not have tried to change herself without changing Alf as well. Next morning, after feeding him his breakfast and pushing him out of the door, she went back to the freezer for the kipper. It was a bit stiff and unbending at first, but after she'd thawed it out it became quite amenable. "Thought you'd be back. Old man not up to scratch?" it sniggered. "Another spot of rejuvenation wanted?" "Not exactly," said Doris. She'd been thinking about Alf, remembering him as a young man. He didn't seem quite good enough for the new her. She'd never really thought he was good enough for the old her, come to that. "I was thinking, maybe, something a bit different, more caring and considerate. Romantic. And good-looking of course," "Humph. Don't want much, do you?' "Of course, if that's too difficult . . . " "Nothing is too difficult for Me," said the kipper. "Consider it done." That afternoon at four she heard the key as usual but instead of Alf in walked the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. Tall and slim, yet well muscled, with dark curly hair and melting brown eyes, he was all her dreams come true. He swept her into his arms. "My darling," he murmured in her ear. "I've got your tea ready," she stammered. "Tea? Who cares about tea? It's you I hunger for."He led her, unresisting, up the stairs. Doris settled down to her new life. She started calling herself Estelle. After all. she thought, if Alf couldn't believe I'm really Doris it's not likely anyone else will, and I never liked the name anyway. The new Alf she renamed "Mario", after a film-star she'd once liked. He was very attentive, always bringing her flowers and little gifts, and taking her out to dinner in expensive restaurants. She had one nasty moment when the hole-in-the-wall refused her card. Insufficient funds, it said. But she asked the fish for a more money, and a suitcase stuffed with used fifties duly materialised under the bed. She told people that Alf and Doris had gone to Australia, and she was a niece, looking after the house till they came back. She knew there was talk. A deathly silence would fall whenever she walked into the greengrocer's, and every time she went in the back garden Next Door would be peering over the fence, asking had she heard from Doris, and when were they coming back? Nosy cow. Then one day the doorbell rang and there on the step was Alf's sister Gertie, all the way from Doncaster. Come to snoop, of course, though goodness knows how she found out. They hadn't spoken since the unpleasantness over the walnut-veneered wardrobe when Alf's mother died. Doris trotted out the Austalia story, but she could see Gertie didn't buy it. "Niece? Doris always said she had no brothers or sisters." "They didn't get on." She got rid of Gertie eventually, but she had a feeling she had not heard the last of her. Doris sighed. She was tired of all this hassle. What she needed was a holiday. And why not? See the world. She'd often fancied going abroad, but Alf wouldn't fly and she got sick in a rowboat on the pond, so they'd always ended up in Skegness. She would go straight down to the travel agent's and buy two tickets to the most exciting place she could find! Doris let herself into the house, stepping over the pile of bills and junk mail on the mat. It was good to be home. Not that she hadn't had a marvellous time, at least at first. They'd visited all the places she had only seen in films: New York, Miami, Disneyworld. Till Mario ran off with a lap-dancer in Acapulco. Took what was left of the money with him, the toad. Left her with her return ticket and barely enough to get home. Still, plenty more where he came from. And as for money, she only had to ask the kipper for another lot. But first, a nice cup of tea. There was a funny smell in the house. Doris opened the back door to air the place, and - what a surprise! - there was Next Door hanging over the fence. "Had a good time, dear? I'm glad I spotted you - " I bet you are, thought Doris. " - because I think you ought to know," went on Next Door with barely concealed satisfaction, "the police have been round. Asking ever so many questions, they were, about Doris and Alf. Still, now you're home you can sort it out. Give them your uncle's address in Australia. You have got it, haven't you?" "Of course," said Doris, fighting down panic. The police! They would find out she had been lying; but what could she possibly tell them, that they would believe? Then like a light coming on in her brain, an idea came to her. She nearly laughed aloud in her relief. All she had to do was go to the kipper, and wish that everyone would believe whatever she said. Then she could tell them what she liked. Even the truth. Why not the truth? She (and the kipper) would be famous. She might even get on the telly. She had better get the kipper thawed out ready, she did not know how much time she had. She went into the kitchen, opened the freezer - And screamed. The stench was appalling. Doris stared for a moment at the putrid mass of rotting food, then collapsed onto a chair. Too late she remembered the envelopes marked Final Demand on the mat. She must have forgotten to pay the electric before they went away! How could she have been so stupid? She buried her face in her hands, barely able to comprehend her loss. No Mario. No money. No story. No fish. Steeling herself against the smell, she began to poke around among the debris, hoping against hope that something of the fish might have survived. She found it at last, but as she took it out of its bag it disintegrated into a formless, almost liquid mass from which one eye gazed mournfully back at her. Shuddering she flung the kipper into the bin and scrubbed the smell off her wrinkled fingers. Wrinkled? She stairs were steeper than she remembered, and her clothes felt so tight she could hardly breathe. Fearfully she looked in the mirror. Yes, it was true; the old Doris was back. She collapsed onto the bed. The spell must have ended when the kipper fell to bits, she thought. Well, it was fun while it lasted, and at least I won't have to worry about the police any more. I suppose Mario's turned back into Alf, as well. She thought of Alf in Acapulco, with the lap-dancer, and a slow smile spread over her face. The smile grew into a chuckle and then a laugh. She lay on the bed laughing until the tears came to her eyes, and in that moment she looked almost young again.
Copyright © 1999 Moya Green |