Pushkin’s Opinion

Pushkin’s Opinion

‘W E CAN’T GO

to Corfu,’ I say, more for Pushkin to agree with me than to get his actual opinion. He carries on crunching his lettuce leaf. ‘I can’t just leave work, we can’t stay with someone I’ve never met. And who would look after you, small friend?’

Pushkin continues chewing, his cheeks moving frantically.

‘I haven’t flown in decades,’ I say, though it is a feeble reason for declining adventure.

Pushkin keeps chewing, leaving me to come to my own conclusions, and I open the Platinum Singles app. I sent a lady named Phoebe what I thought was a charming message several days ago. Now the chat box says ‘read’, but she hasn’t replied. I sigh and click on the ‘browse’ button once more. We have some things to tend to here that I can’t just leave.

I pull out my notepad and I write to Emmeline. I thank her for the invitation, but I tell her that I can’t be such an imposition. I will ensure the carrier of her selection gets the letters to her in perfect condition. She has my word as a pirate, of that she can be assured.