What I Did by Christopher Wakling Page A

juice, and a very incorrect digestive biscuit. I open my mouth to say hold on hold on hold on that’s a mistake you’ve made there, Dad, but I don’t, because my instincts tell me that anything I say right now will be bad for the whole species.
    Mum and Butterfly watch as Dad pours out the wrong drink and sits the wrong biscuit on a plate. Anyone would think he was doing fascinating experiments. It’s not even for them! At last he puts the snack down carefully on the kitchen table and pulls back a chair and gives me an odd smile. — There you go, he says with the balloon still in his voice. — There you go.
    I take a bite of digestive. Chameleons aren’t just camouflage experts: they have killer tongues. And it’s not only the biscuit which tastes odd right now. Everything does.
    â€” What’s going on, Jim? Mum asks again.
    â€” Perhaps we could talk next door? says Butterfly.
    Dad growls: — This is Billy’s house. You can say what you have to say in front of him.
    I take a little sip of squash. It’s all right. I would have preferred proper juice though, even if it did have to have bits in.
    But hold on, what’s this? Butterfly puts her jeans file down on the side quite firmly and stands a little bit straighter up and says, — No, that would not be appropriate.
    And something about the way that she says it sends a cat message to Mum, because she jumps off the wall and sort of swoops down on me with a headlamp smile and picks up the plate and glass and swishes me past Dad — too slow, Dad! —through the door into the front room. — Tell you what, she says, — you can finish your snack in front of the TV.
    How about that! Yes, yes, yes, truly excellent news.
    I say, — Life of Mammals , please.
    â€” Which one?
    â€” Meat Eaters .
    â€” Again?
    â€” Yes please.
    She sighs but I can tell she’s not going to argue and she immediately proves me right by saying, — Okay, coming up, and launching into highly effective mode. She whips the DVD out of its box and slots it into the little tray, thank you tray, red light, in you go, blue light, and zip zap yes, yes, yes, that’s the right episode. Swelly music. Zebra’s eye. Yes!
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    Do you like David Attenborough? Of course, because everyone does, and so do I. I like all of him. But if I had to pick the bit I like best it would be relatively easy: I like his voice more than his other bits. God does not exist. But if there was a God, which there isn’t, because of the evidence, which there isn’t enough of, Son, he would sound exactly like David Attenborough, and Dad agrees with that. He might even have noticed it first. I’ve watched the DVD of Meat Eaters so many times I know nearly all the words.
    But even though I do the thing of saying what David Attenborough says exactly when he says it the voices from the kitchen interrupt me just after the first kill. Not all of the words make sense, especially mixed in with Meat Eaters , but some do.
    â€” Calm down, Jim. Please.
    Truly explosive pace .
    â€” Something, something, child protection, something, duty.
    The fastest of all land animals.
    â€” Explain myself to a fucking stranger.
    Keep its head still even at such speeds.
    â€” Please calm down.
    But the impala is no slouch .
    â€” Assessment team, something, work closely, something, police.
    Cubs look on.
    â€” Something, silly something, ahead and call them.
    Long tail acts as a counterbalance.
    â€” Jim, please . . . Cup of tea . . . He’s not serious.
    They go quiet for a while then and I get to watch the excellent sequence including the bit Dad calls the money-shot in peace and quiet, right up to the distended belly. It means fat.
    But just after that, no, no, no, at the part with the cub with the bloody head from sticking it into the zebra’s insides, no, no, no, the DVD starts jumping. Not this again. The screen goes all