The Bright Side (33 page)

“It’s a
tiger
,” he whispered in a voice filled with awe. I nodded. “Yup. He’s big, isn’t he?
”

Niall returned his gaze to the main event for a moment, then came back to me. “It’s a
tiger
,” he whispered again
.

“Isn’t he lovely?” Melissa said
.

“It says here he eats nine kilos of meat a day,” Colm said. “Imagine that, Niall.
”

Melissa tutted. “Oh for God’s sake, Colm. Niall doesn’t know a kilo from a hole in the ground.
”

Colm bristled. “I’m just saying . . . it’s a lot of meat.” “Fine, but leave the maths out of it.
”

“It’s hardly
maths
!”

“Units of measurement, then …” Colm shook his head. “Maths …
”

While this mini-argument was blowing up and then immediately dying down, Niall moved his feet closer to the glass and then spread his arms and legs, as if that could get him closer to his new god. I hunkered down beside him. Just as I did so, the tiger yawned, possibly because he was exhausted by being so cool and possibly because he wanted us to get a load of his teeth
.

“He
yawned
!” Niall marvelled.

“He must be very sleepy,” I said. “Maybe he’s been running around a lot.
”

Niall turned. His nose was almost touching mine. “Does he eat people?
”

I thought about it for a moment and decided to tell him the truth, mostly because the truth was more fun. “He might if he was very, very hungry,” I said. “He’d rather have something else, though. And don’t worry, he can’t get
us
. We’re safe.
”

He
blinked
at
me
and
I
could
practically
see
the information
settling
into
his
brain.
“I
would
hate
that,”
he
said
solemnly.
“Being
eat
by
a
lion.
Tiger.
”

“Me too,” I agreed. “It would be no good at all.
”

“He’s got a name,” Colm said then. “Do you know what it is? Go on, have a guess.
”

Niall gave it some thought. “Niall?” he ventured
.

Colm’s head dropped. “No. Turlough. Turlough … the Tiger.” He seemed to realise slightly too late that his son didn’t appreciate being asked to guess something that he had no chance of getting right
.

It was a tumbleweed moment. I was reminded of my twenty-fifth birthday party when Robert squinted up at me and asked me my age. When I challenged him to guess, he bit his thumb for a moment, then said, “Sixty?” Asking children to guess things is a mug’s game
.

We watched Turlough for another few minutes, during which Niall’s devotion only seemed to grow. It wasn’t easy getting him to move on. We managed it, in the end, by making outlandish
claims about
the animals
around the
corner. The word “magical” was used more than once
.

Over
the
course
of
the
next
hour
and
a
half,
I
tried
to discern
a
pattern
in
Niall’s
response
to
the
animals
but without
success.
He
thought
the
spider
monkeys
were “boring”,
but
the
colobus
monkeys
were
“lovely”.
The lemurs
were
“funny”,
but
the
orangutans
were
“sad”.
He found
the
hippos
mesmerising
but
didn’t
even
slow
down
at
the
giraffes;
he
toddled
right
past,
waving
his
hand
dismissively,
as
if
to
say,
Yeah,
yeah,
long
necks
–
I
get
it
.
The zebras
were
his
least
favourite
of
all.
He
did
pause
by
their enclosure
but
only
long
enough
to
deliver
this
damning
indictment:
“Stripey
horses.”
He
said
it
with
such
an
air
of finality,
as if
nothing ever
needed to
be
said about
the species
again,
that
I
instantly
cracked
up.
Niall
looked
at
me from
the
corner
of
his
eye,
checking
to
make
sure
that
I wasn’t
laughing
at
him. Once he
had satisfied himself
that I was
not,
he
joined
in,
his
little
shoulders
rising
and
falling with
each
guffaw
.

Predictably enough, the dining facilities at the zoo weren’t up to much. When lunchtime came around, we had flavourless sandwiches, which somehow managed to be both limp and hard, and bottles of water that cost as much as the average cocktail. Colm kept Niall amused with impressions of the animals we’d seen so far (he did a particularly fine macaque), while Melissa and I put our heads together to bitch about the woman three tables over. She had two kids with her, both of whom were horrendously fat. The mother was no pipe-cleaner herself, but the kids were like something from a documentary. They were tucking into quarter-pounders and chips, pausing periodically to suck on jumbo Cokes, the kind that come in buckets
.

“I feel like going over,” Melissa whispered. “Bloody idiot. It’s practically child abuse. They’re, what, about six or seven years of age? They must be twenty stone between them.
”

“A bit of junk once in a while does no one any harm,” I agreed. “But those two must be living on it.
Must
be.
”

“They’ve bars of chocolate there too, look – and crisps. That’s dessert.
”

“They probably wouldn’t know an apple if it ran up and kissed them.
”

“It’s disgusting, that’s what it is.” “Disgraceful.
”

“What would Jamie Oliver say?” “I
know
.
”

Yes,
we
were
being
horribly
judgmental
and
no,
it
was none
of
our
business
in
the
first
place,
but
I
was
really enjoying
myself.
In
days
gone
by,
Melissa
and
I
had
regularly joined
up
to
bitch
about
a
third
party;
it
was
practically
a
hobby
and
one
I
had
sorely
missed.
I
was
greatly
disappointed
when
she
dropped
the
subject
and
started telling
me
about
the
deli
near
her
house,
whose
greatness was
only
slightly
marred
by
the
fact
that
it
was
run
by
the rudest
man
in
the
world.
I
tried
to
feign
interest,
but
my attention kept
wandering
back
towards
the fat
children. They were
having a
bit of
a row
because the
little boy
– the young
boy,
rather
–
had
stolen
some
chips
from
his
sister’s stash.
This,
despite
the
fact
that
he
had
plenty
of
his
own
in front
of
him.
I
couldn’t
quite
hear
what
she
was
saying
but, whatever
it
was,
she
really
meant
it.
She
had
a
face
on
her like
a clenched
fist
and
seemed
to
be
having
difficulty forcing
the
words
past
her
teeth.
I’d
been
watching
for
a
few seconds
before
I
became
aware
that
I
was
being
watched back.
When
I
flicked
my
eyes
slightly
to
the
left
and
saw
the mother staring
at
me,
I
jerked
my
entire
body
towards Melissa
and
started
nodding
furiously,
as
if
I
was
thoroughly engrossed
in
what
she
was
saying.
Just
as
I
began
to
hope that
I’d
got
away
with
it,
the
mother
pushed
back
her
chair and
rose
steadily,
like
Godzilla
coming
up
from
the
depths.
I allowed
myself
to
believe
that
maybe,
just
maybe,
she
was
going
to
one
of
the
two
tables
between
us,
both
of
which were
empty.
For
more
salt
,
I
thought.
Or
more
ketchup
.
Or
more napkins
.
She
wasn’t,
of
course.
She
was
coming
for
me.