Free Something Fishy by Hilary MacLeod

frightening time when they took him away. Scraped him out. Newton had huddled in the darkest recess of the womb, hiding from the cold metal killer. He’d succeeded. And even when the time came for him to kick, he held back, not wanting to announce his presence and suffer the same fate as his brother.
    Slowly he began conscious movements, ones that wouldn’t be perceived – sucking his thumb, scratching parts of his body, experiencing these small tactile pleasures. He remembered hearing voices for the first time. Hers, of course. It came from without and within. The others vibrated to him in the womb, voices talking, singing, and music, too. Still he did not announce himself, but surrendered to the pleasure of his isolated water world. In retrospect, it was the most pleasant time of his life. It gave him an immutable belief about when life starts. He’d never faced the challenge himself of deciding whether to keep a child. No one had wanted to make him a parent.
    But the birth. What a shock. At first, he felt as if it were the end. Pushed from the shelter of his pre-birth home. Inexorably pushed, trying to fight, to stay in the warm place with the comforting beat of the heart. Struggling to hold on there, claw his way back in.
    Pushed. Pushed. Shoved. Squeezed. Finally, worst of all, steel tongs grasping his head, squishing it, pulling him out while he tried to cling to his mother’s womb.
    There was no turning back. He must be born.
    He cried. Of course he cried. All babies cry when they come into the world.
    It is a very rude awakening.
    Newton thought that was why he was always shaking, shivering, that he had never been truly warm again after he was expelled from the womb. That’s how he thought of it. Because his mother had wanted little to do with him after pushing him out into the cold world.
    So meeting Fiona was exactly what he needed. She was warm. Embracing. Bursting with life.
    She was there, as if summoned, when he climbed down the tower. She watched as he descended, the sun behind his head like a halo, a man who needed her as much as she needed him. That had never happened to her before.
    When he slid down the last few rungs, slipped and fell into the safety of her open arms, it was like being enfolded in the womb again. He didn’t question it. Didn’t question her, but felt himself melt into her abundance, disappear into her flesh.
    Gus saw it all happen. It had stopped her from turning on the soaps on a dull afternoon.
    She smiled.
    This was much better than television.
    Viola’s heart was beating in her temples, her lungs ready to explode, but she was doggedly determined to do what she’d set out to do. The chauffeur had refused to drive her up to the village, having just cleared the worst of the smell of smoke out of his car. When she’d asked, he hadn’t even answered. He jumped in the car and took off for Charlottetown. Viola was determined to find the power broker at The Shores – the person who could get rid of the trailer and the wind turbine, killer of birds, the species dearest to her heart.
    April Dewey and Annabelle Mack were having a natter at the side of April’s house. Annabelle had been admiring April’s garden, which had given her lettuce, beans, and strawberries in abundance this year. They stopped talking at the sight of Viola, puffing her way up the Shore Lane.
    I need a cigarette, she thought, but she didn’t dare have one. She hardly had the lungs to make this trek, and hoped she didn’t have to go much farther.
    She crossed over the lane when she got to April’s house.
    â€œWho runs this place?” she gasped, after taking a moment to catch her breath.
    Annabelle smiled and pointed up the lane.
    â€œGus Mack,” she said.
    â€œThe mayor?”
    â€œOf all you survey.”
    Viola continued on her way, with Annabelle and Alice holding their laughter until she was out of earshot.
    A knock at the door. Gus