'How To Be More Axolotl' by Kate Axeford

On our first date, Dave marvelled that Axolotls can regrow tails and eyes—even parts of their hearts. Dave says water forgives everything. He tapped Esmeralda’s tank as he said it.

‘See,’ he whispered, ‘she healed.’

Esmeralda hovered, her regrown leg gently kicking a fern.

‘Watch,’ Dave said, tapping the glass again, softer, like he was apologising to Esmerelda. ‘She remembers, but she moves on.’

Esmeralda stared ahead, patient, like a saint in a stained-glass window.

‘You can do this,’ she mouthed to me.

This morning, Dave announces water is all about renewal. He says this whilst skimming a green film from Esmeralda’s tank with the spoon he uses later for Weetabix. I decide against mentioning cross-contamination.

‘Forgiveness,’ Dave continues, looking at Esmeralda, ‘is a process.’

‘Like filtration?’ I ask.

‘Exactly,’ he says.

I decide to take a leaf out of Esmerelda’s book and practice forgiving Dave for being a dick. It’s easiest to turn the last three months into a game, so I award him ten points for consistency, deduct fifteen for cruelty but give him five for always being first at the bar. He scores somewhere around “it’s definitely over” which feels merciful but fair.

I take my notebook down to the canal. From the towpath, I list everything I’ve done wrong too and fold the page into a triangle boat. I decide against launching. There’s enough shit in this water already.

Back at Dave’s, Esmeralda is still waiting in her tank. The water is clear. The temperature gauge reads a responsible fifteen degrees. Dave doesn’t tap the glass.

I end it with Dave, kindly, and give Esmerelda a cheery thumbs-up on the way out.

Tomorrow, I’ll think more about which parts of me regrow.