Emily Windsnap and the Siren's Secret

by Liz Kessler

  I decided to overlook the fact that Millie wasn’t making sense. “OK,” I agreed, and followed her out of the boat.

  Millie marched up the jetty, her cape billowing out behind her. I scampered along behind her. “Millie, are you going to tell me what this is about?” I asked when I caught up.

  “You’ll see soon enough,” she replied in that mysterious way that she says most things.

  We took a turn down toward the beach cottages where Aaron and his mom were staying. “Is it Aaron?” I asked. “Has something happened to him?”

  “Nothing has happened to anyone. Come on. Nearly there now.” She took a sharp left turn, paced to the last cottage in the row and stopped. “This is it,” she said. Then she wiped her palms down the side of her dress, pulled a wisp of hair off her face, and swallowed hard.

  She turned to me. “Ready?” Her voice had a breathless wobble in it. She was clearly nervous — but why? What was inside the cottage? What was I meant to be ready for?

  “I guess so,” I said. Then I followed Millie up the path. She took a deep breath. And then she knocked on the door.

  The door opened. A woman was standing in the doorway. She was thin and spindly, with gray hair and glasses hanging from her neck on a chain. She looked elderly, but kind of sprightly too.

  A man came up behind her, same age, taller than she was, but thin and gray-haired too. They both stared at us.

  “Can we help you?” the woman asked with a friendly smile. Her eyes crinkled up and turned green and shiny when she smiled. Something about her smile seemed familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. She couldn’t be familiar. I’d never seen either of them before!

  “I — it’s — don’t you —” Millie began. She was even more flustered than she’d been before we knocked on the door.

  The man came to the front door step. “You must be the lady from the competition,” he said.

  Competition? What competition?

  “Come on in,” he went on. “We’re so pleased to meet you. What a wonderful surprise, winning something like this out of the blue. It’s all happened so fast; lucky we were free! And the place is lovely.”

  What on earth was he talking about? Had he mixed us up with someone else? I turned to Millie.

  She just gave me a quick nod and ushered me in. The man spotted me. “Ah, you’ve brought your daughter with you.” He reached down to shake my hand. “Well, come on in, both of you.”

  I glared at Millie. “Daughter?” I mouthed. She shook her head and frowned a silent Shhhh! at me.

  The four of us stood in the front room in an awkward circle, looking at each other.

  “Well?” Millie said, grinning broadly at the couple. “Now that you can have a good look, surely you remember me?”

  The two strangers stared blankly at Millie.

  “This is Emily!” she said.

  They turned their blank stares on me. I stared blankly back.

  I’d had enough. “Millie, are you going to explain what’s going on here?”

  Suddenly, Millie looked just as bewildered as the rest of us. “You won’t even acknowledge me?” she asked. Her voice cracked as she spoke. I thought she was going to cry. “Well, I knew you felt strongly about it all, but I didn’t think you’d take it this far!”

  The couple continued to stare at her, mouths open, puzzled expressions across their faces. The woman spoke first. “Look, it was very nice of you to let us know we’d won, and we really are grateful, but I’m sure I don’t know what —”

  “Hello?” a voice called from the front door. We’d left it open behind us and a second later, Aaron’s face appeared. He glanced around the room and grinned when he saw me. “Hey — I thought it was you. I was just passing,” he said. “What’re you doing here?”

  Good question!

  “Can I come in?” he asked, stepping into the small room before I had a chance to reply.

  “This is my friend Aaron,” I said as he squeezed in next to me — not that anyone took any notice. They were all still too busy staring blankly at each other. I felt Aaron’s hand brush mine. Immediately my face got hot and my heart started hammering so loudly I was positive someone would hear it — especially while we were all standing there in this shocked silence.

  And then something else happened. The feeling of his hand touching mine — well, I know it’s going to sound ridiculous and corny and stupid, but it sent shivers and tingles all the way up my arm. I glanced at him to see if he’d felt it too. He looked at me, but he didn’t move away. In fact, a moment later, he smiled shyly, then he opened up his fingers and took my hand in his.

  Which was pretty much the same moment that the woman’s face turned as gray as her hair.

  “Emily?” she whispered. She turned to her husband.

  He clutched her arm and took a step toward me. “It’s really you? Our Emily?” he said.

  I looked at Millie for some help.

  “About time, too!” she exclaimed with a broad smile.

  “It’s Mary Penelope’s friend Millie!” the man exclaimed. “Why, it must be, what — twelve years?”

  “About that,” she said. “Give or take a lifetime or so,” she added under her breath with a meaningful look in my direction.

  “Oh, my — Mary Penelope — is she here? Do you know where she is?” the woman burst out.

  “Er, look, does someone want to explain what’s going on here?” I said. “Or who these people are?”

  The woman reached out and put a hand up to my cheek. “Emily darling,” she said softly, “we’re your grandparents.”

  I stared at both of them. “My —”

  The man smiled at me. “It’s true,” he said. “We’re your grandparents.”

  “But why — how come — I mean, who —?”

  The woman laughed. “There was no competition at all, was there?” she said to Millie.

  Millie proudly shook her head. “I didn’t think a simple invitation would cut it, so I called in a favor to rent the cottage for a few days and set this little ruse up.”

  “But how did you find them?” I asked.

  “Well, we already had the town. I just did a bit of digging around on the Interweb.”

  “Internet,” I corrected gently.

  “Yes, exactly,” she went on. “And actually it wasn’t hard at all. In reality, these things tend not to be. Very often, the only obstacles in our path are the ones we place there in our own minds,” she said airily, throwing her cape over her shoulder for good measure.

  “So what did you do once you’d found out where they were?” I asked.

  Millie lowered her voice. “With the help of some spiritual knowledge, a little bit of mystical insight, a few carefully placed markers along the ley lines of the way, anything is possible,” she said dramatically.

  “She phoned us,” the woman said.

  Millie picked an invisible speck of dirt off her gown. “Well, yes, you could put it like that too, I suppose.”

  The woman went on. “She told us we’d won a weekend by the sea — for this weekend!”

  “Well, it worked, didn’t it?” Millie said.

  I stared at them a bit more. “So you really are my grandparents?” I asked. They nodded back at me with bright beaming smiles.

  I turned to Millie. “Come on — we have to go and tell Mom!” I looked at my watch. “It’s past twelve. She should be home for lunch by now.”

  The woman — Nan — clapped a hand over her mouth and reached out to take Granddad’s arm with her other hand. “Is this really happening?” she asked him. “Are we really going to see our daughter again?”

  He put his hand over hers. A lump in his throat was bobbing up and down, and it looked as though he was trying to speak. In the end he just squeezed her hand and nodded.

  “Hang on a sec.” Millie rummaged in her bag. “Where is it? I bought it especially for the occasion. I’m sure it’s here some — ah!” She pulled a small camera out of her bag. “Rig
ht, close together everyone. Say cheese!”

  Aaron and I stood awkwardly in front of my grandparents and tried to smile while Millie clicked away.

  “Lovely!” she said with a smile. “Right, come on, let’s go and tell Mary P. you’re here!”

  Closing the door behind them, the old couple followed Millie out of the cottage and up toward the pier. I walked along with Aaron. We were still holding hands. The tingling feeling still hadn’t gone away — and my heart rate still hadn’t slowed down. It felt weird to be holding his hand, but at the same time it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

  We walked up the jetty and over toward our boat. Millie turned to my grandparents. My grandparents! It felt so strange to think that. “Ready?” she asked.

  They nodded eagerly. “Definitely!” the man replied.

  “Right, come on then.” Millie let herself in through the door, calling out to Mom as she did so. “Yoo-hoo! Mary P. — you’ll never guess who I’ve brought to see you!”

  As my grandparents followed her inside, Aaron stopped. “I think you should go in on your own. It’s family stuff.” Then in a shy mumble, he added, “I’ll catch you later, though, won’t I?”

  “Definitely!” I said.

  He let go of my hand and smiled. My palm was still warm from the feel of his hand on mine. “See you later,” I said. And then he turned and left, and I went in for the happy reunion.

  Only it wasn’t exactly what you could call happy.

  My grandparents were doing the staring blankly thing again.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  Millie stood in the middle of the room, gesticulating wildly. Mom stood behind her, arms folded, face like a shut door. “We’ve just been talking, over at your cottage! How can you not remember?” Millie was shouting.

  “The cottage that we’re staying in for the weekend vacation that we won?” the woman asked.

  “You didn’t win a competition!” Millie sighed. “That was a setup! A pretense. I’ve just explained all that!”

  “You mean we shouldn’t be there?” the man asked. “Do we have to leave?”

  I stood in front of the couple. “Nan? Granddad?” I said.

  I might as well have been a Martian that had just landed on Earth for all the recognition in their eyes.

  “Who are you?” the woman said eventually.

  I bit back a tear that had started to creep up my throat. “It’s Emily,” I said. “Your granddaughter. I came over here with you.”

  The couple looked at each other, totally baffled. What was going on?

  “Just leave.” Mom’s voice was stern and cold. “You’ve had your fun, making a fool out of me. Now go.” Her arms were still tightly folded over each other. Her face was closed just as tightly.

  Millie ushered the couple to the door. “I don’t understand,” she said. “I don’t get it.” She followed them outside and directed them back to their cottage. Then she came back in and shut the door behind her.

  Mom slumped down at the table. “Oh, Millie,” she said. “What on earth did you do?”

  “I — I thought it would be a wonderful surprise. A happy reunion. I thought it might jump-start the peacemaking process that’s supposed to be going on.”

  “How could they be so cruel?” Mom whimpered. “Not to acknowledge me at all. To pretend they didn’t even know me. I never thought they could stoop so low. My own parents.”

  I went over and put an arm around Mom. I wanted to say something to comfort her, but I couldn’t think of anything. What could I possibly say that could make up for what had just happened?

  What had just happened?

  They’d seemed so happy to see me, so excited to come and meet up with Mom — and then they’d looked through both of us as though they’d never met us in their lives. It just didn’t add up. Had they put it all on? Was it all an act so that they could make a fool of Mom? But why would they have wanted to hurt her so much? Were people really that cruel?

  My head was spinning with questions I couldn’t answer.

  And then I thought of a person who possibly could.

  A person who had been around since the days when my grandparents lived here. And, now that I thought about it, a person who had acted very strangely the other day when we were talking about them. A person who had some answering to do — as usual.

  The more I thought about it, the more determined I was to get to the bottom of this. Mom was far too upset to leave her now, but I’d decided what I was going to do. First thing in the morning, I knew exactly where I was heading!

  Saturday morning I woke up with one thing on my mind. I threw on some clothes and went out, still fuming, and determined to get some answers. I banged on the lighthouse door.

  “Open up!” I shouted. “Let me in — I want to talk to you!”

  A second later, the door opened and Mr. Beeston appeared. “Whatever is the matter, child? Is it your mother? Is she all right?” He was halfway out the door, but I stopped him.

  “Mom’s fine,” I said. “At least, nothing’s happened to her.” I paused. “Unless you call having your life utterly destroyed and your family in tatters anything to worry about.” I folded my arms.

  Mr. Beeston stared at me. “What on earth are you talking about? What’s happened?”

  “My grandparents,” I said simply. At the word, his face changed. It was as though an invisible straw had sucked the color out of it.

  He opened the door and beckoned me in. “You’d better come inside,” he said.

  The apartment inside the lighthouse was bare. Not that I expected it to be full of life and warmth. This was Mr. Beeston’s home we were talking about. A pile of boxes was stacked up in one corner. A pile of papers in another. At the sight of them, I couldn’t help wondering if he was still collecting files on us.

  He noticed me looking around. “I haven’t properly settled in yet,” he said, waving a hand over the boxes.

  “Tell me about my grandparents,” I said bluntly. Mr. Beeston looked at me for a second, mouth open, ready to start making up a pack of lies.

  “The truth,” I said, and he closed his mouth and let his head drop.

  “You have to understand one thing,” he began. I wanted to tell him I didn’t have to understand anything he said. And I didn’t have to do anything he said, either. But I bit my tongue and waited for him to continue.

  “It was all a long time ago. Long before the current — what have you — arrangements, and recent friendships.” He looked nervously up at me. Friendships? Hah! As if he would ever understand the meaning of the word. Again, I held my tongue, and he went on.

  “Your grandfather was a sailing man, and a decent fisherman, too. He spent many of his days out on the ocean. And then one day, he saw something he shouldn’t have seen.”

  I kept quiet.

  Mr. Beeston cleared his throat. “He saw a mermaid. He was so excited about it that he came straight to me and told me. You see, we were on good terms back then.”

  “You mean you conned your way into his life, just like you did with my mom and me?” I said tightly.

  He ignored me and continued. “I couldn’t allow it. Not in my role at that time. We already knew about your mother and father, and the plans were in place for dealing with it. Your grandparents knew nothing, of course, and your grandfather suddenly having this information — well, it complicated things. We had to put a stop to it.”

  “How?”

  “For one thing, we had to wipe his memory.” He stopped.

  Of course. The memory drug. I should have guessed. “And for another?” I prompted.

  At least he had the decency to be struggling. Maybe he did have a conscience after all. “We had to stop him from going out to sea again,” he said, shuffling even more awkwardly than usual.

  “In case he saw something else,” I said.

  He nodded. “Once I’d wiped his memory, I told him that he and his wife had to leave. He never questioned it — the drug too
k care of that, too. That’s what we usually did in those days.”

  “And my mom?”

  “Unfortunately, this also happened to be the time that your mother discovered she was pregnant and had decided to tell her parents everything.”

  “And they thought she was crazy, because you’d already wiped their memories.” It was all starting to fall into place.

  Mr. Beeston puffed his cheeks out. “Look, conditions were very different back then. Regulations were strict; Neptune was very firm on these laws. You know that.”

  I kept silent.

  “I’m not proud of what I did,” he said quietly.

  “So what about my mom? How come she didn’t go with them?”

  He shook his head. “I tried the drug on her several times, to get her to agree to it, but it wouldn’t work. Even once I’d taken away the memory of your father, I couldn’t make her leave. She simply refused.”

  “So my grandparents moved away, and they didn’t remember a thing?” I asked woodenly.

  “Correct.”

  I swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in my throat. It was too hard, though. It had a lifetime of hurt and anger inside it. “What about the cards?” I asked. “Every year, a birthday card and Christmas card?”

  Mr. Beeston fiddled with a button on his jacket. “I sent them,” he said.

  “You? But how?”

  “I had to visit them regularly, to ensure that the memory drug was still working.”

  That made sense. He’d kept my mom drugged on a weekly basis, with cinnamon buns and doughnuts — laced with the memory drug.

  “I’d write the cards, then send them while I was up there — so they had the right postmarks on them.” He glanced nervously at me. “So your mother would still at least have something,” he added.

  I nearly laughed. He thought he’d been doing us a favor by scrawling a few measly, lying words on a card a couple of times a year?

  “It was my way of doing one small thing for you,” Mr. Beeston went on. “You see, your mother and I were friends back —”

  “You mean they didn’t even sign their own names on them?” I interrupted. I wasn’t going to listen to him telling me he’d been our friend while he’d been lying to our faces for years!