by Lily Hammond
She looked out the window, thinking of the view from her attic room over the strange city. The birds had woken her again that morning, and when she’d looked out the window, kneeling on the hard floor, the sash pushed up so that she could breathe in the briny air, she’d seen the moon angling down towards the far hills, a slice of silver in a pink sky and she’d wished upon it the way a child did on a falling star.
She missed her mother. Inside her, everything was hollow where her mother was missing. With a shaking hand, she turned the cup up the right way on its thick white saucer and poured a trembling stream of tea into it. The smell of it made her long for home, and she remembered sitting at the table in the kitchen with her mother nattering at her over a pot of tea before they set off for the laundry. Her mother would know what to do, if she was here. She touched the gold ring under her dress again, and knew she was going to have to sell it. Her temples hurt at the thought, and her heart ached. She didn’t want to take it to the man at the pawn shop, watch him turn it over in his big, grubby fingers, the gold gleaming dully in the light from that old back room, and then to have to take whatever paltry sum he decided to give her, grinning at her all the while with his rotting teeth.
Breakfast arrived, the plate lumped down in front of her and the waitress wheeling away without a word. Eliza dropped her hand and stared at the food, her stomach gurgling again and her mouth full of spit. But she picked up the knife and fork reluctantly, knowing this was the last time she’d be doing this, that after this last meal, there would be no more hot food, no more eggs with their gleaming orange yolks, no more thick strips of rich, fatty bacon.
She ate with her head down, not looking around the room, not glancing outside the window, not seeing anything.
The food tasted of nothing.
Outside the café, Eliza stood on the footpath, blinking in the strong light, and the door jangled closed behind her. The rain clouds of two days before had been blown away on a freshening wind, and the sun was out again, streaming down as it climbed higher in the sky overhead. Eliza glanced up at it, then dazzled, back down at the road. A man pushed past her, bumping up against her and she smelt the dank odour of his sweat, and the dirt crusted into his clothes. For a moment, her vision darkened, and she could only see sallow skin, an ear, dark curls of greasy hair before she spun away, unbalanced.
The handbag tugged at her hand and she tightened her grip on it, mouth opening in a surprised O, a soundless shout whooshing out in a gasp of air as the man who had bumped up against her tried to snatch the bag. She tugged back, harder, her own desperation making her furious, and he turned back towards her for a moment, his eyes black with thunder and anger, and then he dropped his hand from her bag and went on down the street as though nothing had happened.
She watched his retreating back, her heart thudding hard against her ribs, her mouth suddenly dry again as though she’d never had two cups of the tea inside the café. The man didn’t look back.
Eliza tottered forward onto the street, crossing it blindly, barely hearing the screech of tyres as a dusty vehicle veered around her. She reached the other side and broke into a run, shoes heavy on the path, turning downhill because that was easier, running until she reached the bottom of the hill and the road with all the big buildings on it, the columned entrance to the Post Office glittering across the road at her. She stared at it for a moment, then hunched her head lower, turning to the right, wanting to get away from the fancy buildings with their busy people going in and out. She trudged along in the opposite direction, not knowing where it would lead her. She’d never been that way before.
The sun sailed steadily higher as she walked, dazed and mechanically towards the edge of the world. She was thinking again now, but barely. She was remembering the view from her attic window. The harbour that glistened in the morning light, glowing first pink, then gold as the sun rose. And way over to the right from her window, past the birds that gathered in the nearby trees, the ones that woke her with their wardle oodling, was a stretch of blue-green that was more water, the sea stretching out in a long lean line towards the horizon. It was somewhere beyond all these buildings. If she walked long enough, far enough, she would reach it, and then she could rest.
The sun was fully overhead, beating down on top of her when she reached the beach. Lifting her hand, she touched her hat and drew it down deeper over her face, keeping the hot burn of the sun from her skin. The heat pressed against her, wrapping itself around her in a thick blanket, stifling her thoughts. She blinked against the dazzle of the sun on the water, watching the rippling sparkle of stars on the gentle waves.
Here, she stood on a hill above the long strip of beach, and there were little paths down through the warren of grasses, down to the sand. Eliza moved off onto the path, her gaze locked onto the water, and stumbled her way down the steep hill, heavy shoes kicking up the sand. Halfway down, she dropped her handbag and bent over to remove her shoes, not caring who saw, not even aware that anyone might look, and she tossed them into the grass.
At the bottom of the hill, she sidled along beneath it, looking out over the water. Was this the same water where her mother was? she wondered. Was her mother out there even now, swimming somewhere under the waves, her hair flowing out behind her? She lifted a hand and touched her own hair, pulling absently at the pins that held it in its knot until it fell loose about her shoulders, thick and wavy.
A thick white bone of driftwood lay in the soft sand under the hill and she sank down in front of it, digging her feet into the sand. It was soft and warm. She scrunched her toes up in their heavy stockings and dug them deeper, down to where the sand was cooler, and she let out a breath, a sigh, and sat there watching the gulls swoop and dive over the water, feeling the sun and sand begin to bleach her as clear and white as the tree behind her back. It felt good to rest, to let the water inch closer to her, crawling its way up the beach towards her. She thought she’d watch it come lapping up towards her toes buried tightly in the sand, and then maybe, if she still felt like it, she’d go out to meet it, let it cover her feet in its frill of white foam, then wade deeper into it where it turned from white to blue and then, farther out, to green, where her mother probably was, turned into some exotic fish who could breathe and swim under the water.
They’d swim together.
Chapter Twelve
Maxine stepped out of her back door and squinted up at the sky. It was a block of clear blue and she sighed when the first thought that came to her was that it would be a good day to get the laundry on the line.
'Not a cloud in sight,' Ruth said, coming up behind her and leaning against her for a moment. 'Perfect day for a trip to the beach.' She smiled up at Maxine, the expression on her fair face as sweet as honey.
Maxine nodded and put her arm around Ruth, resting her hand lightly on her shoulder. 'And it's a Tuesday too,' she said on a sigh. 'So it won't be so busy. We will have the beach to ourselves.'
Ruth nodded, her short, bobbed hair tickling against Maxine's arm. 'We have the lunch all packed. The children are almost beside themselves with excitement.'
Maxine smiled and lowered her gaze to the garden. It was turning out to be a good growing season, thank goodness. 'Do we have buckets and spades for them?' she asked.
Ruth nodded. 'Barbara found some in the cupboard under the stairs. Goodness knows how long they'd been there.'
'Probably since I was wee,' Maxine said, and had a vague memory of spending hot days building sandcastles at the beach as a child.
‘It’s going to be okay,’ Ruth said, leaning against Maxine again, wanting her to believe it. They worked so hard, both of them, and the need they saw around them just kept growing. ‘Today is a good day for a trip to the beach,’ she said. ‘We could all do with an outing. Get a bit of sunshine.’
Maxine turned and looked at her, lifted her hands and rested them on Ruth’s shoulders. The weight of them there was comforting, and Ruth took a long, low breath.
‘You’re righ
t, of course,’ Maxine said, willing to believe it when Ruth said everything would work out. Wanting to believe it. ‘And we could all definitely do with an outing to the beach.’ She pressed a kiss to Ruth’s soft cheek and turned again to look out over the view, towards the straight sandy line of St. Clair beach.
‘When’s the bus?’ she asked, gaze locked on the dazzle of blue that lay sparkling under the summer sun.
Ruth checked the watch on her wrist, that had been a Christmas present from Maxine, even though they’d told each other no presents – not while so many had nothing. But they’d both gone against that, secretly buying a gift for the other, handing it over Christmas eve almost ashamedly.
She loved the watch. ‘Half an hour yet,’ she replied. ‘Time enough to round up those little ragamuffins and get them into their shoes and hats.’
Maxine glanced at her, a smile playing around her lips. ‘You love those children,’ she said.
Ruth leaned closer, rested her head on Maxine’s shoulder and sighed. ‘I do,’ she said.
‘You’d have a houseful, if you could.’
‘We almost do have a houseful,’ Ruth told her, but she said it carefully, making sure her voice was light, playful.
Maxine heard it anyway, the undercurrent of longing. She slipped an arm around the woman she considered her life partner, her wife. ‘Perhaps we could adopt,’ she said. ‘There must be many a child needing a home.’ She blinked as the breeze stirred the branches of the oak tree on the lawn and the sun flashed in her eyes.
There was no answer from Ruth for a moment, and then, when it came, her voice was soft, little louder than the hum of the faraway sea.
‘We’ve plenty keeping us busy right now, Max,’ Ruth said.
Maxine swallowed. ‘Something to think about though, eh?’
Ruth nodded against her arm, then stood up and stretched. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘It’s a beautiful day all right, and I’d best make sure everything is in order for our day out.’
‘The great summer beach picnic,’ agreed Maxine. ‘I’ll load up the motor car.’
They smiled at each other, and their hands met for a moment, squeezed, then dropped as they turned away to get ready for the promised outing.
‘Martin!’
His mother called him again, but he shook his head, mouth open and sucking in the salty air as he sped down the beach, feet scudding in the sand. He’d run all the way up to those sand dunes, since they weren’t to go into the water until after they’d eaten.
‘Martin! You little beggar!’
He grinned wider, knowing his mum wasn’t mad, not really. She’d been a lot better since they’d gone to the big house, and so had him and Daisy, he reckoned. He slowed his full-tilt running, feeling the happy thump of his heart against his small ribs, and grinned again. Before they went to the big house, he wouldn’t have had the energy to run much of anywhere. Not at the end there, when they were lucky to have a few potato scraps for their dinner. Potato peelings they’d been mostly, at that.
His mouth watered at the thought of the spread that he’d helped carry out to the big lady’s car. Maxine. Martin liked her. Especially when she’d let him go in the car with her. He’d even got her to take Daisy with them too, since Daisy had never been in a car, not once in the whole two years she’d been alive. Or at least he didn’t think so.
There was a lady sitting at the bottom of the sand dunes, right in front of a big white log that Martin immediately wanted to climb all over. It was really neat – maybe it had washed up from Africa or somewhere, he thought. It looked like it had been in the water for a very long time before landing here. The sand dunes forgotten for the moment, he wanted to rush over and clamber onto the log. Perhaps there was treasure stuck in little nooks or crannies in the tree trunk. It was possible, if it had come somewhere from the Congo. Which it probably had.
Maxine had a book about the Congo at her house, and she let Martin read it all he liked. It was about explorers, really, but he was up to the part where they explored Darkest Africa.
He thought he’d probably be an explorer when he grew up.
‘Hey,’ he said. The lady looked funny. He took a step closer, reaching down to pick up a long, bleached stick. ‘Hey,’ he said again, and reached out with the stick, prodding it experimentally into the lady’s leg, which lay buried under the sand.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ he asked. Maybe she was dead. He turned his head for a quick look back at the waves, then looked at the lady again. She had long red hair, spread out over her shoulders and almost down to her waist. He’d never seen anyone with hair that long.
Maybe she was a mermaid, he thought. Washed up with the tide, like the log she was leaning against.
He prodded her with the stick again, this time a little harder.
Mermaids didn’t wear hats and dresses, though, did they? He shook his head and with his free hand pushed back his straw hat from his forehead so that he could scratch at his head in perplexity, in a gesture, that had he only known it, mimicked his father.
‘Hey lady,’ he said, a worm of worry niggling deeper at him. ‘You alright?’
Her eyes opened so suddenly that Martin stumbled back a step, the stick falling from his sandy fingers.
Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened and closed again and again, and he knew it – she was a mermaid after all, dress or no dress, because she was opening and closing her mouth like a fish with no words coming out, and what other explanation could there be for her just lying in the sun like that? He guessed she’d washed up and tried to turn into a regular person, but it hadn’t worked properly.
Martin turned and ran back down the beach, hollering for his mum, for Maxine, for Daisy – for everyone – to come and see the mermaid he’d found on the beach.
Chapter Thirteen
Well, she wasn’t a mermaid, although Maxine guessed Martin could be excused for thinking so. She leaned closer and touched her fingers to the woman’s arm.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked. The young woman had extraordinarily long, thick hair, that spread over her shoulders like a fine red shawl.
And blue eyes, that were blinking at her, staring up at her like they didn’t know what they were seeing.
Maxine swapped a glance with Ruth and knelt down closer in the sand. ‘You look very hot,’ she said, touching a hand to the woman’s arm again. The skin there was hot to the touch even through the thin cotton of her dress.
Eliza made no reply, frightened by the sudden shadow of people grouped around her. She hitched herself up, trying to sit, then pressed a hand to her head. It swam, her vision blurring, and she shook it, trying to clear it.
‘Let’s get you to some shade, shall we?’
It was the woman leaning over her talking again and Eliza squinted at her brown skin, her broad face.
‘You look all done in, you poor thing.’
Hands reached for her this time, and she stared at them, not knowing what they wanted, but they took gently hold of her and helped her up to her feet where she tottered for a moment and they tightened around her.
‘Steady there, old girl,’ Maxine said, and Eliza, suddenly glad for the hands holding her, tried to nod, but the movement made her head swim even worse, and there were stars behind her eyes then and she felt ill to her stomach.
‘Careful,’ Ruth said, catching the poor thing on the other side and holding her. ‘She’s going to be sick.’
Eliza retched onto the sand. A handkerchief wiped her mouth.
‘Can you walk?’ Maxine asked, and she glanced over at Ruth on the other side of the girl before speaking to Eliza again. ‘I reckon you might have a touch of the heat and we need to get you out of the sun.’
Eliza could barely understand the words. All she knew was that she felt dreadful, and her knees buckled under her.
‘I’ve got you,’ the tall brown woman said to her, and she was plucked from the sand and swung into her arms as though she weighed nothing. Delirious now, Eliza thou
ght maybe she didn’t. Maybe she was as weightless as her mother, stirring softly along the seabed, floating under the deep green waves.
‘She’s fainted,’ Maxine said, and hitched her higher.
‘It’s heat exhaustion,’ Ruth said, tugging on Maxine to carry the woman back to their picnic blanket, looking already at the circle of shade under their umbrella there. They’d all come running at Martin’s cries, and now the group of women murmured as they followed Maxine and Ruth back to their blankets further down the beach.
‘Martin?’ Maxine called.
The little urchin appeared.
‘Go and grab a couple of towels, will you? Take them down to the water and get them nice and wet.’
His eyes widened, taking in the sight of Maxine carting his mermaid down the beach. ‘Is she drying out too much?’ he asked.
But Maxine just shook her head. ‘Run and do it now, please,’ she said. ‘We have to hurry.’
He stared at her a moment longer, then turned on his heel, feet kicking up little clods of sand again as he ran.
‘How bad is she, do you think?’ Ruth said in a low voice, scurrying beside her to keep up.
Maxine shook her head. ‘I don’t know, but she’s very light and very hot.’ The young woman’s skin burned beneath the summer dress she wore, and it was like carrying a dry bundle of sticks. ‘She’s lucky for her sleeves, stockings, and hat. She’d be burnt and blistering, if not for those.’
‘We’ll wrap her in the cold towels, then take her home,’ Ruth said. ‘We can get her cool and re-hydrated there.’ She blinked. ‘The poor thing looks skin and bone.’
It was cooler under the big sun umbrella, and Martin handed over the armful of towels, dripping with cold saltwater from the ocean. Maxine and Ruth worked together to wrap them around the poor girl, until she resembled a terry cloth mummy, the only thing uncovered being her face.
They kept her wrapped like this for twenty minutes, the children bringing buckets of seawater for them to tip gently over the woman, cooling her down by degrees until her eyelashes fluttered and she opened them again to stare at both Maxine and Ruth leaning over her.