by Janis Mackay
Fin loved sausages. He tried to forget plans to race to the beach, uncover the buried treasure (with protective gloves on this time) and make his family rich so they could have holidays and sausages every day – not only on special occasions…
Oh dear, was this a special occasion? He let the hairbrush fall to the floor. It was, and he had completely forgotten!
Quick as lightning he ripped a piece of paper from his jotter, bent it in two, fished out a blue felt pen and drew a seal. Then he drew a few crinkly waves and above that a blue sun, then inside he wrote:
Happy birthday dear Mum.
Love you loads
Magnus Fin
Xxxxx
“Good to see you here on time, Magnus Fin,” said Mr Sargent, who hadn’t even begun to mark the register. “And glad to see that hand of yours has gone back to normal.”
Fin gave his teacher a broad smile and sat down at his desk. He thought he’d better say something (Robbie was good at conversation) so he blurted out, “It’s my mum’s birthday today. We had sausages for breakfast.”
Mr Sargent nodded. “Me too, with scrambled eggs and black pudding. Always do.” He looked again at Magnus Fin. “Hair’s very smart this morning,” he remarked.
Fin grinned and pulled out his reading book, at which Mr Sargent nodded again approvingly.
Maybe, thought Mr Sargent as he studied this neatly turned-out, happy looking boy, he’d got the whole thing wrong about Magnus Fin? Maybe he was just like everyone else? Maybe he really was normal? Mr Sargent pulled out the register then swept his gaze around the room. He coughed loudly to get everyone’s attention. “Right then – Saul?”
“Here.”
“Robbie?”
“Here.”
“Tarkin?”
Silence. Everyone turned to look at Tarkin’s desk.
“Where is Tarkin? Can you, by any chance, tell me, Magnus Fin?”
Fin shook his head. He swallowed hard. “No,” he replied in a small voice, “I’ve no idea.” Which wasn’t quite true. He chewed the end of his ragged nail and glanced back expectantly at the classroom door. He had a very good idea where Tarkin might be. He shot a glance at Aquella.
Mermaid, she said in the selkie thought-speak, and winked.
I can’t believe it, said Fin. He was the one who said we had to act normal. Now he’s running after a mermaid!
Let’s hope the beach doesn’t explode, Aquella added.
Meanwhile Mr Sargent had moved on. The register was folded away. “Ceud mile fàilte,” he said, loudly and slowly, with a sing-song lilt to his voice.
“Ceud mile fàilte,” the pupils replied in their best Gaelic.
“Ciamar a tha sibh?” he asked, enquiring how they were.
“Tha gu math, tapadh leibh,” they replied in sing-song unison, saying they were doing fine, thanking you.
Magnus Fin fingered his moon-stone, hoping as he did so that his best friend Tarkin, no doubt down at the seaside mermaid hunting, was also tha gu math!
Chapter 11
Way down in the south of England, Billy Mole was feeling very tha gu math indeed, except of course, he didn’t use those words. “Ace”, that’s what Billy Mole said. He had just purchased his first suit, along with a white shirt, black tie and black shoes. The whole outfit cost him £62 from T.A. Mars, but was almost identical to the one Brad Price wore in Hi! magazine. And that, definitely, cost a lot more than £62!
“Very smart,” the assistant commented, wrapping the clothes up with care. “Now if my boy would only wear something sensible like this, I’d have a lot less bother with him.”
Billy nodded, not sure what she meant. He was out of the shop, into the nearest café, into the toilet and into his new clothes in five minutes flat. He stuffed his white nylon tracksuit into the plastic bag and strutted out like he owned the place.
“Hey, you!” the waiter called. “Boy, you’ve got to buy something.”
But Billy was gone, striding up the street, soles snapping – though not feeling too happy about the “boy” bit. Didn’t he look like a man, and a man with a good job, now he owned a suit? Billy turned to examine himself in a shop window. He hardly recognised the stylish grown-up man that looked back. He felt great, like he was stepping forth into the life of a celebrity journalist. Bring it on! That’s what Billy Mole thought.
That same day, Tarkin, who had hardly slept a wink, didn’t eat breakfast and couldn’t face school. He wanted to tell his mum all about his mermaid, but somehow guessed she wouldn’t understand. Frank, his mum’s boyfriend, would probably listen to him, nodding in all the right places, but this was way too special to share with Frank.
Tarkin had first spotted his mermaid on a fishing trip in Canada with his dad. That had been three long years ago. He’d only seen her for a moment. Her beautiful head and shoulders had risen from the cold lake. With her lovely face, framed with tumbling black hair, she had gazed at him, smiled then sunk back under the water never to be forgotten. And now – on the other side of the world – she had found him. Like Tarkin always knew she would.
“Honey, you’re not sick, are you? You don’t look too good. Let me fetch you a vitamin C.” Martha leant over the kitchen table and studied her son, chewing her lip the way she did when she was worried.
“I’m good, Mom,” Tarkin said, swallowing hard. He couldn’t even begin to tell his mum about bombs under the sand, swollen hands, paparazzi and mermaids. “Really, everything’s cool.” He took a sip of milk.
Tarkin’s mum didn’t look convinced. “What d’ya think, Frank? Dontcha think he’s sickening for something?”
“Growing pains,” suggested Frank, nodding wisely. He set down his coffee cup. “Why, now I remember when I was a boy…”
Tarkin didn’t listen to what Frank remembered. Tarkin had already decided he would go to the beach. But he had to take something with him, some kind of gift. His mind raced. Jewellery – that’s what mermaids like, or at least he recalled reading something like that. Tarkin fiddled with his shark’s tooth necklace. No, she wouldn’t want that. Mermaids are probably afraid of sharks. She needed something more – feminine. His mother cleared the dishes from the kitchen table. Frank was still going on about his boyhood.
Tarkin’s mother had a jewellery box in her bedroom. Most of what was in there she’d never miss. Tarkin slunk off, muttering something about brushing his teeth. From the hallway he heard his mother clattering with pots and pans.
With the coast clear Tarkin slipped into his mum’s bedroom. And there it was, right in front of him, the purple jewellery box. It sat on his mother’s dressing table and seemed to beckon him. “Come to me,” that’s what it was saying. Tarkin had to act fast.
He tiptoed over to it and flipped open the purple, shiny lid. A necklace of pearls stared up at him – round, white, gleaming pearls. Imitation, he was sure. “Take me,” they said. Tarkin stretched out his hand, his heart racing. His mother would never notice they were gone. He’d never seen her wear them. She probably didn’t even like them. In a flash they were in his pocket.
“You sure you’re OK, honey?”
Tarkin swung round. His mother was at the door. Had she seen him?
“Yeah, just…” He had to think quick, “looking for my scarf. It’s kinda windy outside. I don’t know where I left it.”
“I ain’t seen it,” she said, walking over to her dressing table. Tarkin’s heart thumped. “But here, honey.” She pulled open a drawer just inches from the jewellery box. “Take one of Frank’s. He won’t mind.”
“Thanks,” said Tarkin, grabbing it and making a dash for the door. “Gotta run, don’t want to be late.”
And run he did – but not to school. He ran all the way through the village, over the bridge and along to the beach, with Frank’s yellow scarf flapping round his neck, and his mother’s pearls jingling in his pocket.
Chapter 12
When the bell rang for playtime Magnus Fin had a sore head. He had spent the Gaelic l
esson, then the reading time, then the maths lesson, being as normal as he could. It was hard work looking interested all the time. Now, with the bell clanging loudly and children making a dash for the playground, he needed fresh air. He needed to slip away from the beady eyes of Mr Sargent. And he needed to find out what was up with Tarkin, who still hadn’t appeared.
Children were spilling out of school, unwrapping nut bars or biting into rosy apples. Ellie and Iona begged Aquella to play skipping with them. Fin sped off across the playground.
“Hey! Where are you going?” Jake shouted after him. “We need you in goal.”
Fin shook his head. He didn’t like being goalie. Anyway, he needed to find Tarkin. “Playing hide and seek,” Fin shouted, which was kind of true. He jumped over the wall, then as fast as he could, raced down the road that wound to the beach. Normally it took him seven minutes. If he ran super-fast he could do it in five. He practically flew down.
In no time he was pounding the sandy track he knew so well. He scanned the bay and the beach. His eyes went to his rock, the high black one that jutted out to sea. He saw a figure, hunched down on the edge of it. It was Tarkin. Fin’s heart missed a beat. The water was deep there. And Tarkin couldn’t swim. No matter how many swimming lessons Fin had given him, Tarkin still hadn’t got the hang of it.
“Stop!” Fin yelled at the top of his voice. “Don’t jump!”
But Tarkin ignored him. He was leaning so far over he would surely fall in.
In seconds Fin had reached the skerries. He leapt over the rocks. Tarkin hadn’t moved. Maybe he hadn’t heard him? Fin was close to him now. Trying to keep his voice calm he said, “Whatever you do, don’t jump!”
Tarkin jerked his head up and cried out in fright. As he did so, the pearl necklace that he had been swinging back and forth, slipped from his fingers and fell into the sea.
“What are you doing, Tarkin?” Now Fin was by his side. “You’re not a selkie. You can’t go through the door. I mean, sorry but you can’t even swim.”
But Tarkin could only stare down into the water. “You made me drop them.”
“Drop what?”
“I wanted to attract her attention. I wanted to give her a present. Oh man, I can’t believe it. They’ve gone.”
Magnus Fin glanced at Tarkin’s watch. They had to get back. “What’s gone? Tell me!”
Tarkin hung his head. “The pearl necklace. It was a present for the mermaid. I wanted to give her something special.”
Fin stood up, hoping Tarkin would too. “She’ll find them, Tark. They’re in the water now, and she lives in the water. She’ll get them. Don’t worry. Look, we’d better get to school. It was you who said we had to act normal – now look at you! I’ve been so normal all morning my head hurts.”
But normal seemed the last thing on Tarkin’s mind. “You really think she’ll find them?” he asked, still gazing into the water.
Fin shrugged. “She might. Look, come on Tark. We’ve got ten minutes. I’m in the good books and I want to stay there. We made a pact, remember? Mission Act Normal? We’ve got a secret to guard.”
But Tarkin seemed unable to move. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the very place the pearls had fallen into the water.
Fin knew what was coming.
“See if you can find them, Fin. Please?”
It would waste precious time to argue, and there was something about Tarkin’s pleading expression that made Fin agree. In a flash he pulled off his school clothes then, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, he dived into the sea.
He was struck by how still everything was under the water. Even the long fronds of sea grass hung motionless. He cast his eyes around. Something glinted. He was in luck. He reached forward to pluck the pearls – only they weren’t pearls but the round staring eyes of a small fish. The indignant fish darted away. Fin pulled back strands of seaweed and probed down amongst bright yellow sponges. He tugged at dead men’s fingers and ran his hands over the sand. Crabs scuttled out from under dark stones. Fish circled him. Magnus Fin stretched his arms along slimy ledges and barnacled crevices near the rock. He twisted and turned, eagerly searching for anything pearl-like. Though he swept his arms through the water, no bubbles rose up. Something was not right. There was no tide, no current. In such conditions the pearls should be lying where they fell – in the sand, under the lip of rock. But they weren’t. Search as he might, they weren’t there. So maybe Tarkin was right? Maybe his mermaid had taken them?
Barely two minutes had passed when Magnus Fin hoisted himself up onto the rock and shook himself dry. Tarkin gave him Frank’s yellow scarf to rub his hair with. “Sorry, Tark – no pearl necklace. I looked everywhere.”
“So she got my present then?” His voice brightened. “She got the necklace?”
Fin pulled on his trousers, stuffed his socks into his pockets then stuck his feet into his shoes. “Yeah, I think she got it.”
They were halfway up the road when the bell started to ring. Running uphill was a lot harder than running downhill. By the time they reached the wall that skirted the playground the bell sounded its last note. They leapt over the stone wall, raced across the playground and made it into the classroom in the nick of time.
“You are late, Tarkin,” said Mr Sargent, pointing to the clock on the classroom wall. “Two hours to be precise. What’s your excuse?”
“I had to give something to someone – honest, sir – I can’t say too much about it, but believe me, it was extremely important. And if you don’t mind, sir, it’s personal. I’d rather not speak about it if that’s alright with you.”
There was something about the way Tarkin put his hand to his heart, said sir and spoke so earnestly that caused Mr Sargent to say nothing more on the matter. Sometimes he couldn’t understand these children at all. And sometimes, it was better to believe them – even if what they said sounded mighty unusual. So he took a deep breath, nodded, then asked his American pupil – in Gaelic – “Ciamar a tha sibh?”
And the boy with the long blond hair, the shark’s tooth necklace, two silver earrings in one ear and a damp yellow scarf looped around his neck, answered in his American accent with a Scottish twang, “Tha gu math, tapadh leibh!”
It was later that evening that Mr Sargent, in a local restaurant with some of his golfing buddies, after a sherry too many, mentioned his unusual pupils. Some of the golfing friends had brought along other friends who were up on holiday and Mr Sargent was in a talkative mood. The visitors listened wide-eyed to the teacher, and when they travelled home to the south they told other friends, who told others. And so it was – in the way of Chinese whispers – that in a remote village in the far north of Scotland there were some very strange children. In fact, so the rumour developed, these children probably came from another planet. Not only did one of them have two different coloured eyes, but he was probably an alien spy. And what’s more, this alien seemed to possess extraordinary powers. He could, for instance, hold his breath under water for an hour! He had, so the story went, a hand the size of a house. And if doctors got hold of him they would certainly confirm he was an alien. But this alien, so the rumour went, wouldn’t let doctors near him! He’d sooner die than be examined by a doctor!
The news spread like wildfire.
To be fair to Mr Sargent, he hadn’t actually used the word “alien”. Nor had he used the words, “fish boy”. Nor had he said the hand was the size of a house. But what begins as idle chat can grow – and grow – and grow…
Chapter 13
The office of Inside Lives wasn’t as swanky as Billy had imagined. For one, it wasn’t even in London. It was in a dingy looking old warehouse on the outskirts of Milton Keynes – miles away! And the three other members of staff were dressed in dirty old jeans and baggy shirts stained with coffee and tomato sauce.
Billy swaggered into the office on day one wearing his new black suit, white shirt and black tie. His eyes roamed the poky over-heated office. No pretty girls then. In fact, n
o girls at all. A very large man, with his feet on the desk and a bacon roll in his hand, wolf whistled. “You’ll be the new tea boy then.”
Billy’s heart sank even further. His dad had said journalist. He’d never mentioned tea boy. Billy looked around, wondering where his desk was. He needed to put things straight, right away. “Uh, no, Billy Mole, junior journalist,” he replied, trying to sound confident, feeling a fool all dressed up in a suit.
The man sitting at the one other desk, also with his feet on it, also with bacon roll in hand, laughed. He bit into his roll and chewed noisily. “Gaza’s the name.”
“Hey, Gaza,” muttered Billy.
The only person who appeared to be working was a younger man, maybe he was twenty, who was scrolling through emails. He was squashed at the end of Gaza’s desk. “Hey, listen to this,” he said, not acknowledging the new “tea boy”. He peered closer to the screen. “I think my grandmother is trying to poison me. I’m sure of it. She’s got strange herbs and cupboards she won’t let me look into. I don’t know if I should go to the police or not. Dear Hank – what do you suggest? Please help, I’m frightened for my life.”
Hank, who was really called Simon, pressed delete and swung round on his swivel chair. “See, tea boy. We’re supposed to print that garbage. Welcome to Inside Lives.”
“Right. Yeah. So, where do I sit?” Billy asked, still determined to be a junior journalist. They must have got the tea boy thing wrong. He looked around for a chair and found one. He didn’t know where to put the chair, so he pulled it over to a window ledge. That would do as a desk. The ledge was full of teacups. Dirty teacups.
“Good start, Billy Mole,” said the big man. “I see you’ve found the tea department. Three sugars for yours truly, two for baldy over there, and one for Swanky Hank.”
This was worse than stacking shelves. Billy bit his lip. He recalled his dad’s advice that morning. “When you’ve not got a college degree, son, you start at the bottom and work your way up – but,” he’d added quickly, “you’ll be at the top before you know it.” Billy picked up three cups, went to the filthy sink, and washed them.