by Kirsty Logan
‘I’m going to walk Pearl out,’ said Mara.
‘Thank you for having me,’ said Pearl.
‘Yes,’ said Signe, to no one in particular.
Mara led Pearl out of the kitchen and along the hallway and through the shark jaws. She closed the front door behind them.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Pearl.
‘I’m walking you home.’
‘You don’t need to do that. It’s far, and it’s late.’
‘I want to.’
‘But I don’t need you to.’
‘Halfway,’ said Mara.
Pearl smiled. ‘Okay. Halfway.’
When they got to the bottom of the drive, out of sight of the house, Mara slipped her hand into Pearl’s.
Swither
EVERY NIGHT, MARA crept out to the beach with Pearl. They slid into the cold sea together, lips full of confession, and breathed for hours; then afterwards they slid into Mara’s warm bed. With a kiss on Mara’s forehead, Pearl slipped out and back to her house before dawn. Her footsteps were as light as sand.
Every day, Mara worked on the house. Slowly, surely, she changed. Her hands grew strong and rough. Her lungs stretched. Her legs developed muscles, lean and long, and she push-pulled her body through the water without having to think. Sometimes she forgot to come up for air, only surfacing when black blurs sparked in front of her eyes. She never again fought against Pearl’s presence under the water, trusting that breath would be there when she needed it.
One night, emerging from the moonlit waves, Pearl held Mara until they caught their breath. ‘I can’t stay here much longer, Mara,’ she said. ‘But maybe you could come with me?’ Seawater sheened Pearl’s skin, diamonded her eyelashes. ‘Join the show, perform, travel with me.’
Mara couldn’t help but laugh. ‘You know I want to. But I’m not – mermaids have to be – and I’m not …’
‘Not what?’
‘Not beautiful.’
Now it was Pearl’s turn to laugh. ‘Oh, forget beauty! Why would that matter? Under the water it’s all hair and tits and tail.’ She held her wet hands over Mara’s eyes. ‘Picture it,’ she said. ‘Flowing, curling wigs the colour of sweeties. Couple of seashells glued on to your chest. And the tails – you’ve never seen anything shimmer like those tails in the water. With all that, who’s even looking at the rest? Who’d ever notice whatever flaws you think you have? Because trust me, no one else sees them.’
Mara felt tears prick hot in her eyes. She blinked hard. ‘I know people see. You can’t tell me people don’t see.’ She looked into Pearl’s eyes, daring her to drop her gaze, to look at Mara’s scar.
Pearl didn’t. She leaned in and kissed from the outer corner of Mara’s left eye, down her cheek, to the corner of her mouth; from one end of the scar to the other. What a strange way we are expected to heal: stitch the wound shut and hope that underneath, hidden away, the flesh will knit back together.
‘I could,’ whispered Mara. ‘I could try to get rid of it. See about surgery, maybe, or –’
‘Don’t you dare,’ said Pearl, her voice a little too loud in the closeness. ‘Why would you want to get rid of any part of yourself?’
‘But I’m not beautiful.’
‘Beauty is boring. The best lives leave a mark.’
Mara remembered the sealskin-shine of a boy in the water. The burn in her lungs and the jag of small stones against her shins. Eyes rolled back, blood clotted black. He was gone long before she reached him. She’d made a choice that day. Years had passed, and she still wasn’t sure.
Mara felt the flicker of a fish against her ankle. Pearl’s hands were warm and her fingers were strong. From far across the water, the lights of distant ships caught in the corner of her eye.
Wheesht
ISLAY HAD BEEN in many depressing places in her life, but this pub was surely the worst. It wasn’t the fuzzy brown velour on the seats. It wasn’t the pervasive smell of beer and cleaning fluid. It was the look in her sister’s eyes.
Islay sipped her gin and watched over the lip of her fizzing glass. There Mara stood behind the bar, pulling pints and counting out change. She was grinning like an absolute loon. What the hell did she have to look so cheerful about? This shitty pub hadn’t made Mara happy, and that crumbling house hadn’t made Mara happy, and their grieving parents certainly hadn’t made Mara happy. Which meant that it was something from off the island, and that did not bode well. Yes, Islay had obeyed Mara’s summons – but it was not a permanent state of affairs.
Her stomach was still unsettled from the trip over. It had been a long time since she was on a fishing boat, and her muscles ached from trying to stay upright. She drained her glass and took it to the bar.
‘Same again?’ said Mara with a grin. ‘It’s nice having you back, Islay.’
Islay opened her mouth to say that she wasn’t back, not like that – and before she could, the fruit machine in the corner spat out a clatter of coins. She remembered a story that Signe used to tell them about two sisters, a good one and a bad one. Every time the good one spoke, gold coins fell from her mouth; but every time the bad one spoke, slugs and snakes fell from her mouth.
While Mara pressed a clean glass to the optic, Islay filled the silence. She tried to be good. She tried to care about the island – or at least to seem like she cared.
‘What’s with all the stuff at the harbour? Concrete and diggers and that? The boat didn’t go close and it was hard to see what was going on.’
‘They’re building a bridge to the mainland. Good, right?’
Islay shrugged. ‘Do you like working here?’
‘It’s not forever.’ Mara pushed a full glass across the bar to her sister and smiled.
Islay resisted the urge to drain her glass in one go. ‘Cheers,’ she said bitterly.
A chubby mixed-race girl with a blunt-cut bob walked in, pausing by the door to scan the room. She spotted Islay and Mara, and her face split into a smile as she headed over. Excellent: another tourist who thought they would be immediate friends just because they were the only females in the building.
‘Hello,’ said the chubby girl.
‘Hello,’ replied Islay, which meant go away.
‘Pearl!’ Mara practically leapt over the bar. ‘You came! Let me get you a drink. What do you want? I’ll get it.’
The girl smiled, and Mara smiled, and Islay, unnoticed, grimaced.
She didn’t enjoy hating people on sight, but it seemed pretty obvious that this girl was the reason for Mara’s happiness. From the moment that she walked in, Mara was weird. Well, Mara had always been weird, but this was ridiculous. Her eyes were too wide and she moved her mouth too much when she spoke. She was gesturing so much with her hands that she’d hit herself in the face if she wasn’t careful. Islay wished she would; maybe then she’d shut up for a minute.
‘So,’ said Islay to the chubby girl as Mara went to pour a pint. ‘What do you do?’
‘Pearl is a mermaid!’ Mara interrupted, calling back over her shoulder before Pearl had a chance to speak. Her eyes gleamed, and that was not a good sign. Not at all.
‘Is that right,’ said Islay, eyebrows raised.
‘She travels all around the world, and performs underwater in different shows. Don’t you think that’s amazing?’ Mara’s eyes were wide, wide. If she wasn’t careful they’d pop right out of her head. ‘There are lots of girls, with all different skills, from all different places. Anyone can do it, you just have to learn how to stay under without panicking. Most people do, you know.’
‘But not Pearl, I suppose?’ Islay knew she hadn’t managed to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, but it didn’t matter. Neither of those googly-eyed girls was really listening to her anyway.
‘Oh no,’ said Mara, ‘not at all. But Pearl isn’t like most people.’
‘Well, shit,’ said Islay. ‘Isn’t that just something? Excuse me.’ She made an effort to keep her face expressionless as she got up. She didn’t nee
d to go to the toilet, but she did need to go somewhere she wouldn’t laugh or slap her sister in the face or drop to her knees and beg her to please please please never leave the island because Islay wasn’t staying in her place, not now and not ever.
Later, after her seventh G&T and during her third unnecessary trip to the ladies, she thought she might as well pee, since she was there. By then the lights had a halo and the walls weren’t quite upright. Her breathing was too loud; she could feel the heat of it in her nostrils. She was getting annoyed now. She rolled the toilet paper roll round and round and round and round and the end wasn’t there, it was a perfect circle, no break to be found. Her breathing was annoying. The paper was annoying. The fucking cold toilet seat on her fucking thighs was annoying. She would not stay here. She would not give up her life for a crumbling house and a needy family. And the paper, the stupid fucking paper. Finally she gave up and scraped at the unending roll with her fingernails, ripping a section of ragged sheets from the middle.
After leaving the island Islay had lived in many homes, and they all had one thing in common: they were small. She had often dreamed that her tiny rented spaces opened out to reveal secret rooms, corridors, entire wings that she’d never seen before. In the dream she was never surprised, only excited. She’d always known that she was entitled to more than she’d been given in the world, and now here was her reward. She began planning what she would do with all that extra space. How her life would expand within familiar bounds. Even after waking and seeing that it was only a dream, the expansive feeling lingered. She felt both immense, and safe-small.
And now that she was back on the island, the dream was real. The house with its endless rooms full of hulking furniture from people long gone, their loose hairs tangled in every corner, their abandoned belongings in every cupboard. It was a house full of mysteries. Islay was sure, in fact, that the house had expanded in her absence, grown extra rooms like a nautilus shell getting bigger with each passing year. So why didn’t she feel immense? The house was as huge as the ocean, but as confined as a submarine.
Islay stood at the sink in the pub toilet, hands still held under the tap though the water had long ago gone cold, practising her smile in the mirror until it looked convincing.
Glaikit
ONCE, WHEN ISLAY was littler and Mara was littler still and Bee was non-existent, their mum took Islay down to the harbour to get some shopping and catch up with the local chat. Islay couldn’t fasten her shoes fast enough, and every step was a skip. It was exciting, to be out without her sister. Having a little sister was fun, mostly – but it was more fun to have her mum’s attention to herself.
Summer was her favourite time. The air breathed warm and the sun painted everything bright. The days lasted forever. The sea came close to sleeping. You could lie in the grass and roll and roll and roll until you were dizzy, and wherever you stopped you were still lying on a carpet of daisies. At first Islay held her mum’s hand, but their palms were sweaty and her mum didn’t walk fast enough. Why walk when you could dance?
At the shop, her mum went inside to do boring things, popping out only to hand Islay an ice cream from the freezer.
Islay, obedient, said thank you and put the wrapper in the bin. The ice cream was already starting to melt down her hand. She explored the harbour, hopscotching along the stones and peering inside the empty lobster pots. They were made from rope that was bright blue like a doll’s dress, but it felt rough enough to cut and smelled like old fish.
Islay found the best bench and got to work on the remains of her ice cream. Above her, seagulls scribbled across the sky. Ladybirds tickled her sandalled toes. The sun was as hot as a wool blanket on her bare arms.
She heard a splash and looked up. A dog, helter-skeltering into the waves. It would be okay, wouldn’t it? The sea was at its sleepiest. Islay forgot her ice cream and watched, wide-eyed, as the dog paddled further and further out. Where was it going? She climbed up on the back of the bench and strained her eyes. A yellow ball floating, far off where the current liked to pull things under. Already the dog looked tiny, almost lost under the waves.
‘Mum,’ she said. ‘Mum!’
She wanted her mum to grow to a giant and lean over and pluck the dog free from the waves. She wanted her to turn into a mermaid and swim to shore with the dog safe on her back. Her mum came out of the shop with a bag in each hand, and she did not do any of the things that Islay wanted. She took a long look at the sea, then she took Islay’s hand and led her away so that she couldn’t see the space where the dog had been.
It was only later, after dinner, after bath, after bed, that Islay realised she had dropped most of her ice cream.
‘Mum,’ she said, just as her mum reached to turn off the light.
What Islay wanted to say was: Why did the dog go in the sea? Why, when it was an island dog? It had always lived here. It was old enough to know that the sea takes everything – why didn’t it know?
She knew that the dog had gone into the sea, and it hadn’t come out. When something was gone, it was gone.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Islay. ‘Night, Mum.’
And her mum switched off the light and closed the door.
Gallus
PEARL CAME ROUND for dinner, like Pearl had come round for dinner every other bloody night this week. Islay knew that Pearl came over for more than dinner, but Mara made a big fuss about walking Pearl to the end of the path and saying goodbye in a big loud voice. Mara thought she was being ever so clever, but if she was actually clever she wouldn’t give Pearl massive wet lesbian kisses right on the front path where anyone could see. Luckily, Islay wasn’t quite as dense as Mara. She kept it to herself, though; no need to break their poor mother’s heart.
After they’d finished the cottage pie and vegetables boiled to within an inch of their lives – seriously, was Signe still cooking like this? They might as well be eating baby food – Islay stacked the empty dishes in the sink and joined Signe and Peter in the front room. Mara and Pearl stayed in the kitchen to make the tea.
In the front room, Peter sat stiffly in his leather chair, his palm pressed over the white ring stained on the arm. Signe pottered, her back to the room, rearranging the photo frames on the mantelpiece, patting Peter’s hand every time she got near him. He was so much worse than the last time Islay had seen him. He was practically a statue already, hardly different from the ones up on the cliff. Islay could see that Mara had helped dress him; he had a polka-dot handkerchief folded in his top pocket, and he’d never have chosen that himself. Islay wondered about the mechanics of putting someone’s socks on for them. Did you make them sit on a chair first? Or did they stay standing and rest their hands on your shoulders? Did you get them to lean up against a wall and lift one foot at a time?
She wished Mara had called her sooner – but then, she also wished that Mara hadn’t called her at all. Did it mean she loved her family less if she wasn’t strong enough to carry them all? From the kitchen, Islay heard the clatter of the bin lid, the sucking gasp as the bin bag was lifted, the click of the back-door latch.
‘I’ll just go and …’ she said, but no one was listening. She slipped away to the kitchen, which contained only Pearl. She nudged the kitchen door shut behind her and leaned on the worktop, casual-like, as if she’d just come in to help with the tea.
‘Listen, Pearl. I just wanted to say thanks.’
Pearl smiled, cups clustered in her hands, and Islay tried hard to smile back. What on earth did Mara see in her? She was chubby and her teeth weren’t straight and she always wore black like a witch. Didn’t that use to be one of the signs of a witch, having your eyes two different colours? Then again, Mara had been no great beauty even before she got that bloody great scar across her face. Islay loved her sister, obviously, because she had to love her. But why had Pearl chosen her? Why would anyone choose Mara if they didn’t have to? She must be up to something.
‘You don’t have to thank me,’ said Pearl. ‘I haven
’t even made it yet.’
Islay tried not to roll her eyes. She put all her effort into smiling without clenching her teeth. ‘Not for the tea. I mean thanks for keeping Mara company. You’re a good friend to her, and she needs a friend here.’
‘Right,’ said Pearl, half smiling, half frowning. ‘A friend.’
‘It can get lonely on the island. It’s good that she doesn’t have to be lonely now.’
How far could she push it? Fuck it. A little bit further. If Pearl called her on it she could deny, deny, deny. She had been practising her innocent face.
‘I never asked, where do you stay?’
‘Not far,’ said Pearl. ‘It’s not a house, exactly, not like this one. But it will do for a little while.’
‘Oh? So you’re leaving?’
‘We might be.’
‘We?’
‘Look, Islay, you should talk to your sister about this. It’s not my place.’
Islay’s stomach lurched. Fuck the teasing tone. Fuck all of it. She didn’t have the energy to be coy and cutesy so she was just going to ask, she was going to make this chubby annoyance tell her exactly what –
Mara was a little smarter than Islay thought. She’d taken the bin out, yes; but on the way back in, she’d heard her sister’s voice from the kitchen. She crept to the back door and slid up the latch. She held her breath and pressed her ear to the gap.
‘Do you intend to stay on this island with my sister or not? It’s a yes or no answer.’
‘Yes,’ said Pearl. ‘And no.’
Islay snorted with impatience.
‘Yes, I intend to stay with your sister. And no, I don’t intend to stay on this island.’
‘This is bullshit! You’re bullshit. I don’t give a fly’s fuck what you do with your life, but you’re not taking my sister with you. You can’t just come here and spin some stupid story about mermaids and travel and whatever-the-fuck else. Mara’s not like you. I can see that you like girls, and –’