The Girl Who Thought Her Mother Was a Mermaid

by Tania Unsworth

  Massive whale sighted offshore, read the rolling headline beneath the picture. Species not yet identified… experts believe the animal may be lost…

  ‘I can never open these dratted things,’ the woman behind the counter said, fumbling with a wrapped up roll of coins.

  A new picture flashed on to the TV screen. For a second, Stella was too stunned to make sense of it.

  Why is that girl wearing my dress? she thought. How did that girl get my dress?

  And then: It’s not a girl. It’s me.

  Under the photo appeared the words: ‘MISSING CHILD’.

  The picture changed again. Now Stella saw her dad talking, although she couldn’t hear what he was saying. Her dad looked different, older, his face white. Then the photo of Stella returned to the screen.

  Stella couldn’t tear her eyes away, although she knew she must. She had to. If the woman saw her staring, she might turn to the TV herself, to see what Stella was looking at. And then she would recognise her.

  Stella glanced around wildly, saw a display of brightly-coloured caps near the counter, and grabbed one.

  ‘I’ll take this too,’ she gabbled. ‘Don’t worry about the change…’

  The woman looked startled. She opened her mouth to say something, although Stella didn’t wait to hear. She crammed the cap on her head and bolted.

  Back on the street, it was hard not to break into a run. Stella forced herself to keep walking, although her legs were jerky with panic. She ought to have known there would be a nationwide hunt for her. Her photo must have appeared everywhere. Police all over the country were warned and on the watch.

  It was a miracle she hadn’t been recognised already.

  Stella remembered the note she’d left on her desk back at home, and her face burned. Please don’t worry, she’d written, as if adding the word ‘please’ would somehow change the fact that everyone was certain to worry, no matter what she wrote. Stella hadn’t thought about her dad during the long hours in the removal van. Yet underneath, she’d known that Mrs Chapman would have called him the instant she found Stella missing, and that he would have come home at once, upset, maybe even frantic.

  She thought of the flat fields and the water towers, and how Gramma had forgotten her. Tears pricked her eyes. She reached into the inside pocket of her jacket and pulled out the drawing of the mermaid, and stared at it for a long time.

  She had come so far, and Lastland Island was only a boat ride away.

  She tugged the brim of her new cap as low over her face as it would go and counted up the money she had left.

  She had enough for a one-way ticket on the ferry, with a little left over.

  Sixteen

  Stella had imagined Lastland Island would be a wild place, a lonely outcrop, lashed by waves. The kind of place where mermaids might come ashore, carried by high tides and stormy seas.

  There was nothing wild about the ferry carrying her there – it was an ordinary boat, with rows of plastic-covered seating, and a bar selling hot dogs and packets of crisps. Stella kept her head down as she stepped on board, although the man taking tickets hardly glanced at her.

  There were quite a few other passengers on the ferry. Stella hurried through the main cabin and found a deserted corner outside, on the lower deck. Then the engines started, and they were moving out into the bay.

  She felt the roll of the vessel beneath her feet, and she could see passengers already walking carefully, at a slight angle. But she felt surprisingly steady, able to keep her balance even with the wind whipping at the hem of her shorts.

  She stood at the handrail, not needing to hold, or even touch it. The sky was hazy and the water almost perfectly calm, its surface crosshatched with fine, silvery lines, like etching on a sheet of metal. A patch of reflected light, as bright and as elusive as a sparkler trail, danced a few metres ahead of the ferry, as though leading it on.

  Stella looked down. The deck jutted out beyond the ferry’s twin hulls, hiding the splash and spray of parting water. All she could see was the surface ahead, still calm and unbroken, speeding by without a ripple.

  It was as if they weren’t touching the water at all, she thought, but flying over it, carried by an offshore wind towards the open sea.

  She leaned over the rail and saw her own shadow, racing along on the surface of the water. Stella knew it was hers; it lifted an arm when she did, and she could see the tiny shape of her necklace dangling clear. But it looked different, thinner, almost sinuous. And the purposeful way it was moving was even more odd. As if it wasn’t a shadow, but something separate and alive.

  She leaned further, straining to see. Her shadow seemed to split. Something bright broke the surface of the water, vanished for an instant, and broke, glimmering again.

  ‘Dolphin!’ cried a voice.

  Stella turned, surprised to see that others had found her corner of the boat. Three young men drinking cans of beer, their voices loud.

  ‘There it is again! See?’

  It really was a dolphin. Stella hadn’t recognised it straightaway because it had been keeping pace with the boat right in the spot where her shadow fell across the water. That was why her shadow had seemed so alive.

  As she watched, a second dolphin rose close by. She saw the arch of its back and the pale, speeding arrow of its head, just below the surface.

  ‘You ever seen dolphins here before?’ one of the men asked. ‘I’ve never seen them here before.’

  They crowded beside her at the rail, staring and pointing. She shrank back, suddenly remembering that she’d taken off her cap for fear of losing it in the wind. She shoved it on and made her way to the other side of the boat. In the safety of the cramped ferry bathroom, she tucked the last few strands of her hair under the cap and stared at herself in the mirror. With her shorts and T-shirt and plain grey jacket, she could pass for a boy. The only thing that might give her away was her necklace.

  She hesitated. Then she unclasped the chain and pushed the necklace deep into the pocket of her shorts, where it couldn’t fall out.

  They were clear of the bay now. The sun had burned away the last of the haze, and light broke in a million points across the lively water. The sea darkened to a rich blue and became choppy. A golden smudge appeared in the distance, growing clearer as the ferry approached. A long line of dunes, empty as the desert.

  Lastland Island looked as remote as Stella had imagined.

  Then the ferry made a turn around the line of dunes, and she realised how wrong she’d been.

  Seventeen

  They were entering a wide, curving harbour, lined with buildings, and even from this distance, Stella could see it was bustling with life. Umbrellas dotted the beach, flags flew along the pier, and the dock was crowded with vessels of all shapes and sizes.

  Stella followed the passengers off the boat. She walked down the pier, past vendors selling ice cream and streamers and seaside souvenirs, and stopped at the end, under a sign with a giant lobster so red that it hurt her eyes. Beyond lay the main street, its pavements packed tight with people. Stella slipped into the throng, too dazed to worry if anyone might recognise her.

  Nobody gave her a second glance. There were too many other things to steal their attention. Bunting fluttered, music blared from every storefront, performers in feathers and sequins paraded, and restaurants spilled on to the pavement, the chatter of diners and the chink of cutlery adding to the hubbub.

  A young man in a top hat was handing out fliers on a corner. Stella plucked up her courage and approached him.

  ‘Do you know a place called Crystal Cove? I think it might be a beach, or maybe a bay…’

  He shook his head, already looking away.

  She crossed the road, narrowly dodging a trio of bicycles weaving along in the opposite direction and entered a busy coffee shop.

  ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘I’m looking for Crystal Cove.’

  ‘Does she work here?’

  ‘It’s not a per
son, it’s a place,’ Stella told the woman behind the bar, but the clank and hiss of the coffee machine drowned her words.

  She carried on down the main street, the sun hot on the back of her neck, her legs tired. She was nearly at the end of the long strip of shops and restaurants before she dared ask for directions again. An old man with a stick was coming towards her, walking so slowly that she felt sure he wouldn’t mind stopping for a moment or two.

  ‘Can you tell me the way to Crystal Cove?’

  He peered at her in silence, leaning on his stick and wheezing, as if the sheer effort of thinking was using up the last of his energy.

  ‘Not sure if it’s still there,’ he said finally. ‘Perhaps…’

  He pointed in the direction Stella had come. ‘All the way down, right at the end. You’ll have to hunt for it.’

  Stella retraced her steps and was halfway down the fourth side street, when she saw it. Not a beach or a bay, but another shop, although there didn’t seem to be anything for sale in the window. Perhaps some kind of office, then, Stella thought. The name was written in blue above the window, with the first letters of ‘Crystal’ and ‘Cove’ made to look like white-tipped, cresting waves. Propped up against the inside of the window was a large photograph. Stella could see it clearly from the other side of the street.

  It showed two mermaids, swimming towards the surface of a light-filled ocean, in a cloud of bubbles as bright as stars.

  Stella crossed the road, her heart thumping with excitement, although as she came nearer, she couldn’t help noticing how shabby the place seemed. The window was grubby and smeared, and the photograph was askew, its edges yellowed from exposure to sunlight. She squinted at the sign. There were words in smaller letters running below the name.

  East of the Dee and West of the Wave!

  Stella could tell it was meant to say ‘Deep’ because the shadow of the ‘p’ was still there. It had obviously fallen off some time ago, and never been replaced. She shielded her eyes and peered through the glass.

  There was a desk – or a counter of some kind – and the shape of a woman behind it. Stella drew back at once, but the woman lifted her hand, beckoning, as if she had been watching Stella through the glass, waiting to catch her eye.

  Stella hesitated, caught by a feeling of unease. She had come too far to turn back now, though. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

  The room smelled of chlorine, and the sharp-sweet tang of artificial pine. A pink plaster seahorse stood at one end of the counter, a garish clam at the other, with the woman sitting in between.

  ‘Welcome!’ she said in a bright voice. ‘Please come in!’

  Stella was too bewildered to reply.

  ‘You’re just in time!’

  Perhaps the woman had mistaken her for someone else. She was solid-looking, with dark grey hair cut short, and a wide, rosy, weather-beaten face.

  ‘We’re just about to start,’ the woman said. ‘You’re in luck, there are still a couple of seats left.’

  ‘Seats?’ Stella echoed. She looked around and saw a door with the words ‘VIEWING GALLERY’ written above, and frayed rope barriers on either side. ‘Oh!’ she said, turning automatically towards the gallery door. ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘You’ll have to pay for a ticket,’ the woman said, her voice suddenly sharp.

  Stella’s face grew hot with embarrassment. She rummaged in her pocket for the last of her money.

  ‘I don’t have enough.’

  The woman pursed her lips, and Stella turned to leave.

  ‘Maybe we can make an exception,’ the woman said. ‘How much d’you have?’

  She took the money and placed it in the till. Stella noticed a plastic tub with a picture of a dead fish taped to the side, and the words, Please! Help Save Our Seas! written in black marker around the top.

  The woman waved her hand, not looking at Stella. ‘You can go through.’

  A heavy, dull-coloured curtain hung at the entrance to the viewing gallery. Stella drew it back and stepped inside.

  Eighteen

  She was standing at the top of a ramp leading into near darkness, thick with the smell of lingering damp. Stella descended, her eyes adjusting to the dim light, and found herself in an auditorium with five or six rows of wooden benches facing faded velvet curtains.

  The woman at the front desk had said there were only a couple of seats left. In fact, the place was practically deserted, apart from an elderly couple at the back, a woman with a wriggling child on her lap, and a ragged-looking man who appeared to be asleep.

  Stella had no sooner sat down before she heard a crackle of static, and a booming voice.

  ‘Come, come with me, all seekers of adventure, to a land of mystery, east of the deep and west of the wave…’

  The curtains gave a whining creak and began to open in a jerky fashion.

  ‘Here, in a cavern strewn with pearls, live the people of the sea…’

  Stella found herself staring into a tank, at least six metres tall and twice as wide. The glass was cloudy, stained green with creeping algae. On the left side, piled on top of each other, three boulders formed a tower. A greyish plastic coral stood on the right. The sandy bottom was scattered with white globes, which Stella assumed were meant to be the ‘pearls’, although they looked suspiciously like ping-pong balls.

  ‘These are the immortals, never growing old, never dying, beautiful forever.’

  A light came on in the back of the tank, turning the plastic coral a sickly pink. Bubbles drifted up from behind the rocky tower, something swam into view, and Stella suddenly understood everything.

  The girl had sequins sewn on to her bikini top, and a long purple tail, and a smile that appeared as fixed to her face as the shells glued to her long black hair.

  She was dressed up to look like a mermaid. It was a show.

  Thoughts tumbled through Stella’s mind, falling into place one after the other. Her mum must have worked here, as a performer. Perhaps the girl in the drawing had been a performer too.

  So that was what Gramma had meant!

  The girl in the tank reached the front and waved stiffly.

  Stella couldn’t move, overcome by her own stupidity. Her mum hadn’t been a real mermaid! There was no such thing! How could Stella have believed – even for a minute – that there was?

  ‘Few travellers ever catch sight of these sirens of the deep,’ droned the voice, ‘for they are shy creatures.’

  The girl reached down with an awkward thrust of her tail, picked up a ping-pong ball, and pretended to admire it.

  ‘This is boring!’ the child in the audience cried loudly. ‘Bor-ring!’

  Maybe she’d only half-believed it, Stella told herself. Her eyes roamed over the algae-encrusted tank, and the fake coral.

  Maybe not even half.

  In the water, the girl’s smile was strained. Stella wondered how much longer she could hold her breath.

  How Cam had laughed at Stella! As if it was a big joke. Well, maybe it had been, Stella thought. Maybe she had been joking all along, without really knowing.

  The more she considered it, the more likely this seemed, and by the time the show came to an end, in a burst of music and a wild flickering of lights, she’d convinced herself.

  She’d definitely been joking. She’d never believed it.

  The elderly couple and the mother and child were already making their way to the exit. Even the ragged man seemed to be stirring, roused from his sleep by the noise. Stella stood up, feeling almost light-hearted.

  Her lovely mum had been a regular, normal human being. And Stella wasn’t strange, or different in any way. Not weird-weird, she thought, smiling to herself. Just weird-interesting.

  The woman in the front office was shaking the Save Our Seas! donation tub in the direction of the elderly couple. They deposited a few coins and hurried off. Stella approached the counter. It didn’t matter now if she was recognised. She was going home anyway.

 
‘Excuse me.’

  The woman was peering into the donation tub, stirring the coins as if counting them. How large her hands were. The kind of hands that were good at working heavy machinery. Or wielding an axe.

  Stella didn’t know why that last thought had come into her head. She smiled politely.

  ‘I think my mum used to work here,’ she said shyly. ‘It was a long time ago. I just wondered whether you remember her.’

  Nineteen

  ‘That’s nice,’ the woman said, still stirring the coins. ‘What’s her name?’

  Stella told her, and the woman looked up at once, the donation tub poised mid-air, as if she had forgotten she was holding it.

  ‘Is she here? Is she with you?’

  Stella shook her head. ‘I’m on my own. She’s—’

  ‘Take off your cap,’ the woman ordered. ‘Let’s have a look at you.’

  ‘I don’t look anything like Mum…’ Stella said. The woman took a step forward, staring intently. She was so close Stella could see the web of broken red veins in her cheeks, and the glitter of excitement in her dark eyes.

  ‘Would you do me a favour?’ the woman asked. ‘Could you stay here, just for a moment? There’s someone who would love to meet you.’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘You promise?’

  Stella nodded and the woman turned away, towards the entrance to the viewing gallery. Stella saw that she was wearing cowboy boots underneath her long skirt. The boots were silver-tipped and decorated with spurs at the heel that made a sharp, jangling noise with every step. In the doorway, the woman looked back.

  ‘You promise now?’ she repeated.

  ‘Yes,’ Stella said. ‘I promise.’

  A door slammed, and a moment later the woman reappeared, pushing a girl in a rusty-looking wheelchair.

  ‘What do you think?’ she asked. ‘She look like Aquabelle to you?’

  Stella was confused. ‘That’s not my mum’s name.’

  ‘Of course not,’ the woman said. She gestured towards the wheelchair. ‘This is Pearl. That’s not her real name either.’