The Girl Who Thought Her Mother Was a Mermaid

by Tania Unsworth

  Up close, Stella could see that Pearl was a good deal older than she first seemed, although her face was as smooth as a girl’s. But her skin lacked colour, and her hair was thin and wispy. Even her shabby dress, faded to a greenish memory, looked washed out. As if she had been painted entirely in watercolours.

  ‘I’m forgetting my manners,’ the woman said. ‘I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Marcie. And you are?’

  ‘Stella.’

  ‘What a pretty name!’ Marcie said. ‘Isn’t that a pretty name, Pearl?’

  Pearl stared at Stella, her face expressionless. There was something familiar about her, although Stella couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

  ‘Your mother,’ Pearl said, her voice hesitant. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘She’s… she’s not here,’ Stella stammered. ‘I mean, she’s dead. She died when I was eight.’

  A ripple passed over Pearl’s face. Her clasped hands tightened. Then, as slowly as a leaf drifting from a tree, her gaze fell to her lap.

  ‘Dead!’ Marcie cried. ‘Oh, that’s awful!’

  The news had really upset them, Stella thought. They must have liked her mum a lot.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  Marcie shook her head. ‘What a loss,’ she muttered. ‘Such a star…’

  ‘So she did work here.’

  ‘Of course she did! Pearl performed with her. They were… best friends. Isn’t that right, Pearl?’

  Marcie jiggled the handles of the wheelchair and Pearl nodded.

  ‘We should show Stella the pictures,’ Marcie said. ‘Don’t you think, Pearl?

  I bet you’d like to see some pictures of your mother,’ she said to Stella. ‘We could have some tea. Are you hungry?’

  ‘I guess so,’ Stella said, although in fact she was almost dizzy with hunger. The bar of chocolate and handful of biscuits that she’d eaten on the dock felt like a long time ago. And it was also true that she would love to see pictures of her mum and listen to stories about her life before Stella had even been born. It would make her mum feel real to Stella again, still alive, if only in memory.

  Nevertheless, she hesitated. The gloomy interior of the Crystal Cove seemed smaller than before, as if the walls were closing in on her, and there was something unsettling about the two women, particularly Pearl. The way she sat, unsmiling, her face so very pale…

  Stella peered outside. It was growing dark. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I ought to be getting back.’

  ‘What a shame,’ Marcie said. ‘After such sad news, it would have been good to talk about old times.’ She looked so disappointed that Stella felt ashamed.

  ‘Well, okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll stay for a little bit longer.’

  Twenty

  Stella followed Marcie and Pearl back into the viewing gallery. Marcie turned the light on, although it was still extremely dim, little more than a yellow filter over the dark. Stella saw – with a feeling of relief – that the curtains remained lowered, hiding the tank. She heard the sound of water gurgling through pipes.

  ‘Don’t mind the noise,’ Marcie called over her shoulder. ‘We drain the tank every other week so we can give it a good clean.’

  Marcie pushed the wheelchair to the bottom of the ramp and turned right, crossing the front of the gallery. She pointed to a pair of shadowy doors. ‘Through there’s the entrance to the tank, plus dressing rooms. It’s where we keep all our costumes and props.’ She smiled at Stella. ‘It’s where the magic happens!’

  Stella nodded politely, thinking of the ping-pong balls, and the sequins missing from the mermaid’s tail.

  ‘And this is where we call home,’ Marcie announced, stopping by a door on the far side of the gallery. She held it open, and Pearl wheeled herself through, navigating with strong, deft movements.

  The room was brighter than the viewing gallery, but with the same yellowish tint. There was a stretch of countertop on one side, with a microwave, stove and five or six chipped wooden cabinets. On the other side a desk piled with papers in messy heaps around an ancient-looking computer. There was something odd about the place, although it was a while before Stella realised what it was. The room had no windows.

  Marcie gestured to the wall above the desk. It was covered with hundreds of photographs, fliers and old newspaper cuttings.

  ‘My wall of memories,’ she said.

  Stella stepped forward eagerly.

  ‘There she is,’ Marcie said, tapping one of the photos. ‘Aquabelle!’

  Stella saw a group of five young women in shiny skirts and matching bikini tops. They were standing in a row, the sleek, curling waves of their hair spilling over their shoulders. Stella’s mum was in the middle.

  Her eyelids glittered behind long black lashes, and her lips were painted the kind of red that only the most beautiful – or the most daring – can ever wear. Stella caught her breath, transfixed by a feeling in which joy lay so close to sadness that it was impossible to tell where one began and the other ended.

  Marcie tapped another photo. ‘That’s her in the tank.’

  Stella knew her mum had been good at swimming, but she hadn’t known quite how good. The picture showed her and another woman – both wearing mermaid tails – floating effortlessly under the water. Their backs were arched, and their bodies formed identical C shapes.

  ‘CC,’ Marcie explained. ‘For “Crystal Cove”. Only two girls have ever been able to perfect that formation. Your mother and Pearl.’

  Stella darted a look at the wheelchair.

  ‘I know,’ Marcie said, catching the look. ‘Hard to believe, isn’t it?’

  Stella decided she didn’t like Marcie, although Pearl didn’t seem to have heard the hurtful comment. She sat still, her face vacant, her hands in her lap.

  ‘That was the heyday of the Crystal Cove, when your mother worked here,’ Marcie said, her hands travelling slowly over the pictures. ‘Those were the glory days.’

  Stella saw another image of her mum, dressed casually this time, her arm around a much younger Marcie. They were standing in the viewing gallery. The place looked completely different. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and rich red carpet covered the floor.

  ‘We had five shows a day back then,’ Marcie said, a dreamy expression crossing her face. ‘Six at the weekend. Every show was packed. The public would form a queue all the way down the street.’

  ‘What happened?’ Stella asked.

  ‘I guess you could say we lost… the magic,’ Marcie said, giving Pearl a sidelong glance. ‘How about that tea?’ she added sharply.

  Pearl wheeled around automatically, and began filling the kettle and gathering mugs. Stella noticed she used a tool to get to items that were beyond the reach of her wheelchair. It was a makeshift thing, a broken-off broom handle with a coat hook attached to one end.

  ‘Pearl’s very handy with that little stick of hers,’ Marcie told Stella. ‘She gets through the chores in no time.’

  ‘Sit,’ she added, pulling a chair from under the kitchen table.

  The top of the table was grey plastic, scratched and slightly sticky to the touch. Stella kept her hands on her lap, waiting for the tea. Marcie began to talk about the mermaid costumes, how Stella’s mum had had five tails in different colours. They had been made especially for her and fitted so well it was impossible to see the join.

  ‘No need for a wig, of course,’ Marcie said. ‘Not with that magnificent hair of hers.’

  Pearl put two cups of tea on the table, and Stella took a sip. It tasted bad, the milk slightly sour.

  ‘Don’t you like tea?’ Marcie said. ‘Drink it!’

  Stella took another mouthful. She glanced at the closed door on the opposite side of the room, wondering where it led. To more windowless rooms, perhaps? She wiped her mouth, feeling nauseous.

  ‘No doubt about it, Aquabelle was special,’ Marcie was saying. ‘Everyone could see it, although none of the other girls were jealous because Aquabelle never bragged, she wa
s always so nice.

  She was a sweetheart,’ Marcie said. ‘Isn’t that right, Pearl?’

  Pearl nodded silently, her eyes fixed on the empty space in the middle of the table.

  ‘Where did you meet?’ Stella asked Pearl. ‘You said she was your best friend.’

  ‘We grew up together.’

  Stella frowned slightly. Her mum had never mentioned having a best friend.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked. But Pearl said nothing more.

  ‘Oh, don’t pay any attention to Miss Misery!’ Marcie cried. ‘We have so much more to talk about.’

  The edges of the room had grown blurry and the white oval of Pearl’s face gleamed like the inside of a shell.

  ‘We were wondering whether you were like your mother,’ Marcie said.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘In the water, I mean,’ Marcie said.

  Stella shook her head, although the movement made her dizzy. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I can swim but I haven’t…’ She wanted to finish the sentence, but there was a buzzing in her ears that made it hard to think.

  She fumbled for the bag at her feet and stood up. ‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘I have to, but thank you for the tea it wasveryniceofyou…’

  ‘You don’t look well, are you okay?’ Marcie said.

  The room tilted. ‘I’m fine,’ Stella said. ‘I’m—’

  She was half-lying, half-sitting on the floor, without a clear idea of how she’d got there. She felt Marcie’s hand grasp her arm.

  ‘She needs to lie down. Get the door for me.’

  ‘No, I don’t want to, I want to go home,’ Stella said, although the words got stuck before they could come out.

  She was walking – or rather being walked – down a narrow corridor, the ceiling low and dark, Marcie solid as the side of a cliff beside her. Then they were in another room with two beds, and Stella was sitting down, closing her eyes.

  When she opened them, Pearl was leaning over her, pressing a glass of water to her lips. Stella took a sip, and then another. Pearl’s eyes were a peculiar colour, turquoise rather than blue, as clear and as pure as the rims on Gramma’s teacups back at home.

  ‘You fainted, nothing to make a fuss about,’ Marcie said. She rested her weight against the door, and Stella heard the click as it closed. ‘You need to eat.’

  Pearl pushed something into Stella’s hand. It was a sandwich, the bread as pale as the plate it was resting on. Stella shook her head.

  ‘I’m fine, it’s okay.’

  ‘Eat it,’ Marcie snapped.

  Pearl laid a cool, feathery hand on her arm, and Stella felt a stab of fear.

  ‘Best do as she says,’ Pearl whispered.

  Twenty-one

  If there was any flavour in the sandwich’s thin slice of ham, Stella was incapable of tasting it. She chewed as best she could, praying she would be able to swallow the food, and keep it down.

  Marcie stepped away from the door. ‘Feeling better?’

  Stella nodded, still chewing. She did feel better; all she had needed was to eat.

  ‘I’m okay now,’ she said. ‘I’m fine, but I have to go. I don’t want to miss the last ferry.’ She would have liked to get up, but Marcie was close to the bed, towering over her.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she said.

  Stella was too shocked to move for a second. Then she leaped up and made a dash for the door.

  It was locked.

  ‘Open it! Let me go!’

  Pearl gasped. ‘Marcie, you said you wouldn’t…’

  ‘You can’t stop me from leaving,’ Stella interrupted. ‘That’s… that’s kidnap. That’s a crime.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Marcie agreed. ‘So it’s lucky nobody knows you’re here, isn’t it, Stella Martin?’

  Stella couldn’t speak.

  ‘I follow the news, you know,’ Marcie said. ‘I’m not a dummy. You’re a runaway, and everyone is looking for you. But I bet they won’t be looking for you here.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ Stella whispered.

  ‘I just want to ask you some questions. Sit back down.’

  The woman was mad, Stella thought, returning to the bed. She had to stay calm, pretend to play along.

  ‘How did you know to come here?’ Marcie demanded. ‘What did your mother tell you?’

  Stella shook her head. ‘Nothing… I worked it out.’

  ‘Seems I’ll have to fill you in, then.’

  ‘Marcie, don’t,’ Pearl whimpered from the corner.

  ‘Where should I begin?’ Marcie said.

  ‘Please, Marcie, please,’ Pearl begged, wringing her hands until the knuckles shone white.

  Marcie eyed her impatiently. ‘Go and do the washing up, Pearl.’

  The woman in the wheelchair hesitated. Stella watched as she turned, wheeled slowly across the room, and began to manoeuvre her chair through the door.

  It would be easy to push past her. What could Pearl do to stop her escaping? But Marcie was there, between Stella and the door, and Stella knew there was no pushing past her.

  Marcie paced to and fro, the spurs on her cowboy boots jangling.

  ‘I’d been running the Crystal Cove for almost three years when your mother turned up,’ she began. ‘The show was a lot better in those days. I had more girls, the costumes were new, and we were still a novelty in town. But at heart, it was the same as it is now. A piece of make-believe. An act.’

  Stella didn’t know why Marcie was telling her this. There was a strange look on her face, the same one she’d worn earlier, when showing Stella the old photographs. As if she was reliving some wonderful dream.

  ‘Then your mother came, and the show took off,’ Marcie continued. ‘It became a sensation. There was a simple reason for that, although I didn’t know what it was for a long time.’

  Marcie stopped pacing. The room was silent. Stella knew that not far off, there were shops and restaurants and noisy streets thronged with holidaymakers, music and laughter and friendly faces. But in the dim, windowless depths of the Crystal Cove, they might just as well have been a thousand miles away.

  ‘Then one day, I discovered the truth,’ Marcie said.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ Stella cried.

  Marcie bent in close, her mottled cheeks quivering. ‘Your mother was a performer like all the other girls. She was putting on an act. But what, might you ask, was she pretending?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Stella said, leaning desperately away from Marcie’s looming face. ‘How should I know?’

  Marcie smiled in triumph. ‘She was pretending to pretend!’

  Stella stared at her blankly.

  ‘Okay,’ Marcie said, straightening up and beginning to pace again. ‘Let me put it another way. Did you ever have bath toys when you were a little kid? Did you ever have one of those wind-up plastic fish?

  You turn the cog, and put it in the water,’ she continued, without waiting for Stella to answer. ‘The little tail jerks back and forth, and it moves like it’s swimming. You’ve seen toys like that, haven’t you?’

  ‘I… I guess so.’

  ‘Of course you have. They look like fish, and they move like fish, sort of. Until their cog runs down and you have to wind them up again. But if you were to put a real fish in your bathtub, you’d realise how lame the plastic one truly was. Nothing like the real thing. Just a silly fake.’

  Stella’s mouth had gone dry, and when she tried to swallow, it felt as though there was something hard and scratchy lodged in the top of her throat.

  ‘Do you see where I’m going with this?’ Marcie said. ‘It’s a – what do you call it? – a metaphor. The bathtub is like our tank here at the Crystal Cove, and the girls who perform in it are like the plastic fish, except that instead of a cog that needs to be wound up, they have to come up for air every few minutes. But your mother…’

  Marcie’s voice had risen. Her eyes locked on to Stella’s face.

  ‘Your
mother was the real fish!’

  Stella sat pinned, unable to move or speak. ‘That’s right,’ Marcie said. ‘An actual, real-as-you-or-me, mermaid.’ She tapped the side of her head with her forefinger. ‘And I was the one who discovered her!’

  It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be, she’d never even half-believed it. It had only been a joke…

  ‘You’re mad!’ Stella burst out. ‘You’re mad, let me go!’ And she covered her ears with her hands.

  ‘Am I?’ Marcie said. ‘Well, if you don’t believe me, ask Pearl. She’s one too.’ She crossed to the door, her boots thumping on the bare floorboards. ‘It’s late,’ she said. ‘You’ll think differently in the morning.’

  Stella heard the click as the door swung to and locked.

  Twenty-two

  Stella lay curled up, too tired to think straight, and too frightened to sleep. Apart from the two beds, the only other furniture in the room was a wardrobe with a full-length mirror, speckled with age. There was nothing inside except a solitary coat hanger that rattled when she opened the door. The bed she lay on was made up, although it was hard to imagine anyone having a good night’s sleep between the musty sheets.

  Stella stared at the bare light bulb, and the shadows running across the damp-stained ceiling. Marcie had said it was late, although Stella had no idea what time it really was, or whether she would even know when the morning came. Without windows, there was no way to tell whether it was dark or light outside. Hours and hours could pass without her knowing. What if she lost track of time completely, Stella thought, and whole days went by?

  Then she remembered she was wearing her watch. In the empty room, its green glow was a tiny beacon of reassurance.

  Nearly midnight. Stella thought about turning off the light – the switch was next to the door. But darkness was a frightening prospect. In that little room, it would be a darkness to make her lose all bearings, so that even if she changed her mind and wanted to turn the light back on, she couldn’t, because she’d no longer have any idea where the switch was…

  Stella shivered. She pulled the thin blanket off the bed, and wrapped it tightly around her. Her hand went to her throat feeling for her necklace.