Finding Love at Mermaid Terrace

by Kate Forster

  ‘So say you’re sorry and Dan will tell you he’s sorry and we will all be happy, non?’ Remi leaned in awkwardly, spreading his hands. But neither of them heard him.

  ‘I should have asked. Just like you should have asked about taking photos of my artwork and I forgave you.’

  ‘And I was sorry for that. But I didn’t bring up your past to prove my point like you did with the story I told you about the money at the church.’

  ‘And I’m sorry – I am. That was a shitty thing to say.’

  Dan nodded. ‘It was but at least I know what you think of me, deep down.’

  ‘But I don’t,’ said Tressa, wishing she could turn back the clock to minutes before.

  Remi looked down at the floor. Richie was anxious now and moved to the calmest person in the room, sitting on Remi’s feet.

  ‘Christ on a bike, Richie, you’re the most traitorous of all.’

  So this was what Tressa thought of him. Was that what everyone thought of him in Port Lowdy?

  Perhaps he didn’t always think before he did things, but he did believe he had some sort of moral code.

  Dan looked out to his car and back at Tressa, Remi, and Richie. Everyone thought he was a joke, even his own dog. The air in the room was tense and he breathed out slowly and turned to Remi.

  ‘I’ll put these in the car and walk with you back to the pub, see if Pamela has any rooms now the TV people have left.’

  He looked at Tressa. ‘I will come back for him when I have somewhere that will take dogs.’

  ‘Dan…’ she said but Dan shook his head.

  ‘No, you made yourself clear,’ he said and he walked out of the house and put his things in the car and waited for Remi. Then they walked into Port Lowdy, Dan without his two great loves.

  33

  Tressa ran to the front door after Dan had left with Remi but Richie whimpered at the back door and scratched it with his paw, wanting to go out.

  ‘Shit sticks,’ sobbed Tressa. She let Richie out and leaned against the door, trying to quell the tears.

  Richie sniffed about the back garden, seemingly unbothered by Dan’s departure. Tressa hoped this was a sign he would return and she could tell him she was sorry.

  But why had Remi wanted Dan to write the story about his life? He had sworn her to secrecy – then suddenly he wanted his life story published in a national paper?

  It made no sense.

  Leaving the back door open for the dog, Tressa went inside and lay down on the sofa where Dan had lain. Her head was in the indentation of the feather pillow where he slept and she could smell the whisky and his aftershave.

  The sound of her phone ringing made her jump up and run to where it was lying on the kitchen table. It wasn’t him. It was her mother.

  ‘Mum. Hi.’

  ‘Darling, can you come to St Ives tomorrow? I want to chat to you about something.’

  Tressa rolled her eyes, knowing it would be about the house and her moving home and the usual pressure.

  ‘I can’t, Mum, sorry.’

  ‘What’s wrong? You sound like you’ve been crying.’

  ‘No. I’ve been outside in the garden. Allergies maybe.’

  ‘You never had any allergies when you were little. Late-onset hay fever isn’t normal. You should be checked by a doctor.’

  ‘I’ll be fine, Mum. Anyway, I’m looking after Dan’s dog and he can’t be alone. He’s very destructive,’ she lied as she watched Richie stroll inside and plonk down under the kitchen table.

  ‘Of course – he left a terrible surprise in our garden. Dan really should have picked it up,’ Wendy said, and Tressa could imagine the turned-up nose as she spoke.

  ‘That’s fine about not coming here,’ her mother went on. ‘I’ll come to you. Shall we say midday for lunch? Don’t go to any trouble,’ she said and before Tressa could answer, her mother had rung off and Tressa was left holding the phone.

  She had assumed, she had accused, she had judged, and she had failed. And she realised she had sounded like her mother the whole time. Not letting him speak or be heard was something her mother had taught her.

  Why be so quick to judge?

  ‘Double shit sticks,’ she said. And without warning Ginger Pickles launched herself from the top of the refrigerator, tearing a clump of her hair in her claw on the way down.

  ‘Seriously?’ Tressa yelped, but it seemed the world was very serious and in the space of half an hour she had lost her love, her mother was coming for lunch, and most likely she now had a bald patch on her head. She filled Ginger Pickles’s bowl with food but the package slipped and the contents went everywhere, the sound of dry cat food scattering from one end of the kitchen to another. Tressa sat on the floor and wept, while Ginger Pickles and Richie cleaned up the mess around her.

  *

  For three hours Tressa stared at the canvas she was working on. Nothing seemed right. The colours were dull and the perspective was all wrong. She was sure it had been fine yesterday and now it seemed like someone had come and taken the painting she had been working on and replaced it with some inferior one.

  Who was she kidding thinking she could paint? She picked up her sketchbook and started to draw. Sometimes it helped her refocus and get her head back into the space but right now all she could think about was Dan and the curve of his mouth before he kissed her and the scar under his eyebrow and his hands. God, he could do mysterious things with his hands, she thought as she drew his face, and when she looked down at the sketch she burst into tears. She had made a huge mistake and she needed to say sorry.

  She ran down the stairs and picked up her phone to see she had three missed calls from George.

  ‘Oh God,’ she said aloud as she called back.

  ‘Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead’ she pleaded with Caro as the phone rang and then George answered.

  ‘What the hell has happened?’ he demanded as soon as he answered.

  ‘I don’t know – you tell me. Is Caro all right?’

  ‘She’s fine. She’s eating a chocolate pudding in bed, but Dan Byrne has resigned, as soon as the next edition is done. Said it was a hostile workplace and he couldn’t continue to write under those conditions.

  Tressa could hardly believe her ears. ‘Hostile? He’s the one who’s hostile,’ she said. ‘God, no wonder he got fired from his last job. He’s unbelievable. The arrogance. I should have fired him.’

  ‘Not your paper to fire people, Tressie,’ said George but he sounded amused. ‘But if he was being a problem at the paper, then I would have fired him for you. Was he a problem?’

  Tressa was quiet. ‘Not at work, no.’

  ‘Sort it out, Tressie – the paper needs you both.’

  Tressa ended the call and texted Dan.

  You resigned? That’s ridiculous. Let’s sort this out, please.

  She pressed send and sat waiting for a reply. She stalked around the house, tidying up the kitchen with jerky movements. She fed the animals, even though Ginger Pickles didn’t deserve any food or love, because that cat was disloyal like her mother and Dan – but Richie was happy to be fed. She glanced at the time. Nearly six, enough time to take Richie for a walk but she wouldn’t walk him into town, in case they ran into Dan. Dan, Dan, Dan. Damn. Clipping on Richie’s leash, she headed out the back door and locked it behind her and then they went through the back gate and up around the cliffs.

  They would go around the bend to the rock pools. Perhaps she could find a mermaid’s purse and send it off for some luck. God knows she needed it.

  The wind had picked up but it wasn’t cold. Tressa stood and looked out over the sea as the sun began to set. It was a perfect sunset, the sort she would have painted: but the desire just wasn’t there. She felt nothing but exhaustion as she watched it lowering in the sky. She never tired of this view but now, for the first time, she wondered if Port Lowdy was the place she was meant to be forever, especially if forever meant being alone.

  34

>   Wendy parked the car outside Tressa’s aqua home and checked her lipstick in the rear-view mirror. She was nervous to speak to Tressa about the mermaids but she knew they needed to talk.

  She stepped out of the car and looked out over the seaside. On days like today, she could understand why Tressa chose to live here. She just couldn’t understand why Tressa chose to be so far away from her and David and Jago. Her children were the light of her life and she wished Tressa would experience that joy. Tressa would be a wonderful mother, she and David often said. She was creative, kind, and patient, things that Wendy knew she was often lacking as a parent. Perhaps if Rosewyn hadn’t died? She often told herself that but she couldn’t remember parenting Rosewyn before she became ill. It felt like a dream that she could see snippets off but not fully recall.

  As Wendy crossed the road, Tressa’s neighbour stepped out of her front door, holding what looked to be a cat carrier.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Buckland, I haven’t seen you down here for a long while.’

  Wendy chose to ignore what she thought was a dig at her for not visiting her daughter.

  ‘A new cat?’ She peered at the carrier.

  ‘Yes. Ivy. Tressa found her on the road coming back from St Ives, and she asked me to foster her but I think I like her so much, I might keep her. She’s become quite attached to me.’

  Wendy smiled and raised her eyebrows. ‘It is good to have something to care for when you’re alone and older,’ she said as punishment for the woman judging her for not visiting Tressa.

  But the woman, Janet – that was her name, Wendy remembered – didn’t take offence at her comment. Instead she nodded vigorously in agreement.

  ‘You’re right, you know. Tressa told me she had been worrying about me for a long time. I was a bit lost after I retired from teaching and my old cat had died. This little mite brought all sorts of reasons back into my small world. Just like what Tressa did for Penny – well, that was Dan also writing the story but she’s a gem, that girl. It’s funny how Tressa always knows what people need. She must have got that gift from you.’

  Wendy was taken aback, mostly because Tressa had inherited nothing from her as far as she knew and because Tressa seemed to do more good than she realised.

  ‘I’m off to the vet to get this one microchipped, and have some injections. Then tomorrow I’m heading to Porthleven to see about volunteering at the shelter there. They need people who understand cats apparently.’

  Wendy thought of something pithy and perhaps bitchy and then caught herself. Why did she feel the need to always have the upper hand?

  The spiritual podcast she had listened to during the drive on the way down told her it was because she had too much ego due to feeling insecure underneath. She had nearly turned it off because it was so wrong and offensive but then she realised it was uncomfortable because there was truth in the statement. She did feel insecure, especially around Tressa.

  The child had never needed her from the day she was born. Tressa came into the world en caul, still in the sac, perfect and peaceful, with a head of dark curls.

  ‘A little water baby,’ the Irish midwife had said, as the baby moved and the sac pulled away from her body. ‘Born in a mermaid’s purse, the old wives’ tales say.’

  Had Wendy ever told Tressa that? She couldn’t remember. It was the sort of thing Tressa would have liked to know. She was always asking what she was like as a baby and when she was little but Wendy didn’t always have the answers.

  ‘Have a nice visit,’ said Janet as she opened the gate and walked away.

  ‘Good luck with Ivy,’ Wendy called out, and Janet turned back and gave her a genuine smile.

  ‘Thank you,’ she called back in return.

  She knocked on Tressa’s door and Dan’s dog barked. Wendy had never been one for pets, but Tressa had rescued a kitten as soon as she moved from home. The orange cat was a menace, and had once clawed Wendy’s good Max Mara pants, causing a pull that was difficult to fix.

  Tressa opened the door and Wendy noticed she looked tired, drawn.

  ‘You feeling well, darling?’ she asked, kissing her daughter on the cheek.

  ‘Yep, fine,’ said Tressa and Wendy knew the tone. Something was wrong but Tressa wouldn’t tell her unless she dragged it out of her and then nothing Wendy said after that would be helpful.

  ‘Something smells lovely,’ she said, meaning it.

  ‘It’s just a quiche heating in the oven. I didn’t make it before you get all enthusiastic. I got it from the bakery. Spinach and goat cheese.’

  Dan’s dog kept nosing Wendy’s bottom until she turned and pushed him away.

  ‘Stop it. You must learn manners. Now go and sit quietly and think about being more respectful.’

  To her surprise the dog let out something that sounded like a sneeze and went and jumped up onto the sofa and lay on his back, legs in the air.

  ‘Is he allowed on the furniture?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, I guess so. He won’t be here for long, so I don’t care,’ Tressa said with a shrug.

  Wendy sat at the kitchen table, far away from the dog hair that could cover her black linen pants.

  The cat sneered at her from the top of the fridge and Wendy felt she was being judged and found wanting.

  ‘Did you want to come up for Easter with Dan?’ Wendy asked. ‘We are having a Sunday lunch and Jago and Kelly and the twins are coming.’

  ‘I can’t, I have to work, lots of Easter things to photograph.’

  Wendy noticed that Tressa didn’t mention Dan.

  ‘How is Dan?’ she asked carefully.

  Tressa shrugged again. ‘I have no idea. We’re not talking. He’s resigned.’

  Wendy sat in shock. ‘What? You can’t be serious? That very unprofessional.’

  ‘No, it’s okay, I’m holding his dog hostage. He will come back and apologise. He’s filled with hot air and nothing else, and since the dog is the only thing in the world that loves him, he won’t be so ready to part from him.’

  Wendy watched her daughter’s face as she spoke and saw she was lying – but she was surprised Tressa was so forthcoming with her about Dan. It was clear from the state of her that she loved Dan and whatever had happened between them was causing her enormous pain.

  ‘How is the painting going?’ she asked, now treading more carefully than a tightrope-walker without a net. Any sudden slips and she would lose this tenuous connection with Tressa.

  ‘Terribly. I can’t seem to get anything to work,’ Tressa said and she emptied a bag of ready-made salad mix into a bowl and then covered it in balsamic vinegar and olive oil. Wendy held her tongue about making a proper vinaigrette because Tressa’s tone was vinegary enough without her adding to the mix.

  ‘I am sure it will come back – perhaps it’s just the thing with Dan and being unsettled.’

  Tressa sawed at a baguette so violently, Wendy almost felt sorry for the bread. She had never seen Tressa this upset before. She had seen her sad and anxious and paranoid but she hadn’t been angry. Perhaps being angry wasn’t such a bad thing sometimes; it reminded you of your worth and what you wanted in life.

  ‘I went to the gallery and looked at your paintings,’ said Wendy, keeping her tone light.

  ‘Oh.’ Tressa dumped the bread into a bowl and put it on the table with some force and then pulled out a chair and sat opposite her.

  ‘The paintings are incredible, Tressie, really beautiful.’

  Tressa sat and stared at her for a long time until Wendy felt uncomfortable.

  ‘And?’ Tressa put her hands up, as though gesturing for Wendy to go on.

  ‘And what? They’re stunning. I really think you should do an exhibition. They’re collectors’ items, truly.’

  Tressa narrowed her eyes at her as though mistrusting.

  ‘What I loved about them also – and it’s something I had never seen before – are the tiny mermaids in each one. It’s sort of like your signature, it seemed. I can’t believe I had
n’t noticed before.’

  Tressa looked down at her hands while Wendy was speaking.

  ‘Is it because of Rosewyn you liked the mermaids so much?’

  Tressa lifted her head and glared at Wendy.

  ‘No? I saw her name but I had forgotten that Rosewyn liked mermaids. No, I was thinking instead, did I ever tell you about when you were born?’

  Tressa shook her head.

  ‘When you were born, you came out in the amniotic sac. It’s a very rare thing – I think close to one in a million babies are born like that. I remember because you sort of slipped out and into the world, while still tucked away from the world.’

  Tressa was listening to her intently. ‘And the midwife, a lovely Irish woman from Dublin actually, told me that you were born in a mermaid’s purse – that’s what the old wives’ tales call it – and that you would be very lucky in life, have visions, and would never drown. So perhaps while Rosewyn liked mermaids, you were the little mermaid. I think you two would have been terrific friends.’

  As she spoke, she felt her eyes sting with tears. Why hadn’t she ever told her that story?

  Tressa’s eyes were bright with tears.

  ‘Do you think she would have liked me?’

  Wendy nodded, gathering her words. ‘I always wanted a third child, which is why we named you Tressa. I was going to name you Elowyn but your grandmother wanted Tressa, after some great-aunt who was supposed to be one of the last Cornish witches or some rubbish. She was sent to the Launceston gaol for drawing politicians in unfavourable ways, which doesn’t sound very terrible now but then it was supposed to be a huge drama. Some old family secrets or something that I try not to think about.’

  Tressa shook her head. ‘Why are you telling me this now, Mum?’

  Wendy paused. ‘Because I saw your paintings and I worried you thought I loved Rosewyn more than you.’

  Tressa burst into what sounded like mean laughter. ‘But you did love her more than me. That’s all I ever heard about growing up – how Rosewyn was good at this or that or how gorgeous she was or how special. It’s quite a cloud to be born under.’