by Tom Avery
“But they say that his voice changed. Over the course of a year, his joyful singing became a sad dirge. Still beautiful. But now, instead of bringing a smile, it brought tears.
“People started saying that Mathew was bedeviled. They whispered that he’d been seen on the cliffs around the village with a mysterious lady in black. They muttered about witchcraft and wondered whether it was right to have the man sing in their church.
“Mathew had a brother—Gin’s great, great, great-grandfather, older than Mathew—living in another village. When this older brother heard these whispers, he returned to Zennor and found Mathew on the quayside, singing to the sea. He barely recognized Mathew’s pale face, it was so ghostly.
“Mathew laughed at the idea of sorcery, his cheeks forming deep hollows. ‘I’m not bewitched,’ he told his brother. ‘I’m sick.’
“Mathew took his brother back to his home where his carpentry tools sat unused and the unwashed smell of sickness filled the air. The older brother aired the house, cleaned and cooked a clear fish soup.
“As the two brothers went to sleep, Mathew on his bed, the older brother below the table, the singer whispered, ‘Don’t worry, brother. I think I’ve found a way to be well again.’
“The next day was a church day. Mathew stood and sang a song that no one in Zennor had heard before. Or perhaps they’d heard it all their lives, ’cause in that song was the wash of the sea, the roar of the wind and the gulls’ call. Mathew sang up a storm in that tiny church. And when the last note fell, no one moved, apart from Mathew. He walked down the aisle to a lady who had slipped into the back row as the young man sang, a tiny lady dressed all in black.
“Mathew walked out of the building, following that mysterious woman, who left the church with three long, floating bounds. He was never seen again. All his brother found was the woman’s black shawl, discarded on the rocky shore.
“They say in Zennor that you can hear Mathew still. On a calm night, when the sky is clear, his sweet voice rings over the village, filled with pure joy again. They whisper of mermaids living beneath the waves, watching the town. They mutter, when men go away to sea, of the foolish dream of seeking Mathew’s maid.”
Ned nodded as the story ended.
I frowned. “The mermaid took him?”
“Well, Gin called the story ‘Mathew’s Choice,’ ” Granddad said. “I think he went with the mermaid willingly. I think he went to live a…different kind of life.”
Ned nodded again. My brother’s face spoke of understanding.
I frowned.
—
Still I told my heart that Leonard was there to fix my brother. I told my heart that was the story we were in.
My heart told me I lied. My heart felt an ending coming that no one could control.
The sky was clear the night we let Leonard out for fresh air, for a taste of the outside, to prepare to send him home. A cool, clear night. Dad was asleep on the sofa. Mum was in the bath.
We needed to be quiet; Ned was meant to be warm and safe inside, but was coming out for fresh air and a taste of the outside too.
When we peered into the garage, Leonard’s eyes were vast. They glowed in the gloom. A soft light.
“Come on, Len,” Ned said from the door. “Come outside. Move out of the way, Jamie.”
I stepped back out of the garage and retreated to the garden fence, bordering the cliff. The cliff that fell down, down to the sea, the channel. The moon shone and its light rippled across the calm sea. In the quiet, in the night, you could hear the waves crashing on the rocks below.
“Come on,” Ned whispered again to the merman.
It was dark. Just the moon’s beams and the light that escaped the bathroom window above showed Leonard peering from the back door. He smiled and breathed in deep.
“This is our garden,” Ned said.
With that Leonard sprang. Three leaps and he was beside me, perched on the fence. He no longer wore the makeshift sling.
Ned barked a laugh and a cough.
Leonard clicked and gurgled and gazed down at the sea below.
“Home,” I whispered, nodding.
Ned wheezed up beside us. “Did you see that? Amazing. If I could move like that…You’re amazing, Leonard.”
I stared at my brother as he stared at the fish-man, who stared out at the sea.
My brother’s words rang in my ears—“our last adventure.” I wanted it over. Hope was gone and something like fear was creeping in.
“We’ve got to let him go home, Ned,” I whispered. “We can’t keep him.”
My brother looked up at me. “Not yet, Jamie. It’s not time. Not yet.”
“Soon,” I whispered.
“Soon.”
As we stood in the cool night, Leonard began to sing. Quietly at first. The notes collided with the sounds of the waves below, and like the sky and sea on a clear day, it was hard to know where one began and the other ended. We stood and listened a long time. Leonard smiled and sang. Ned smiled and hummed. My brother’s tune joined with the merman’s and with the lapping sea. If the song had not filled my mind, I would have thought of another song, on a boat, in a beautiful cove: Perla’s parting song.
I was on the outside of that sound, looking in, as the song went on and on into the distance and into the future. Leonard sang and Ned opened his mouth and sang. It was not two songs but one song with two singers. There was no part in it for me. For a moment that fear became a thought—I was losing my brother.
Suddenly a voice broke the night air and the song stopped. “What you got there, boys?”
I whipped round. Ned stepped in front of Leonard. We expected to see Mum in her dressing gown, calling from the back door. The light was still on in the bathroom. But from over the fence next door, one point of orange glowed—Mrs. Clarke’s cigarette.
“Is that a cat?” our neighbor croaked.
“Yeah,” my brother called back. “It’s…er…a cat, Mrs. Clarke.”
“That ain’t no cat.”
“Erm…,” I said, and glanced over my shoulder at Leonard.
“It is. It’s one of them…What is it called, Jamie? Hairless cats, Mrs. Clarke.”
“Siamese cat,” I called.
The glowing cigarette waved in the air. Our neighbor’s mutters were lost in the gap between us. As my eyes adjusted, I began to see the roses, the reds and pinks, turned black and purple in the night, and the old lady, leaning over our fence.
“Bring it here then,” Mrs. Clarke called.
I glanced up at the bathroom window, where Mum was not to be disturbed.
“Let’s see this cat,” she shouted.
I searched for an excuse.
Ned spoke first. “It’s gone. It ran off when you yelled.”
I glanced back again and could see Ned wasn’t lying; Leonard was gone.
The bathroom light switched off as Mrs. Clarke went back to her muttering. The back door swung open.
“Ned, what are you doing out here?” Mum called to us, then she saw our neighbor. “Oh, sorry, Mrs. Clarke,” she said.
“Have you got a cat?” the old lady asked.
“A cat?”
“Ned says you’ve got a Siamese cat.”
Ned coughed. All eyes were on him. The cough became a fit. Mum hurried over. Her dressing gown held tight as it tried to stream out behind her.
“Not our cat,” Ned spluttered. His foot flicked out and kicked my shin.
“No…erm…it was just here. It’s gone.”
“They were singing with it,” Mrs. Clarke called.
Mum stroked Ned’s back. She looked at me. Her eyes narrowed. “Get inside, boys. I’ll talk to the old…our dear neighbor,” she whispered just for us.
“It didn’t look much like a cat,” Mrs. Clarke said.
Mum’s lips were thin, her eyebrow drawn. “Inside.”
Ned coughed all the way in. He coughed as we sat at the table and waited. He coughed as I whispered to him that Mum would
find Leonard. He shook his head as he coughed.
“What do you think you were doing?” Mum asked, still angry, when she returned from the garden.
She hadn’t found him. If she had, she’d be asking about the merman. Ned still coughed. It was left to me to lie.
“It was just a cat.”
“I don’t care about the cat. Why, why would you be outside? In the cold. In the dark.” Mum stroked Ned’s back. His coughing stopped as he spat into a handkerchief that Mum held out.
—
Later, in our bedroom, after Mum had stopped shouting and crying and telling me I had to look after my brother, Ned was by the window, staring. I knew why he sat so silent. He was listening for Leonard’s song, for their song.
We sat in silence but for the sound of the waves and the gentle grunt of Dad’s snoring downstairs. The television went on. The nine o’clock news. Somewhere on the street a door closed.
“I’m going to find him,” Ned said.
“What?”
“I’m going out.” Ned pulled his jumper tight. “Pass me my coat.”
“You heard what Mum said,” I hissed.
Ned left the window and fetched his coat himself. He zipped it to the top. “You coming?”
“I…,” I said. “Hang on. Listen.”
We stopped again, still and silent. And there it was. Mixed with the sound of crashing waves. Leonard’s song. Ned sighed. It sounded like our friend had found his way back to the garage.
My face became all frown. “We’ve got to send him home, Ned,” I said.
“It’s not time yet. I’m going to check he’s OK.”
“You can’t!” I whispered. “If you’re going, you’re going alone.” I sat on the edge of the bed.
Ned stared at me, then nodded. “OK,” he said. “I’ll go alone.”
Mum’s always been a worrier. Dad says we shouldn’t give her more reason to worry. I try to follow this instruction. Ned does not.
As I sat listening for my brother’s return, I realized I took after Mum in the worry department. I should have gone with him. He should not have been out in the cold, in the dark with Leonard—Leonard, that strange creature who could do, would do, might do strange things.
But Ned returned. Leonard was safe and sound in his tub.
“We’ve got to let him go,” I said again.
I got the same reply. “Soon.”
—
The next day, Mum’s worry was at new heights. She took Ned’s temperature every few hours and his percussion was extra vigorous. She spent a whole episode of Star Trek on the phone to the doctors.
Ned had put on “Arena,” the first episode that sees Kirk in a fist fight on a strange planet. We both agreed, as the captain fought the Gorn, that the alien looked a little like Leonard. The big eyes. The fins across his head. The sharp-toothed mouth. One big difference—the Gorn was made of rubber.
“The doctor says you must stay wrapped up warm,” Mum said after she’d put down the phone and Kirk had spared the alien’s life.
“It took an hour for the doctor to say that,” Ned said.
“Please, Ned.” There were tears in Mum’s voice.
Ned stayed warm. I went out to feed Leonard. I stared at him. He was still a stranger to me. He stared right back.
“You’ve got to go,” I said to him as I threw a fillet of plaice into the tub. “Go and leave my brother alone. He’s not got enough time, not for you and me. Go!”
—
The day crept by. Mum’s worry washed in and out. Dad returned home to find her in tears. He called Granddad and took Mum out for dinner in Weymouth. She left strict instructions: “They are not to leave this house.” We sat with Granddad in the kitchen.
“Do you remember the Southern Fish?” he asked me.
“Piscis Austrinus,” Ned said.
“What is this?” Granddad laughed. “I must really have you with these mermaid stories if you’re telling them to each other now.”
Ned nodded. “You do, Granddad.”
“OK. Do you remember which star of Piscis Austrinus you can see?”
Ned didn’t remember; maybe I hadn’t told him that part. I did.
“Fomalhaut.”
“Ah ha,” Granddad said. “Fomalhaut. Fum al-hut. The fish’s mouth. It’s arrived.”
“What?”
Ned’s question brought on a mini-lesson on how the Earth moves round the sun. Through the summer, we’re on one side of our own star. We see all the stars that stare back at our sun from that side. By the winter, we’re on the other side of the sun. Our night sky has completely changed to show a new set of stars, shining down.
“Fomalhaut appears, low in the sky, in the autumn. It’s arrived.”
I thought about that soon. I wondered what Ned was waiting for, what Leonard was waiting for. Could this be it?
Ned leaped up from the table. “Let’s go and see.”
“No, no. We are not leaving the house,” Granddad said. “Breaking your mother’s command would be more than my life is worth. Let’s see, though. Erm…” Granddad started looking around, pointing. “Where are we?” he muttered. Then he got up. “Right, living room window.”
We crowded by the small window.
“Get the light, Jamie,” Granddad said, pulling the window open. The sound of the sea flooded in. The curtains flapped. “This is south,” he said as I turned the lights off. “Look there.” He pointed to a big blank space, black and black and black.
And there it was. The only star in all that black.
“They call it the loneliest star,” Granddad said.
“Good name,” Ned said.
I nodded and stared and thought about Ned and Leonard’s lonely song. I thought about going alone. I thought about saying goodbye before we were ready. I thought about loneliness. It stretched out before me.
Ned’s got a ton of clothes that don’t fit him. Grandma insists on sending clothes every birthday and every Christmas. No matter how often Mum tells her our sizes, she buys them to fit our age. Mine are a little too small, and Ned’s are a mile too big.
Before she let us out, Mum stuffed Ned in an assortment of jumpers. She started with ones that fitted him right up to my biggest one.
“Is four jumpers a bit much, Mum?” Ned said.
“Two of them are very thin. The doctor said to keep warm.”
Ned threw me a look that said Mum had lost the plot. His eyes were wide, the bottom of his mouth slanted to one side.
I grinned but held on to my laugh. I was beginning to think that Mum’s worries were not as mad as Ned made out. I was beginning to feel time shrink.
“Don’t let him take them off, Jamie,” Mum said. “I’m just going to the shops. I’ll be half an hour tops. Do not leave the garden.”
“Right, let’s get the hell out of here,” Ned said.
Mum sighed.
—
In the garage, Ned quickly pulled off two jumpers.
Leonard stared. Leonard wore no clothes.
“You must have a mum, Len,” Ned said, dumping the clothes by the door. “Are all mums mad?”
“She’s just trying to look after you, Ned.” I handed him the bag of frozen sprats.
“Do you honestly think that two jumpers will make a difference? That any of it will help?” he whispered.
I had nothing to say to this. As my brother turned to the merman, a tear swam in my eye.
Leonard crunched through the raw fish.
No one spoke. Ned coughed a little. Leonard shook his head and put a hand to my brother’s chest.
I wiped at my eyes. Leonard had promised so much with a touch and a look. I’d thought he knew. I’d thought he brought hope.
“Nothing will help,” my brother whispered, quieter still.
Phrases ran through my mind: “It will all be OK” and “Keep your chin up.” They ran through my mind and out the other side.
Nothing will help, I said to myself.
Silence agai
n for long minutes until a ring and a knock. Someone was at the front door.
“Anyone home?” called a deep voice.
“Mr. Taylor?” my brother said.
“Officer Taylor,” I said.
—
We knew Anthony Taylor well. He lived on our road. He was Lucy and Peewee’s dad.
But there were two Anthony Taylors.
Mr. Taylor went to the pub with Dad. Dad called him Tony. He loved his car and spent Sunday mornings washing it. He won the parents’ race at last year’s sports day.
Officer Taylor was a serious man. He frowned from under his policeman’s hat. He’d brought Ned home twice, when he’d disappeared on one of those days he’d wanted to escape.
It was Officer Taylor we saw standing at our front door, when we appeared from round the side of the garage.
“Hello, lads,” he said.
“Hello, Mr. Taylor,” I said.
“All right, Tony,” Ned said.
“Is your mum home?”
I shook my head.
“She’s abandoned us, Officer.” Ned grinned.
“Not to worry. You can probably help. It’s not something we’d usually follow up, but given as she’s a…neighbor…Mrs. Clarke reported a strange sighting in your garage or in your garden.”
My mouth opened.
Ned nodded.
“I told her I’d check it out. And you know”—he dropped to a whisper and glanced at the house next door—“she’s always watching.” Back to his normal voice. “So I’m just stopping by. Can I have a quick glance around your garage?”
“Erm,” I said.
“It was a cat,” Ned said.
“Just a quick look, boys.”
“Well,” Ned said. “Maybe we should wait till my mum gets home.”
“Come on, I’ll just be a minute.”
The door squeaked open. The light was off. The bulb was still broken. There was a small splash and a pat-pat sound.
I saw him move. I was sure Ned saw him too. I didn’t know what the policeman saw as he peered into the gloom.
“What was that?” he said.
