Lyle's Story

by Kay Berrisford

  “You will not touch him!” Welwyn yelled. “If Lyle is to become any ruler’s consort, it will be mine!”

  Emmet raised his staff, and Welwyn raised his fists and poised his fins to strike.

  So much for standing together. Welwyn, the stupid fool, was going to fight for him like he was an object, an insentient jewel to be won.

  Lyle ground his teeth. His thoughts jammed to a juddering halt as fury erupted through him like an exploding volcano. A deep swooping sensation pulled at his innards, as using the strength of his vitriol, he sucked every iota of enchantment from the water around him, the nearby ocean, and the moon, and then…

  ~~*

  “And then?” asked Ben.

  They’d ended up back on the sofa, curled together. Lyle stole a last scrap of solace from the steady beat of Ben’s heart. Then he lifted his head from Ben’s chest and pushed up into a seated position, so he could look Ben in the eye. Lyle didn’t deserve this confession to come easy.

  “I honestly don’t remember much of what happened next,” said Lyle. “It was like what happened when Kristof got hurt. But it was much, much more intense.”

  At the mention of the incident in Shanty Wood, when Lyle had lost control of his magic and Kristoff, one of Ben’s colleagues, had ended up with two broken legs, Ben’s sympathetic gaze hardened slightly. Lyle flinched away.

  “I saw red,” he murmured. “I went berserk, basically. I completely lost it. “

  Ben touched his cheek, forcing their eyes to meet again. “Lyle, tell me what happened next.”

  Lyle inhaled sharply. “I honestly don’t know. The next thing I remember, the cave was flooded. The whole rock wall on one side had been battered away, leaving the cavern open to the elements. And my brother… Welwyn…” Lyle’s vision misted as he recalled an image he’d revisited in many nightmares since. “Welwyn was impaled on one of the stalagmites. It’d pierced him right through the heart. We merfolk are hardy, and we can heal ourselves from many predicaments, but not that. He was very… dead.”

  “Oh, Lyle, I’m so sorry.”

  “So am I,” said Lyle, “although I wished Welwyn dead many times. I still don’t know if I should’ve forgiven him, but I think I did, at least a little. It didn’t seem to make any difference to what happened that night, though.”

  Ben smoothed Lyle’s hair, drawing him near again so their foreheads touched. Lyle managed to choke out the rest of his story, though saying it out loud just made him feel all the more culpable. Once he’d absorbed the sight of his dead brother, he’d registered Emmet peeling himself off the inner wall of the cave where he’d seemingly been plastered by some force. Emmet had been screaming at the top of his voice. “You killed him, Lyle! You’re a murderer.”

  “But I could see my escape now,” said Lyle. “There was nothing I could do for Welwyn, so I dived from the shelf of rock that’d once been the cave and into the sea. Once shifted into my full merman form, I gathered my strength and swam as fast as I could. The next evening would be a full moon. I knew you’d be waiting, so I travelled all night, and then travelled all day… and then I found you.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me all this before?” asked Ben, arching back against the sofa and raising his arms in a stretch. Poor Ben looked extra tired now, and Lyle could hardly blame him.

  “When we were first reunited, it was easy to let my joy simply blot it all out, deny it ever happened. Then, after a week or so… I knew I should’ve told you. But by that time, I feared I’d left it too long, and you’d think badly of me.”

  “Oh heavens, I don’t think badly of you, Lyle. But I wish—”

  Ben broke off, pushing himself up from the sofa and making for the kitchenette. He left Lyle in an agonizing quandary over whether he wanted Ben to complete the “But” part or not.

  As ever, probably not.

  Ben plopped a teabag in a mug and put the kettle on. “What a horrible thing to happen,” he said. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “But you didn’t kill your brother, Lyle.”

  Lyle pulled his knees to his chin. “How do you know? I can’t be sure.”

  “Look, even if you did—and I don’t believe for a moment you did—there were extenuating circumstances. In a court of law, it might be a tricky one, but—”

  “They’re coming for me,” whispered Lyle. “I can feel it.”

  “Oh lord, baby.” Ben added two spoons of sugar to his mug, a definite indicator of stress. Usually, he just took milk. “What the hell do you mean by that? Do your merman lot hold trials? Or undines, or whatever it is you call yourself. What are they going to do?”

  “I’m not quite sure,” conceded Lyle. “But fundamentally, I killed somebody. It’s not like we have written laws to break, not like yours, but killing is still considered the worst crime there is among us. Besides, with Emmet in charge, he’ll want to punish me, if only to get rid of me as a potential rival. It’s definitely best I get out of here, but I don’t know where to go. It would be much better if we could both just disappear.”

  “Job interview? The day after tomorrow, remember?” The kettle clicked off the boil and Ben poured out his tea, shaking his head. “I’d send you to stay with my parents if it wasn’t for the tentacle issues.”

  Ben’s mum and dad had met Lyle on a weekend visit to town, when they’d stayed in one of the posh hotels. While they’d liked Lyle a lot, Ben hadn’t found the right moment to break the news about Lyle’s peculiarities. Sending Lyle to visit them, unchaperoned, was out of the question.

  “Are your people all like Emmet?” asked Ben. “Are they really so unreasonable?”

  “Not all,” said Lyle. “But it’s such a long time since I was part of their community, I couldn’t really say what they’ll do.”

  “Okay, I think the best thing is not to panic.” Ben placed himself back onto the seat beside Lyle, mug in hand. “In the morning, we go to work like normal. After the interview, if all goes well, we can both quit the ice-cream parlour and lay low in the midlands for a week or so till I start my new job. Traveling is going to be expensive now I’ve sold my car, but we’ll deal somehow. In the meantime, we keep vigilant—I’ll keep watch while you swim, and you share everything with me, right? If you remember anything more about what happened with Welwyn, or spot any more signs that your people are chasing you, please tell me. No more secrets.”

  Lyle bit his lip. Ben’s plan seemed sensible, as ever, but left his buzz of disquiet undiminished. “Very well,” he said. “No more secrets.”

  Chapter Six

  When Lyle awoke in the morning, he turned over under the duvet in the hope of finding Ben beside him and ready for a naked cuddle.

  Instead, and as the none-too-happy remembrance of what’d happened the day before filtered into his consciousness, he discovered a cold patch of sheet. His mood plummeted like a lead weight, and he wished he could stay in bed. He didn’t even want to go down to the sea for his morning swim, though it would be impossible to remain human-looking in the parlour if he didn’t.

  And that day job called. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, wheeled his arms and twitched life into his fins. Then he put on his dressing gown and slippers and padded from the bedroom into their main living area. Ben was in the kitchenette, brewing what smelled like extra strong coffee.

  “Morning,” said Lyle sleepily.

  “Hmmph,” replied Ben, who’d got a mouthful of Weetabix, a bowl of which he ate on the go. Spotting the irritated expression on Ben’s face, Lyle froze on the spot.

  Ben swallowed. “Yeah, morning,” he said. “Look, Lyle, I know last night we agreed on no more secrets. Can we please add to that list no more lies?”

  “Alright,” said Lyle, sheepish. “Which one is causing the problem exactly?”

  “Which one?” Ben put his bowl down and raked his hair agitatedly. “Lyle, how many lies do you tell me on a daily basis? No… please, don’t answer. I don’t want to know. The one in question concerns the incident at the
ice-cream parlour that’s just got you fired.”

  “Oh.” Lyle sidled around the sofa and plonked his bum down on it. “Whoops.”

  “Yes, whoops,” said Ben. He didn’t sound much amused. “Mr Bertrand just called to tell me to dismiss you because he’s had yet another complaint. Yesterday, you told me you’d tried to retrieve some wrong change from a customer’s pocket. That’s not what happened is it?”

  “No, not quite,” mumbled Lyle, sinking his face to his palms. “I’m sorry.”

  When he felt Ben’s hands land on his shoulders and begin massaging gently, he scarce contained a sob.

  “I know you are,” said Ben, who almost succeeded in hiding the exasperation in his voice. “I understand why you lie. I lied a lot when we were first together in Shanty Wood. To my family, my friends… to you. I did it because I was frightened, and I can only try and empathise with how scary this whole new world must be for you. And I’m sorry if I’m grumpy sometimes, but it’s only because I want to the best for us both. We’ll never get by if we don’t share everything.”

  Ben’s kneading grew a little too emphatic. When he stalled, Lyle sighed and looked up at him. “I suppose this makes it easier. I can just slink away now. Keep moving till I put Emmet and his spies off my scent.”

  “No. If we were apart, I couldn’t live with the worry.” Ben rubbed Lyle’s shoulders again, his gaze resolute. “Wait for me. We’ll go somewhere as soon as the interview is over tomorrow, even if just for a couple of days, but we’re not running forever. You’re innocent, Lyle. I know you are. You have to try and remember what happened so you can face your people with a clear conscience. But you won’t be facing them alone.”

  Lyle’s heart brimmed so full of love, he feared it might explode. Words were inadequate, so he reached up and pulled Ben down into a desperate kiss, which subdued the myriad of sorrows poised to annihilate him. When Ben tried to break away, Lyle tightened a fist about Ben’s collar for an instant before releasing him.

  “We better get ready to go,” said Ben. “How about we go straight to the sea, so you can swim, and I’ll keep lookout for albatrosses and any other weirdness. Then you better come back here while I go to open up the ice-cream parlour. If anything happens, call me straight away.”

  ~~*

  Chill nipped the air that morning. A brisk breeze stirred the leaves in the gutters, sure signs that summer had passed and autumn well and truly set in. Even Lyle, designed to be hardy against the ravages of winter oceans, garnered less pleasure than usual from his bathing. Ben sat on the stony slope of the beach, glancing between his mobile screen and Lyle, looking as grim as the skies.

  Lyle emerged quicker than usual, having shapeshifted himself into total human form. He kissed Ben goodbye and promised he’d go straight back to their apartment. As he watched Ben disappear down the windswept prom toward the top of the shopping street where they—no, just Ben now—worked, Lyle found the notion of returning to the flat alone more than desolate. He’d only lie in bed and brood.

  On the other hand, he didn’t want to break his word to Ben, especially given his recent record of secrets and lies. So, having searched in vain for the piece of driftwood he’d left behind last night, Lyle opted to take a scenic route back to the flat. He’d go look at the Grand Hotel. Ben had taken him on a date there, and they’d dined and drunk Bordeaux wine under the glistening chandeliers. He harboured fantasies of twirling around it’s ballroom like those professional divas on the telly one day, Ben on his arm. After daydreaming about the Grand, he might pop into the town centre for some window shopping, which had become one of his favourite hobbies.

  Then he’d head back home.

  Lyle stomped the streets for far too long. He always intended to get back to the flat, but moving, though wearying, also provided distractions. After his long stretch of isolation in the forest, he found people-watching a lot of fun. As the day brightened up, there was plenty on offer. Parents emerged with prams and toddlers. The many elder citizens who’d retired to the sea trotted out of their apartments in the aging Edwardian villas and headed toward the seafront.

  Of course, Lyle never planned to head back to the ocean. Yet his wanderings—and some primal instinct within him—carried him that way. Finding himself on the boardwalk behind the beach-huts, though, he gave himself a mental slap.

  What on earth am I doing? Ben will be furious if he finds out.

  “Hey, Lyle! Is that you?”

  The shout and the clonk of approaching footsteps stopped Lyle in his homeward tracks.

  “It is you!” said the guy hurrying toward him. It took a moment for Lyle to place him.

  “Yes, it is indeed,” said Lyle. The large camera swinging around the sandy-haired newcomer’s neck reminded him where they’d met before. “It’s Jarvis, is it not? You took some pictures of my sculptures the other day.”

  “Man, they came out something special, I can promise you that. If you come back to my studio sometime, I’ll show you.” Jarvis cocked an eyebrow hopefully. “Got anything else for me to take a shot of?”

  Lyle shook his head. “My creative juices aren’t exactly juicing today, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Lyle couldn’t help being pleased that Jarvis sounded genuinely disappointed. He’d remind Ben later that at least somebody had shown interest in his art. Hope remained he could make money for them both out of it.

  He wasn’t so sure he liked the way Jarvis raked a curious gaze up and down him, though. He performed a swift mental body scan, reassuring himself no fins had burst out of his skinny-fit t-shirt and arse-hugging jeans.

  “Listen, man,” said Jarvis. “This is a bit of an ask, but… would you mind posing for some photographs on the beach for me? You’re one hell of a good-looking guy, and I think I could get some stunning shots.”

  Lyle considered a moment, checking the clouded skies for albatrosses and drawing a blank. “Would you pay me?” he asked.

  Jarvis heaved his shoulders, blasé. “Sure, I’ll give you a cut if I can sell the shots.”

  Ben could hardly complain about that. Lyle blessed Jarvis with his most enticing grin. “You’re on.”

  ~~*

  “That’s it, Lyle,” called Jarvis, “you’re killing it!”

  Shirtless, somewhat chilly, but beginning to enjoy himself, Lyle draped backward over the breakwater and swished his hair.

  “Let’s have more of that gorgeous pout,” coaxed Jarvis, while his camera rolled out a frenetic series of clicks. Lyle obeyed, puckering his lips and fluttering his lashes. A couple of elderly ladies who’d been taking a stroll along the prom had stopped to watch, and they’d been joined by others to form a small but appreciative audience by the railings.

  “I wonder if he’s a pop star or model,” said one of the women, and Lyle couldn’t help smirking. He wasn’t too keen on Jarvis’s leering comments, but he liked being admired. Perhaps there were more career options open to him than he’d thought.

  “Okay, babe,” said Jarvis. “That’s enough like that. You got decent underwear on, by any chance? That skyscape is fascinating. We could get real arty if I take some sepia shots and if you stripped off another layer.”

  Sliding off the breakwater, Lyle baulked. Thickening fog rolled in off the sea, and it looked like it might rain. Besides, taking his top off had seemed harmless, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to share his underwear with anybody other than…

  “Lyle, what the hell are you doing?”

  Lyle heeded Ben’s angry shout before he spotted him, crunching down the stones towards them. Lyle winced and reached for his t-shirt, slipping it over his head. He wished he’d just gone home, like he promised. The last thing he wanted was to have lied… again. “When do I get paid?” he asked Jarvis.

  “We’re not done yet,” said Jarvis. As Ben neared with a face like a gathering storm, he mumbled, “Shit, babe, is that your cranky boyfriend? Call me if you ever want to do better.”

  He flicked a busine
ss card at Lyle’s chest then started off at a lick across the beach. Realizing the show was over, the crowd also dispelled, which proved a small mercy. Lyle’s anger struck with such violence, he struggled not to lose his faculties and drop his shapeshifting spell.

  “How dare you, you smarmy rat-face bollocks!” he screamed after Jarvis, scrunching up the card and hurling it. “You’ll never be half the man Ben is! When do I get my money, you—”

  “Shhh, for heaven’s sake!” Ben grabbed Lyle’s arm and spun him around. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing,” said Lyle, still reeling from his own anger.

  “Because I was working alone, Mr. Bertrand told me I could shut down the parlour for a lunch hour. I was popping home to check you were okay. But rather than keeping a low profile, I find you making a ruddy spectacle of yourself with that… that… who the heck was that?”

  “It’s the guy who took pictures of my art,” said Lyle, drizzle now plastering his hair to his nose. “He asked me to pose and said he’d pay me. I thought you’d be… oh, I don’t know, pleased maybe?” Ben scrubbed his palms against his stubbly cheeks in such an exaggeratedly weary fashion that Lyle snapped further. “But you’re never bloody pleased, are you? Everything I do it wrong. It’s not like I was flirting with him or anything.”

  “Stripping your shirt off isn’t flirting, then? I suppose it’s nothing to a master of seduction like you. How many lovers have you had again? Forty-one, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s unfair! You told me you understood.” The rain grew heavier, the clouds pressing low over the beach, and Lyle felt like ripping his hair out. “It was over centuries, anyway, and I was lonely.”

  “Oh, poor Lyle, maybe you should’ve been flirting with that photographer.” Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. “I love you, I always will, but sometimes I wonder if I’m what you really need.”