by Liz Kessler
“Upsetting my mother? Ha! Like you care!”
“Emily, please,” Mom called, her arms stretched out toward me. “Whatever it is, we’ll talk about it. Don’t blame Mr. Beeston. He’s only trying to help.”
“Come on, King!” I said out loud as the engine crackled and popped. “Mom.” I turned to face her. They were only a couple of yards away from me now. “Mr. Beeston isn’t who he says he is. And he’s not trying to help you.”
Then the engine died.
“What’s the matter with this thing?” I shouted.
“You know we never keep much diesel onboard,” Mom called. “It’s a fire hazard.”
“What? Who told you that?” I was in despair.
“I did,” Mr. Beeston called. “Don’t want you injuring yourselves, do I?” He smiled his creepy smile at me.
That was it. I stood up and lurched forward to grab the mast. I’d have to sail the rest of the way!
I uncleated the mainsheet to free the boom — that’s the wooden pole that runs along the bottom of the sail. Then I undid the main halyard (the rope at the base of the mast) and hoisted the mainsail.
As a gust of wind filled the sail, the boom swung out wildly over the water. I grabbed for the mainsheet — that’s the rope that controls the boom — but the gust sent its whole length running right out of the cleat and out of reach. I watched helplessly as my last hope unraveled with it.
“Oh, Emily, please stop it,” Mom shouted as the boat lurched to the side. “You don’t need to upset yourself like this. I know what it’s about.”
“What? If you know, what are you doing in there with him?”
“It’s natural for you to feel like this, darling. Mr. Beeston told me about you being a little jealous, and how that might make you try to turn me against him. But he’s just a friend. There’s no need for you to go fretting like this.”
The shimmering was really close now. I could see colors and lights dancing on the surface of the water. It was like a fireworks display. I groaned. “Mom, it’s not —”
I broke off when I saw Mom’s stricken face. It looked like those performance artists on the boardwalk who pretend to be statues. In a soft voice that I barely recognized, she said, “No one could ever take the place of your father.” She was gazing wide-eyed at the lights on the water.
“My father?”
For a moment, everything stood completely still, like a photo. The sea stopped moving; Mr. Beeston let go of the tiller; my mom and I locked eyes as though seeing each other for the first time.
Then Mr. Beeston leaped into action. “That’s it,” he yelled. “I’m coming aboard.”
“Wait!” I shouted as a wave caught the side of the boat. King lurched sideways, the sail swinging across to the other side.
Mr. Beeston had just pulled himself aboard when — thwack! — the boom swung back again and knocked him flying.
“Aaarrrgghh!” He clutched his head as he fell backward. Crashing to the deck with a thump, he lay flat on his back without moving.
Mom screamed and stood up. The motorboat rocked wildly.
“Mom — be careful!” I ran to the side and leaned over. “Get on,” I shouted. She was alongside King.
Mom didn’t move.
“You have to get onboard. Come on, Mom.” I held an arm out. “I’ll help you.”
“I — I can’t,” she said woodenly.
“You can, Mom. You’ve got to.” I scrabbled around in the bench seat and pulled out a life jacket. King rocked like the coin-operated bucking bronco at the arcade. The sail was still waving off to the side, the mainsheet dangling hopelessly out of reach. Holding tight to the railing, I threw the life jacket to Mom. “You’ll be fine,” I called. “Just get onboard fast before you drift away.”
She stared at me.
“Do it!”
Mom stood up in her rocky boat, the life jacket on, and suddenly lunged for the steps. I grabbed her hand as she pulled herself onto the deck.
“Oh, Emily,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
“What for?”
“It’s all my fault,” Mom said, holding on to me with one hand and the railing with the other as we swayed from side to side.
“Of course it’s not your fault, Mom. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Mr. Beeston’s. He’s not what he seems, Mom; he’s been —”
Mom put her finger over my lips. “I know why we’re here.”
“You — you —”
“I remember.” Mom pulled me toward her and held me tight. Over her shoulder, I could see the water shimmering and sparkling like an electric light show. The Great Mermer Reef.
I wriggled out of Mom’s grasp. “You remember — what?”
Mom hesitated. “It’s all a bit hazy,” she said.
All at once, the sky exploded with light. “Look!” I pointed behind her. Pink lights danced below the water while a dozen colors jumped in the air above it.
“I know this place,” Mom said, her voice shaking. “He — he brought me here.”
“Who? Mr. Beeston?” I glanced nervously across at him. He still hadn’t moved. Mom clutched the railing as the boat tilted again, and I made my way over to join her. Her face seemed to be covered in spray from the sea, but when I looked more closely, I realized it wasn’t seawater at all. It was tears. “On our first anniversary,” she said.
She’d been here with my dad?
“He told me this was where they would take him when they caught him.”
“Who would take him?”
“If they ever found out about us. He knew they’d get him in the end. We both knew it, but we couldn’t stop. Because we loved each other so much.”
Mom’s body sagged; I put my arms around her.
“I’m going to find him,” I said, holding her tighter. “That’s why I took the boat. I did it for all of us.”
“I can’t bear it,” she said. “I can remember everything now. How could I have forgotten him? He was taken away because he loved me, and I forgot all about him. How can I ever forgive myself?”
“Mom, it’s not your fault! You didn’t just forget him.”
“I did,” she gulped. “You know I did. You asked about him and I didn’t even know. I couldn’t remember anything.”
“But you weren’t to blame.”
Mom wiped a curtain of wet hair off her face and looked at me. “Who was, then?”
I nodded a thumb behind me. “Mr. Beeston,” I whispered.
“Oh, Emily. Don’t start with that claptrap again!”
“It’s NOT claptrap!” I tried to keep my voice down. I didn’t want him to wake up and ruin everything. “It’s true,” I whispered. “He’s not what he seems.”
“Emily, please don’t make this worse than it is.”
“Mom, listen to me,” I snapped.
She caught my eyes for just a second, but then looked at Mr. Beeston. “We should see how he is.” Mom shook herself free from my grasp and stumbled along the deck to him.
“He’ll be fine,” I said. “Don’t worry about him.”
Mom ignored me and crouched down next to him. I crouched down beside her as she leaned over his chest and listened. Then she looked up at me, her face paler than the million stars shining above us.
“Oh, my God,” she said. “I think we’ve killed him.”
“There’s no heartbeat,” Mom said, rocking back on her heels.
I opened my mouth. What could I say? A second later, the side door suddenly swung open with a bang. Mom and I grabbed each other’s arms.
Millie’s face appeared in the doorway.
“Do you think there’s anything either of you would like to share with me?” she asked as she hitched up her long skirt and clambered out onto the deck.
Mom and I looked at each other.
“I’m sensing some . . . disorientation.”
“No time now,” Mom said, beckoning Millie over. “We have to do something. Mr. Beeston has had an accident. I think he’s dead.” She
clapped a fist to her mouth.
Millie struggled over to join us, slipping and swaying on the wet deck. “Let’s have a look,” she said, kneeling down beside Mr. Beeston. She undid his coat and lifted up his sweater. He was wearing a thick, padded jacket of some sort underneath. I flinched as I noticed a picture of Neptune’s trident sewn onto a pocket.
“Armored vest?” Millie murmured. “Now why in the blinking cosmos would he need something like that?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Well, that’s your answer, anyway, Mary P.” Millie turned to Mom. “You wouldn’t hear a ten-ton truck through that.”
Just then, the boat jolted to the side. I slid across the deck and bumped against the bench seat.
“Emily, get the tiller!” Millie ordered, suddenly in charge.
I did what she said, not that it made much difference. The boat dipped and swayed helplessly in the waves.
Millie reached under Mr. Beeston’s back and unbuckled the vest. Lifting it off, she bent over him, her ear to his chest. Mom came over and grabbed my hand while we waited.
“Absolutely fine,” Millie announced a few seconds later.
“Oh, thank heavens.” Mom hugged me. “I’d never have forgiven myself if anything had happ —”
“He just needs his chakras realigned,” Millie continued. “A bit of reflexology should do it.”
She pulled off Mr. Beeston’s shoes and socks and settled herself at his feet. Placing her hands across her large chest, she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Then she lifted his right foot and started to massage it. A moment later, his foot twitched. She carried on massaging. He twitched again, this time his leg jerking about in the air. The twitching and jerking spread up his body until it reached his face and he started giggling. He was soon laughing loudly. Eventually, he leaped up, screaming, “Stop, stop!”
Millie released his foot and stood up. “Never fails,” she said, wiping her hands on her skirt and heading back inside. “Give me a minute or two. Reflexology always drains my chi.”
Mom went over to Mr. Beeston. “Thank heavens you’re all right.”
Mr. Beeston straightened his coat as he glanced at me. “Just a scratch,” he said. “No harm done.” A red path was worming its way down the side of his head.
My hand tightened on the tiller. “No harm done? Do you think?”
“Emily, this is no time to start your nonsense again. What on earth have you got against the poor man?”
“What have I got against the poor man? Where do you want me to start?” I looked him in the eyes. “Is it the fact that he’s been wiping your memory since the day I was born, or the fact that he’s been spying on us forever?”
Mom didn’t speak for a second. Then she laughed. “Oh, Emily, I’ve never heard such —”
“It’s true.” Mr. Beeston spoke, his eyes still locked onto mine. “She’s right.”
“What?” Mom held tightly on to the mast with one hand; with the other, she clutched her chest.
“It’s too late, Mary P. I can’t pretend anymore. And I won’t. Why should I?”
“What are you talking about?” Mom looked from Mr. Beeston to me. I didn’t say anything. Let him explain it.
Mr. Beeston sat down on the bench opposite me. “It was for your own good,” he said. “All of you.” His hands were still clutching his head, his hair all mangled and tangled up with blood and sweat and seawater.
“What was for my own good?” Mom’s face hardened and grew thinner as she spoke.
“The two worlds — they don’t belong together. It doesn’t work.” He leaned forward, his head almost between his knees. “And I should know,” he added, his voice almost a whisper. “You’re not the only one to grow up without a father.” He spoke to the floor. “Mine disappeared the minute I was born, he did. Just like all the others. Fishermen. All very nice having an unusual girlfriend, isn’t it? Taming a beautiful siren. Show off to your friends about that, can’t you?”
A tear fell from his face onto the deck. He brushed his cheek roughly. “But it’s a bit different when your own son sprouts a tail! Don’t want to know then, do you?”
“What are you saying?” Mom’s voice was as tight as her face, her hand still gripping the mast. The sea lifted us up and down; the sail still flapped uselessly over the water.
“You can’t put humans and merfolk together and expect it to work. It doesn’t. All you get is pain.” Finally, Mr. Beeston raised his head to look at us. “I was trying to save you from that. From what I’ve been through myself.”
The boat shook violently as another wave hit us. I clutched the tiller more tightly. “I told you he wasn’t really your friend,” I hissed to Mom, the wind biting my face.
“Friendship?” he spat. “Loyalty is all that matters. To Neptune and the protection of the species. That is my life.” He held up a fist across his chest. Then he glanced at Mom. His fist fell open. “That’s to say,” he faltered, “I mean — look, I never wanted to . . .” His voice trailed away, his chin dropping to his chest.
Mom looked like she’d been hit over the head herself. Her face was as white as the sail and her body had gone rigid. “I often wondered why they got a new lighthouse keeper so suddenly,” she said. “No one ever did quite explain what happened to old Bernard. You just appeared one day. And something else I’ve never really thought about — you never invited me in. Not once in twelve years. Not like Bernard. We used to go up there all the time when I was younger, up on the top deck, looking all around with binoculars and telescopes. But you — my friend — you always kept the door closed to me. And to think I actually felt sorry for you.”
The boat was starting to careen up and down, the sea getting wilder as we held the tiller together. She put her hand on my arm. “He saw you once,” she said quietly to me in the darkness. “At Rainbow Rocks. Held you against his chest at the water’s edge. I wouldn’t let him take you in the water. Maybe if he had . . .” Her words slipped away as she looked at me, her hair plastered across her face with seawater. “I’ve lost twelve years.”
I bit my lip, tasting salty water.
“Hidden from my own mind like everything else.” She stood up and inched over toward Mr. Beeston. “You stole my life from me,” she said, anger creeping into her voice. “You’re nothing but a thief! A nasty, rotten, scheming THIEF!”
“Hey now, hold on a minute!” Mr. Beeston stood up. “I’ve been good to you. I’ve looked after you. You should hear what some of them wanted to —”
“You had no right.” Mom shook his arm, tears rolling down her cheeks. “He is my husband. Who do you think you are?”
“Who do I think I am? I know exactly who I am! I’m Charles —” He stopped. Glanced briefly at Mom and took a breath. Then he suddenly thrust out his chin, his eyes clear and focused for a brief moment. “I am Charles Finright Beeston, adviser to Neptune, and I have conducted my duties with pride and loyalty for twelve years.”
“How dare you!” Mom snapped. “All these years, pretending to be my friend.”
“Now, wait a minute. I wasn’t — I mean, I am your friend. You think I didn’t care about you? It’s for your own good. We had to put a stop to it. It’s wrong, unnatural — dangerous, even — don’t you see?”
Mom paused for a moment, then flew at him, bashing her fists against his chest. “All I can see is a beast. A despicable worm!” she screamed.
Mr. Beeston backed away from her. As she went for him, Mom tripped and nearly fell flat on her face. She stopped herself by clutching a rope tied onto the mast. The rope ripped loose in her hand, tearing the canvas that held the boom in place. All three of us watched as the boom drifted away from us and the sail flapped over the water even more uselessly than before.
We’d never get anywhere now.
I tried to hold the tiller steady as the boat lurched again. The waves were getting choppier, throwing us all over the deck. “We need to do something,” I said, my voice quivering.
“I’ll fix it,” Mr. Beeston said, his words slow and deliberate, his eyes cold and determined. Then he turned and walked along the side of the boat to the door, holding the railing as the boat rocked.
“Mom, what are we going to do?” I asked as the waves rolled us from side to side again. Mom’s steely eyes followed Mr. Beeston down the boat.
“Forget him,” I said. “We need to think of something or we’ll never get home again — never mind seeing Jake.”
“Oh, Emily, do you really think we’re going to find —”
“I know where he is,” I said. “We can do it. We’re nearly there!”
Mom pulled her eyes away from Mr. Beeston. “Okay. Come on,” she said, snapping into action. She lifted the lid up off the bench, rummaged through hose pipes and foot pumps. “Put this on.” She passed me a life jacket that was much too small for me.
“Mom. I don’t need one.”
“Just to be on the safe —” She stopped and looked at my legs. “Oh, golly,” she said. “You mean you can . . . you’re a —”
“Didn’t you know?” I asked. “Didn’t you ever suspect?”
She shook her head sadly. “How could I have? Maybe somewhere in the back of my mind, but I . . .” A massive wave crashed over the side, washing away the rest of her sentence and drenching us both.
“Mom, I’m scared,” I yelped, wiping the spray off my face. “It’s too far even for me to swim back from here. We’ll never make it.”
As I spoke, the boat gave one more enormous lurch to the side. I fell to the floor, slipped across the deck. As I clutched the railing and tried to pull myself up again, I noticed a shape in the sea in front of us. A fin! That was it, then. The boat was going to capsize; we’d be eaten by sharks!
Mom has never been religious, and she’s always said it’s up to me to make my mind up when I was ready. I never was before. Until then.
Without even wondering what to say, I put my hands together, closed my eyes, and prayed.
My lips moved soundlessly behind my hands, scanning all the words I could summon up: half-remembered prayers from half-listened-to visits to friends’ churches. Why didn’t I pay more attention? I asked myself. When I got to, ‘Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven,’ I couldn’t for the life of me think what came next.
