Page 47 of Finding Love at the Magical Curiosity Shop
‘What about real ones?’
‘Hmm, more like stories. It’s always been said that mermaids swam in the waters around our coast. They used to use their voices to tempt sailors towards the shore so their boats would run aground on the shallow rocks, and the seafolk below would steal their bounty.’
Ava gasps in horror. ‘But the old man on the bench said…’
‘Ah, yes.’ Caryl clearly knows who we’ve been talking to. ‘Some people have overly romanticised views of them, but I think they were just creatures, like any other animal that has to survive in a challenging environment. I don’t think they had palaces on the ocean floor and crabs putting on concerts for them. I think they had to fight for survival, and they ended up going extinct because things were so tough for them.’
‘But they were real?’
‘I like to think so. You’ll find a lot of people round here who believe so. Maybe one day we’ll find some proof, eh?’
Ava makes a high-pitched noise that suggests she’s moments away from exploding with delight.
By the time we’ve checked in, taken our bags up to the room, and got Ren’s fold-out bed set up, it’s too late in the afternoon to head to the council offices, so we go for a wander around the village instead. There are local people everywhere who are all too happy to tell us their opinions on the mermaid stories, from those who think Hans Christian Andersen got his inspiration from this very place, even though to everyone’s knowledge, he never actually visited, to those who believe mermaids were real but were driven deeper and deeper into the ocean by human curiosity, and eventually became extinct when they couldn’t survive in such depths. One thing made louder by its absence is the total lack of anyone who seems to think mermaidsaren’treal, which buoys mine and Ava’s confidence and makes Ren roll his eyes.
By the evening, we’ve walked around the village, met locals, eaten ice cream and handmade fudge and sticks of rock, had dinner in a pub called The Mermaid’s Tail, and to be honest, I’ve almost forgotten that we came here for any purpose other than to enjoy ourselves.
As it gets dark, we stand at the harbour’s edge and watch the lights of the boats coming back and the ones leaving on night-fishing expeditions, and when it gets later, Ava and I sit up in the double bed we’re sharing and read another diary entry. There aren’t many pages left to read now. The unread portion of the book is getting thinner by the day, and I can feel my hope waning with it. There is still no resolution, and the more time that passes, the more unlikely it seems that the mermaid and her sailor are going to have a happy ending.
20 May 1899
As the promise of help comes nearer, I hold onto him a little tighter. The months are getting warmer. Soon it will be time for me to return to my old life under the water, and he will no longer be with me. I’m unable to bear the thought of such a thing. I don’t want to be alone again, but it’s more than that. I don’t want to be without him. Life was different before he came, and I cannot imagine anything more heartbreaking than it going back to the way it was before.
He is spending more and more time outside. He uses a stick to aid his walking, but it is more of a limp now. He says he will never be able to walk normally again, and my guilt grows larger. When I write these thoughts down, he assures me that had I not tried to immobilise his leg, he would never have walked again at all.
Mention of that night brings me back to a topic of conversation we have so far avoided. The night of the shipwreck. He doesn’t tell me much, but I know his intentions were not honourable on that night.
He has begun to tell me that I must send him away, for if I am caught harbouring him, I will be accused of being a party to his misdeeds.
I cannot do so. He will die if I send him away. There is no way off this island. There is nowhere to send him but back to sea, and there is no boat. He will drown, from the swell of the waves or the temperature of the water, or the pain of his broken leg, which will prevent him from swimming strongly.
I tell him that help will not come for six more weeks. He will have time to recover. We will think of a story that we will tell to save him.
He shakes his head as I write suggestions down. No one will believe us. They will know of the dishonour he will bring to his family. He says he will not bring dishonour to my name as well. He has begun gathering driftwood and tying it together with rope. He is intending to form a raft and sail away for good, and I cannot let him.
It is both his and my fault that we are in this situation. If there are consequences, we shall face them together. He has promised me that we will spend the rest of our lives together, somehow, and I will not give that up. That is what people do when they love someone. They stand by them.
No matter what.
‘That’s sooo romantic,’ Ava gasps. ‘He’s willing to sacrifice himself to keep her safe. She has to stop him. She will stop him, won’t she? They’re going to be okay, right, Mickey?’
Ren gives me a warning frown, and I think about my answer before giving her false hope. ‘All we can do is hope they are. They found each other in this completely random, fateful situation. We have to believe that they were meant to be, and somehow, they overcame all the odds so they could be together in the end.’
‘I hope so.’ She leans over to give me a hug and then snuggles down on her side of the bed, and Ren turns the light off and the fold-out bed creaks under him.
‘Night, girlies,’ he says, and it makes my stomach do a little flip-flop. Or so many flip-flops that I’m not sure how I’ll ever get any sleep.
14
After such a long day, I must’ve been worrying about sleep for nothing because it’s a couple of hours later when I wake up again, lost for a moment in the unfamiliar surroundings. I lift my head and check on Ava, who’s sleeping soundly on the other side of the bed, and then check on Ren, who’snotlying on the fold-out bed where he was when I last looked.
I push myself up onto my elbows to look around, and he lifts a hand in silent greeting from where he’s sitting on the window seat. I could lie down again and try to get back to sleep, but a far more attractive prospect is the gorgeous silhouette outlined by the moonlight shining in the window behind him, and I slip out of the bed, being careful not to jostle it and wake Ava, and pad across the room.
He holds up his mug and gestures to ask if I want a cup of tea. I glance towards the kitchenette, and at this time of night when I was asleep two minutes ago, it seems very far away, and like he can tell what I’m thinking, he puts his own mug down and clambers off the window seat, and I listen to the click of the kettle boiling, and within minutes, he’s back, holding a steaming hot mug for me too.
My fingers brush his as I take it, trying to remember the last time anyone did anything so thoughtful without so much as a second thought, and I take a sip to try and get my brain functioning properly and murmur my thanks as he sits back on the window seat, pulls his legs up, and pats the space on the opposite side.
I have never known a man who can look so ridiculously sexy in a pair of baggy blue check pyjama trousers and a plain blue T-shirt, and I can’t resist sitting on the other side of the window seat, facing him.
