Lorali Page 15

  THE SEA

  You can’t have me back, I think to myself. I am human now. I am Walker.

  He carries my weight. My feet dusty from the specks of sand. My hair blowing in the wind.

  I follow him to a boat. It’s small. White. With an engine. It isn’t kind to the eye. It wants to be shiny but it looks pretend. Unsafe. He takes my hand as he leads me up. Inside. His hand is smooth. I follow him in. My heart is beating. Thud. Thud. Thud. I duck my head as we step down inside. It smells old. Lighthouse. Mr Harley’s shed. Soil. Earth. The smokehouse. But it doesn’t feel sound. Or strong. Or warm. I can hear the water. It laps the boat. The sound makes me wince. Makes me gag. I hold onto the boat. I shift about. Colour has drained out of my cheeks.

  ‘Sit down,’ he says.

  ‘How long will Rory be?’

  ‘Not long,’ he reassures me. I don’t know about time. How long is long? A day? A year? A moon?

  ‘Can we not wait on the shore? Do we have to wait in here?’

  ‘I think it’s best, don’t you?’

  I don’t know what is best any more.

  ‘Here’s a blanket.’ He throws it to me. ‘Wrap yourself up, keep warm.’

  Kindness.

  I pull the blanket round me. Close.

  ‘I’m going to see if he’s coming. Stay here. Keep warm,’ he instructs.

  I do as he says. I start to settle. Feel less sick. I look about the boat. There is a lot of skin. Animal skin. Bags. Leather. Belts. Walkers are so strange. How they wear other animals’ skin. This is exactly the stuff Opal warned us about. The poachers. The hunters. What they would do with our tapestries. How they would patch us. Opal told me that some Mer were kept in glass tanks. Given just enough water to hydrate and food to survive and then they would be stripped. Patch by patch. The new scales would grow back, repairing with saltwater, and then they’d patch those too. It would go on and on until eventually the tapestry no longer grew back. It would dry out and die. And so would the Mer. A tapestry is much more beautiful when skinned alive. Or so they say. They would think nothing to take our skin and wear it … well, not ours. Not any more. Now I am a Walker I am wanted for nothing from other Walkers. I am not in debt to anybody on this strange, safe planet. I am free. On land. I am free. Thankfully. All that is done. I have no skin to take.

  I can’t help but think I may have seen this boy before.

  Yes. I know. He was the one who came to the window that night.

  MY NEW OLD MUM

  ‘You must go back. You must go back and get the girl. She can’t be left alone.’ Iris is anxious, peering out of the windows.

  ‘I know. I know.’ I am itchy. Irritated. I know Iris knows what to do but him just stating the obvious is stressing me out. I look at the crumpled shopping bag of clothes on the floor. All I wanted was to see her try her clothes on. Be happy. Twirling and squealing. The simplest of ideas snatched away from me. ‘I can’t though, Iris. What if the pirates follow me back?’

  ‘He’s right, Granddad. We can’t walk along the front in broad daylight now. Not to the hut.’

  I crack my knuckles. I think of the old her, her records and cooking and perfume and say, ‘There is always someone I could ask for help …’

  Within twenty minutes her red banger is grunting down the hill. I watch her pale, frail self step out of the car. I know how much she hates to drive. I shake my head; with the tablets she isn’t meant to drive, or ‘operate heavy machinery’. I remember. I’d promised Doctor Ung. But she knows I am desperate. I run out onto the driveway to meet her. Her hair isn’t brushed.

  ‘Mum,’ I murmur.

  ‘Hello, love. You look a right state, are you –’

  I fall into her. Crying. Big hot salty tears that feel the size of fists. I am in her chest. Like a small child. And I can’t help it. I just can’t. My mum. I tell her everything. Everything. From the start.

  When I finish she breathes deeply. And so do I. I had rushed. I wanted to get back to Lorali but I needed to explain her to Mum before she met her, but as soon as I finish speaking I realise this was a bad idea. Telling her all of it. She didn’t need or want to hear it. Her eyes are scampering for her pills. She is patting her pockets. Trembling. I can tell.

  ‘Are you all right? Mum?’ I watch her eyeballing Iris, who is standing apologetically by the shop front like it is all his fault. The loony from round town. Even though he probably thinks the same of Mum. He knows she is like a helium balloon caught in the branches of a tree, ready to float away as soon as the wind changes. Flynn, trying his best to keep his cool.

  ‘In the car, Rory. Come on. Now!’

  ‘No, Mum, I can’t go home. I understand if you want to go home and if you don’t want to help me but I have to go and get Lorali.’

  ‘Nobody said anything about home, Rory. We are going to get this girl of yours. Now jump in.’

  I want to cry all over again. ‘Mum, it’s a big ask. You really don’t have to.’

  ‘I know I don’t have to but I want to. I want to do something. I need to do something. I want to get that girl back. I want to bring Lorali home to you. For you. I want to see my son happy. I want to be happy! I want to be strong!’ She leans on the car as if she is about to fall over. The colour instantly swims back to her cheeks. ‘Today. Now, OK?’ She sniffs, her eyes on mine. ‘I want to be strong.’

  ‘If you’re sure then –’

  ‘Shut up, Rory, before I change my mind.’

  I forgot how bad my mum is at driving. And years of fear of absolutely everything gives her a new sort of jerky rush when behind the wheel. Still, it is better than trying to get back to the smokehouse by foot. The beach is packed again and if I am being tailed, a car is much quicker. I can’t see the pirates anyway, so that is a good sign.

  Mum pulls up to the smokehouses by the pebble beach with an overenthusiastic swerve.

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you, Rory, but that was just great for me.’ She breathes, giggling almost, slapping the wheel proudly.

  ‘You were brilliant, Mum, thanks.’ And it is then I notice the door to our smokehouse is open. No, it couldn’t be our one. They all look the same, those little black sea-eaten sheds. But it is.

  I panic. ‘Why is the door open?’ I ask.

  ‘Maybe she has gone looking for you, Ror?’

  ‘No, I dunno. I need to go. OK, now, Mum, you wait here.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ she says and is already out of the car, her slippers padding across the pebbles. ‘I have actually had a fight before, you know. A good twenty years ago, but these things are like riding a bike. You never forget.’ She is trying to keep my spirits up as the sea shushes in and out. In and out.

  SAILING

  I have been down here alone for a while now. I think I might have fallen asleep but I’m not sure; it’s too cold and wet to fall asleep. It’s not sound. I am so heavy with anxiety. I can’t stop thinking of my grandmother. Netta. I can’t wait for Rory to arrive. To make everything better. Has somebody hurt him? I can’t lose him. Not now. He is all I have. In fact, I’ve loved being with him so much that I’ve forgotten why I even wanted to arrive here in the first place.

  Now all I think of is Rory. Us. I shake the image out of my head but before it has completely faded I hear the scrambled churn of bad sound and we begin to lunge forward.

  I jolt. Step up. Try to find my balance. I stoop. Fall forward. Ducking my head, I cling to the rails. Try for the stairs. WHY ARE WE MOVING? WHERE IS RORY?

  The wind is smashing me in the face. The sea air is sticking to me, up my nose. Home. Salty. Blinding. Sting. In my eyes. In my hair. Sucking out my mouth. Clinging to my ears. Raiding me. There he is.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I shout over the engine. He looks round to me.

  He frowns. ‘Rory said we should meet him there.’

  ‘Meet him where? Who are you?’ I don’t trust him. Instinct. Sniff sniff. Negative. Sick in throat. The water is spitting. Some of the salty sea specks land on m
y skin. I hate it touching me. I feel dirty.

  ‘Give it a rest. Go back, lie down, rest, be patient.’

  ‘No, not with all that dead animal skin!’

  ‘It’s not real.’ He looks proud of himself.

  ‘I’m not resting. Not until you tell me where we are going,’ I bark back. Off. No. No. Danger. The grey sky is like the darkest, deepest parts of the ocean. Thick.

  He looks sincere. Saddened. The roar of the engine is whining. I wish I had the confidence to dive back down into the water. Swim down as far as I possibly can. Let my colours carry me lower and lower and lower. So deep my brain swells. My ears block. Maybe I would drown … the idea materialises. Then it would all be over. No.

  ‘Fine. But I don’t want to upset you,’ he says.

  ‘Upset me, how?’

  ‘It’s not good news,’ he says. Good news? What about? What does he mean?

  ‘Go on …’ I say. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘No, I shouldn’t. I promised Rory I wouldn’t say. He didn’t want me to hurt you. He just wanted me to … agh … I’ve said too much already.’

  I bite my lip. I wish I could fasten his mouth together. Take his words out on a ribbon and throw it into the water. Pretend it never happened. That he never spoke. ‘Continue …’

  ‘I really shouldn’t.’

  ‘Please …’

  ‘Rory wants you gone.’

  I die.

  Inside. I obliterate. My insides. Spinning. Chewing. Turning. Parts I didn’t even know I had ache. Twist. Knot. Choke. A new loss.

  ‘No,’ I say. Not Rory. ‘No. That’s not true.’ But my brain niggles. It was last night. It was too much. Too strong. Too soon. He did leave this morning so suddenly. I can’t believe I was naive enough to think he needed to buy me clothes. How stupid. I didn’t make sense to him. He didn’t understand. We are too different species. I was ignorant to think we could ever make sense of one another. Have an understanding. Maybe things here are not the same.

  ‘You’ve made things too difficult, Lorali. I don’t know if you know, but his mum is sick. She has a nervous disposition. She is on medication. She sees somebody about it. A doctor.’ The words fall over my head. Each one cuts, even though I don’t know what half of them mean. He carries on; he is enjoying seeing me wince. ‘A mermaid came on the television. Do you know that? A mermaid, asking us to help find you.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘Well then, if I am lying how would I know the name Opal Zeal?’

  OPAL. OPAL? I haven’t heard her name above water. Out loud. Real. Opal. What has happened? Is she in danger? Have they kidnapped her? Because of me? Used her for patching? These Walkers cannot be trusted. Can they? My species were right. And I wronged them. Poor Opal. It is all my fault. I stay quiet. I don’t want to give him more information.

  ‘Yeah, see? Everybody is looking for you because you’ve ruined everything. People are dying and it’s all your fault. You’re dangerous. You might not mean to be, but you are. You don’t belong here. You aren’t one of us. It’s better if you leave, Lorali. For Rory, for everyone. I’ve come to take you home.’

  ‘This is my home!’ I argue back. Real tears are coming now. Weakness. Where is all this water on my face coming from? I sniff. How does he know all this? ‘You’re lying!’

  ‘I wish I was.’

  ‘Stop it!’ I scream. I cover my ears. I wish Rory were here. Just so I could hear the words come from his mouth for myself. Even though they would kill me. My mother always told me that Walkers are cowards. That they hide behind words. That they hide behind others. That they are an untrustworthy species because of their language. Where we use our bodies, they use words. But I thought my mother was trying to scare me and to kill my interest in them. Or perhaps I was stupid enough to think Rory wasn’t the same as everybody else.

  I feel so sick on the water this time. I have never travelled so fast. I fall. Topple. Backwards. Forwards. But I fight back. Through streaking rivers of tears. This boy was acting so peculiar on that walk along the beach. I knew it was bad. I smelt the sadness and anger. He is right. I am a disaster. But Rory had seemed so happy this morning, hadn’t he?

  ‘Rory would tell me himself if he felt this way.’

  ‘He couldn’t.’

  ‘Why?’

  He looks out into the water. ‘He has a girlfriend.’

  A girlfriend? ‘What is …’ I don’t want to look even more foolish. But I have to know, even though I am sure that I already know the answer. ‘What is a girlfriend?’

  ‘He’s in love. He’s with a girl. Her name is Bev. He’s been with her for years. Since they were young.’

  A girl. In love? I feel like a fish, gutted.

  ‘But …’

  They can have me. The pirates. The scientists. The government. The museums. The poachers. The hunters. The patchers. The news. The papers. The Mer. The Walkers.

  I don’t want to be anything.

  The water can have me.

  I wish I had never left.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ he whispers, and it kills me because his apology seems so genuine so I know it is the truth. And I am sad. I miss my family. I miss the Rory that I thought I knew, and I miss my instinct. My tapestry. My escape. My mistake.

  We move forward in silence. Every time I want to ask another question I stop myself from fear of the answer.

  PART II

  A CELEBRATION TO REMEMBER

  The evening before Lorali’s resolution, Queen Keppel and Zar threw a party for the kingdom of the Whirl. It is traditional to celebrate the resolution on the eve of the ceremony. It was common knowledge throughout the Whirl that Lorali was different from the others, that she was special. Radical. A miracle. It was blurry to Lorali herself how or why she was supposedly special. She just knew that she was constantly surrounded. Guarded. Followed. Not trusted with independence, unlike the others. Treated like the most rare pearl in my oceans. She wasn’t allowed to swim to the surface. She wasn’t allowed to roam free. And that was, of course, because of the brutal death of the late Queen Netta. Keppel wouldn’t risk losing her most beloved princess. Lorali was her legacy. She was all she had. Lorali always asked her mother why she never salvaged anybody other than her. Her mother always said, ‘You are my greatest joy and greatest regret. Joy because I love you so, but regret because I love you too much.’ Having another child would bring her too much worry.

  The resolution is important in any Mer life as it marks the moment their tapestry completes. The colours, textures and patterns resolve themselves, sculpting the Mer’s identity. It is an anxious day. The tapestry reflects and depicts every aspect of the Mer’s creation; no scale goes unturned – the colours and shapes speak for themselves.

  With the resolution comes more responsibility: it is when a Mer can – if they choose – tessellate, and also salvage when they are ready to commit to parenting themselves. But resolution meant more to Lorali; more important to her than it being a royal resolution was that she would finally be granted some independence.

  The party was big. Luxurious. The entire Whirl was bubbling with excitement. Hundreds of Mer gathered outside the palace to greet Lorali and give gifts: water plants and flowers, coral and crystal, objects from the Walker world that they found beautiful – remote controls, barbecue tongs, children’s toys, fire alarms, odd shoes, blenders, hairbrushes, batteries.

  Water horns, strings and bells bellowed celebratory music and a great feast was served in a cave where the walls were studded with twinkling splints of fool’s gold.

  The council from the Whirl and a few special guests were invited to dine with Lorali’s family. The seafood in the Whirl is much larger and richer than the stuff Walkers can catch. A feast like this took days of preparation. The Mer were already merry from pre-dinner honeysuckle cocktails drunk from oversized leaf flutes. They ate chilled watercress and smacked sea-cucumber jelly soup and sipped from giant seashells. Clams, salty winkles and gargantuan mussels arrived on a b
ed of tangled rope weeds, summer cress and sweet peas. Sea-cauliflower heads, chickseaweed and soft-shell crab cakes. Fleshy, juicy lobster tail and samphire salad, paper-thin yellowtail sashimi served with wilted water fungi and speckled toadstools, and fresh oysters with harvest limes squeezed on top for acidity – down the throat in one. Steaks of the best flesh from the best beasts carved by the chef herself, who was there of course, serving steamed skinned eels and the stuffed claws of monsters that were basted and turned on a spit heated from the hot-spring baths. Spirals of noodling tentacles studded in sweet gem-like ruby pips of larpbarp fruit. Water leeks and asparagus mousse. Ocean cabbage rolls stuffed with algae, plankton and spices. Little fancy caviar and cod-roe tartines with sea-salt biscuit and foam cream. The fudge was little squares of paradise, made from evaporated sea-cow milk and the sea-level sap from the trees of the petrified forest. Coral, drenched in honey, made for a warming sticky pudding. Lashings of squid ink liquor, chased down with walrus-milk Martinis, which went straight to the head.

  Later, more guests were invited to celebrate at the dance. They arrived with coloured hair, painted faces and bodies, jewellery and costumes that they had made or found. They were tattooed and pierced to mark the occasion. The Mer are a very beautiful species, if you enjoy that sort of thing. Zar had the glow-worms, illuminatoroids and lampktons rigged up in the cave especially for the ceremony, and had given them instructions to perform a choreographed display to the beat of the bass-heavy music, sparking the walls in a disco effect. The Mer know how to rejoice, and their uninhibited selves thrive at these occasions. They drank and puffed until the sun began to kiss me.

  Lorali looked more beautiful than ever that evening. Her hair was multi-coloured, splattered with the rainbow: turquoise, bright yellow, purple, orange, lime green, royal blue and pink tones. Her long hair was loosely plaited into a webbed cage that trickled all the way down her bare back, the ends falling to her hips. Her shape had begun to swell, as if her body clock was ticking along with nature’s calendar and the queen’s diary. She was more curved than ever. Fleshy but petite. Still all feminine. Soft. Although Mer rarely use make-up (unlike Walkers, who seem to walk about in disguise every day), that day Lorali’s arms and shoulders were peppered in coloured crystal gems that snaked up her neck and throat and were dotted round her hairline. Her brows were full but groomed; her face appeared dewy and fresh. Ready for what the future would hold. And on this day so important to all Mer she missed her grandmother so much. When she looked in the reflection of the cracked glass before her she imagined what her grandmother would have said to her. She almost heard the soft crackle of her gentle voice.