"The Little Mermaid"
Chapter 1
Dr. Martin Ellingham was still in his surgery, going over some sloppy paperwork Pauline had left him, when the telephone rang.
"What is it?" Martin barked, annoyed at being disturbed.
"Aye, Doc, its Bert Large here. 'Seems there's a bit of an emergency down at the waterfront."
Martin straightened up. "What sort of emergency?"
"'Seems a little girl's washed up on the beach. My boy Al's fished her out of the water but her head's bleeding something fierce."
Martin's stomach turned, but he stood up quickly, steeling himself. "I'll be there soon."
He hung up, grabbed his case and set off running. It wasn't difficult to find the scene; a small crowd had gathered around a spot on the shore and they were all talking at once. Martin pushed through roughly. "Move, move," he repeated until he could see the patient. She was lying on her side on the ground with a jacket covering her torso and Al Large close beside her, one hand under her head and the other resting on her hip, keeping her balanced. Mark knelt beside him, and Bert hovered over the both of them. Martin took a deep breath and knelt down. The side of the girl's face was shining with red blood, and Martin spotted several guts and gashes along her pale, slender extremities.
"How long has she been unconscious?" he asked.
"Just a minute or two," Mark answered quickly. "Al brought her out of the water and performed CPR, and then she was talking, kept saying she wanted to go home, then poof – lights went out."
Martin nodded, then abruptly turned away to take a big gulp of air. He was beginning to feel extremely nauseated. He checked the girl's pulse, pupils, neck and abdomen, and finding nothing alarming, he reached for his bag and pulled out a bandage. He pressed it to her head and ordered, "Hold that there."
Mark obeyed. Martin took another deep breath of salt water air and started assessing the girl's body for other injuries. He lifted the jacket to find that she was mostly naked, in just her pants and a thin camisole. She was also older than he originally thought.
"Where are her clothes?" he inquired. "Did you take them off?"
"She was like that when I pulled her out," Al said, "I covered her with the jacket; I figured she wouldn't want us looking at her knickers…"
Martin nodded and stood up. "She'll freeze to death out here. Has someone called an ambulance?"
"'Said they'd be about forty minutes," Bert said. "Is she going to be alright, Doc? She's just a little thing…"
"She may have suffered internal injuries. We can't wait forty minutes…Mark, I need your police van."
"Of course, doc."
Using a surfboard as a makeshift gurney, Mark and Martin carried the girl up to the van and set her down carefully in the back. Martin climbed in after her and was about to shut the doors when Al caught his arm. "Can I come too? I just, I want to make sure she's alright…"
"Yes all right, get it." Martin said grumpily. He didn't have time to sit there and argue with the boy. He jumped in and they set off to meet the ambulance.
"Doc," Al said after a few minutes, "Doc, she's waking up."
Martin checked her vitals as her eyes fluttered open and her body jerked, a hoarse whimper escaping her throat. Martin looked down at her, perturbed, having no idea what to say or do.
"It's alright girl," Al said, smiling down at her, smoothing her hair. "Everything's alright."
She blinked, her eyes focusing on his face. He ran his hand down her arm and held her hand in his, and she clung to him, her scratched fingers trembling.
"Do you know your name?" Martin asked the girl in a loud, clear voice. She sat on the sofa in his living room, wearing pyjamas borrowed from a neighbour's daughter and Martin's own dressing gown. She'd been at Martin's since the night before, having been put in his care while Mark and the rest of the police force tried to find out who she was. Martin questioned her at least five times but she never uttered a word.
"Do you know where you are?" he asked, starting to feel exasperated. She just stared past him into space. She had huge, blank brown eyes. She was a sort of odd-looking girl; tiny, slender, with a head of wildly curly dark hair and a full mouth.
Martin sighed and checked the stitches on her forehead. She barely even flinched.
There was a knock on the door and Martin told her to stay put before going out into the surgery and yanking open the door. Bert and Al Large and Joan stood on the doorstep. Martin sighed heavily and stood aside to let them pass. He'd only gotten rid of a bunch of nosy neighbours just a few hours ago.
"I brought her a care package," Bert said, holding up a basket. "Large style."
Martin led them into the living room. "Maybe you can get her to speak," he said tiredly.
"Good morning, sweetheart," Bert smiled at the girl. She looked up, her vacant eyes following the visitors. Bert, taking a seat on the arm of the sofa, opened the basket. "I've brought you some things to help you feel better," he said. He began showing her the items – just an assortment of sweets, it seemed – and Al leaned against the doorway, watching.
Joan came to stand next to Martin. "Couldn't trouble you for a cup of tea, Marty?"
"Of course." Martin took her into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Bert followed, slightly disheartened at the girl's lack of enthusiasm for his gift basket.
"Still no news about where she came from?" Joan asked quietly. Martin shook his head.
"And you don't know anything about her at all?"
"Just that she's between fifteen to eighteen years of age, she's slightly anemic, and…" Martin glanced at the girl, lowering his voice. "She appears to have suffered various levels of abuse since early childhood."
Joan looked pained. "Oh, dear."
Al, having stayed leaning in the doorway, watched the girl as she carefully poked through the sweets beside her.
"Do you want a cup of tea?" he asked her. The girl jumped a little and put her hands in her lap, staring at the ground. Al looked down there as well, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I prefer a good coffee myself…Pauline, my girlfriend, likes that syrup stuff you put in to make it taste like French vanilla or Irish cream. You like any of that?"
Still nothing. Al ran a hand over his rough jaw awkwardly. "Not a big talker, eh? Well that's okay." he mumbled.
There was a long, slightly uncomfortable silence, then finally the girl spoke; a single forced, soft word, "C-camomile."
Al looked up. "What's that, love?"
The girl glanced at him briefly, avoiding eye contact. "I like…camomile." She said, as though her voice wasn't strong enough to last a full sentence. Al straightened up. "Oh. Alright. I'll get you some, then." He turned and went into the kitchen.
"Got any camomile tea, doc?" he asked.
"No, why?"
"She asked for some."
Everyone looked at Al. Bert gave him a push. "Go back and ask her who she is, boy!"
"No," Joan said, "you'll just make her clam up again. Marty, I'll run to the shop. Do not crowd the child – she'll tell you who she is in her own time."
Joan gave each of them a stern look. "After what that girl's been through, she deserves a little peace and quiet."
As the days passed, the girl – Jane Doe, as her file said – slowly became more aware. She answered the simple questions Martin asked her – do you want fish or hamburger, are you warm enough, does that hurt – but she still refused to tell him who she was.
On the fifth day, Martin parked her at Pauline's desk in the surgery like he did every morning, and Pauline put her to work sorting patient files. And just like clockwork, Al stopped by at noon to bring Pauline her lunch. He'd started bringing the girl some too, but she was always hesitant to eat it. Today he brought them fish and chips; "The finest in town," he told her. The girl watched as he bent to give Pauline a kiss, then turned to the girl and smiled.
"Alright, girl?" he said. She smiled a little, her stomach feeling a little fluttery, and nodded. Al cracked open a can of pop and set it on the desk in front of her before settling down by the window.
"What have you got on for today?" Pauline asked him as they were finishing their lunch.
"Just some shopping for Dad," Al replied, still looking at the girl. "Do you want to come? Get a little fresh air?"
The girl nodded. "Yeah, okay."
She got up and Al said goodbye to Pauline, following the girl out into the sunshine.
"I've got to go to the grocery and the chemist," Al said, pulling a piece of paper from his back pocket. "Anywhere you want to go?"
She shook her head. She was content to just follow him around and see the village. She felt more comfortable with Al than she did with anyone else, even Joan who'd yesterday asked her to call her 'Auntie'.
"I've been thinking about where you might've come from," Al told her as they walked down the street. The girl folded her arms over her chest. "Yeah?"
Al nodded, giving her a smile. "Maybe you're a mermaid. Maybe you got caught in a net and dragged into the harbour."
She laughed. "Maybe."
After they'd finished the shopping, she asked him to take her to the beach. "The one where you found me," she said. So Al took her down to the shore, where she laid down in the sand, so close to the water her toes got wet when the waves washed in. Lying there with her long dark hair fanned out and sand sticking to her skin…Al really did believe she was a mermaid. She's amazing, he thought, not for the first time.
"You pulled me out?" she asked, her voice loud over the sound of the waves and wind. Al stood over her, his hands in his pockets. "Yeah."
"You…brought me back." she said, staring up at the sky. He nodded.
She looked up at him, her curly fringe blowing in her face. "I should be really pissed at you for that."
Frowning, he looked at her for a long time. Finally he said, "Who are you, girl?"
She got to her feet and started to wander back up the beach. "I don't know," she said, her voice nearly drowned out by the wind.