AN: Sadly, my summer holidays are coming to a close, but my wave of inspiration isn't, so I'm trying to get as many updates in as is humanly possible. Please review!
I am panting, my chest heaving up and down as I've flopped down onto my bed. I don't know how I, the slowest runner in the school nine years running, managed to sprint back to the cottage, get to my bedroom, change, put away the clothes I just wore, and get back to bed, taking care to pull the ladder up behind me, all before I can hear Aunt Sapphire creeping softly into her bedroom.
A Tail. The man I saw with Aunt Sapphy. He has a tail. A TAIL for crying out loud. There's only one place I know that has information on men with tails. Gently pulling open my bedside drawer, I take out the book. Usually when reading the book, I adhere to a strict routine, which involves stroking the cover reverentially, and whispering the words out loud as I read it. Not tonight. Tonight, I flip through it with a mad speed, not caring if I tear a page or not, until I find what I'm looking for. My book is divided into sections, each one marked by a title page. The one I've opened to says: SEA PEOPLE- TALES OF THE MERFOLK AND THEIR DOINGS. I read folk-tales about fishermen who strike up conversation with Mermaids, about sirens who sit on rocks and entice sailors to their dooms, and about men who find selkie skins on the beach and take the women that own them as wives. I even find Aunt Saph's favourite story, The Mermaid of Zennor, but I can't find what I'm looking for.
It's as my eyes are prickling with exhaustion, and my vision starts to blur, that I notice something. The corner of the book's backpaper is coming unstuck. I've kept the book in immaculate condition, and I can't imagine how this happened. Anxiously, I fiddle with the corner, and then, to my horror, the whole sheet comes unstuck. And there's another ten pages. And the first of those is the only one that isn't blank. And it's covered with an illustration. An illustration of a woman crouched on the cliff edge, talking to a man leaning towards her. A man with dark hair, muscled chest, bright eyes, and a tail, a man whose name I don't know. But I know the woman. I know her cascade of tangled curls, her soft, faraway eyes, and her tanned face. And I know her name. It's Aunt Sapphire.
"So, Kerrie, excited about your first full day in Cornwall?" Mum beams at me from across the table. Mum's a morning person, unlike Dad and I.
"Yeah, very!" I say. It's true. Despite last night's occurrences, I'm still excited.
"Good," says Aunt Sapphy, "I'm glad you'll finally get to know where you really come from!"
"Just don't love it too much," warns Dad, "otherwise, you might not want to leave!" He laughs, but the look he gives his sister makes me think he's not really joking.
The whole car ride to St. Piran's, I'm nervous and jumpy, sat next to Aunt Sapphy in the back seat. I keep sneaking sidelong glances at her, but she seems fine, chatting away as though all was normal. I start to relax. It was probably just a trick of the light, that tail. And I was tired when I flicked through that book, I must have imagined it.
It's fun, hanging around in St. Piran's. All the adults get nostalgic about when they were my age, and Dad seems to have forgotten all the issues he had about coming back to Cornwall. We have lunch at a fish-n-chip place on the high street. Mum treats us all to an ice-cream. She has strawberry, Dad has rum-and-raisin, Aunt Sapphy has chocolate-and-pecan. I have toffee fudge.
"Better than a Mr. Whippy, eh?" grins Aunt Sapphy over the top of her cone.
"Never thought I'd say this, but yeah, it is!" I keep taking bites out of it, as Aunt Sapphy explains that the Ice Cream is made from famous Cornish clotted cream, and then proceeds to buy me a packet of Cornish Clotted Cream Fudge. We walk around St. Piran's, dropping in and out of shops, and I feel a warm, lazy happiness descending on me.
It's nearly eight in the evening, and I gaze at the pink-and-purple-striped sky, and the golden ocean, and the fiery stretch of sand bordering it, and it feels, warm, inviting, like an old friend...
"Dad?" I ask, putting on my best 'darling daughter,' voice, "can we go down to the beach?"
Dad freezes stock-still. I can see his ears go red. "Not right now, Kerrie," he says, and continues. I don't move.
"Why not?"
He turns around slowly. "It's late," he says.
"Not really, Conor," interjects Aunt Sapphire, nonchalantly. Dad glares at her. She examines her thumbnail.
"Saph," he says, "a word please."
He pulls her to the side. They have a hissed conversation with lots of glares and exuberant hand gestures.
Mum steps over. "Oh, give over, Conor, let her go! Saph'll take her."
Dad's expression can best be described as incandescent, but Aunt Saph claps her hand on my shoulder, and begins steering me towards the beach front.
"Why does Dad hate the sea so much?" I ask, as we walk along the very edge of the beach, where the waves lap the sand.
"He doesn't hate it," reasons my Aunt, "he fears it."
I snort incredulously. "Why would someone who grew up on a cliff fear the sea?"
She smiles. "The ocean is a powerful thing, Kerenza, and if you're not careful, you can get swept away."
The way she says it, I don't think she's talking about currents.
We make our way to a drier area of sand, and sit down. Aunt Saph reaches forward to pick up a pebble, and as she skims it across the surface of the ocean, I notice a brown woven bracelet on her wrist.
"Where'd you get that from?" I inquire, nodding towards it, "did you make it in your shop?"
She twists it around her wrist, smiling. "No," she says, and unless I'm seeing things, she's blushing, "a friend gave it to me."
I don't know if it's the tang of salt in the air, or the expression on her face, but something reminds me of last night, so I can't stop myself when I ask, "was it your boyfriend?"
She stiffens, and her ears go red, the same way Dad's do when he's anxious or embarrassed. Or angry.
"No," she stammers, slowly regaining her composure, and forcing a laugh, "I don't have a boyfriend!"
I laugh it off, and she appears to relax, but we walk back in silence. She doesn't look at me again for the whole evening.