And Then I Turned Into a Mermaid Read online

  CHAPTER THREE

  Cake for Dinner

  The semicircular kitchen at Kittiwake Keep was a chaotic hodgepodge of tables, chairs and sideboards, with an ancient, aubergine-coloured Aga laid flat against the only straight wall.

  The swordfish-printed wallpaper was peeling away. There were windows all around the curve of the lighthouse, so there was always light flooding in. Mum complained about this frequently, since it only served to illuminate the stacks of dirty dishes piled high next to the sink. Their dishwasher had been broken ever since Molly could remember, and their mum never had the cash to fix it.

  Tonight, as part of a Seabrook birthday tradition Molly didn’t actually mind, the five sisters were making cake for dinner while their mum single-handedly ran the fish ’n’ chip shop. Since it was Molly’s birthday, she got to choose the flavour, and she opted for the same kind she always did: white chocolate and raspberry.

  Molly often thought she’d quite happily drown in melted white chocolate, and was known for always carrying Milky Bar buttons with her everywhere she went. The best time for them was in the summer, when they went all gooey and stuck together in one giant blob. Molly enjoyed putting the blob in the fridge to solidify, then gnawing on the entire thing like a beaver with a piece of tree bark.

  Since she was the resident expert on the matter, Molly was in charge of melting the white chocolate over the stove, slowly so she didn’t burn it, while Myla weighed the dry ingredients. Margot and Melissa were blending everything together, and somehow Minnie had been entrusted with whisking the eggs. The radio blared out an upbeat pop song on the windowsill, and the kitchen was warm from the Aga’s heat.

  Myla, the seventeen-year-old super-genius, cleared her throat importantly. ‘Did you know that it actually wasn’t Marie Antoinette who said, “Let them eat cake”?’

  Myla mistook the silence for awe, not disinterest. ‘Honestly, it wasn’t! Most people believe she said it on the eve of the French Revolution in 1789, but actually it was Maria Theresa of Spain, the wife of Louis XIV. She said it a hundred years before Antoinette. Crazy, right?’

  Molly stifled a laugh as she stirred the glossy chocolate. ‘Mmm. Crazy.’

  ‘What do nets have to do with anything?’ Margot asked innocently.

  Myla stared at her sister as though she were the stupidest person in the whole of Europe. ‘Antoinette.’

  Margot met Molly’s eye, and they both had to press their lips together to prevent the giggles from escaping. Margot tossed an extra pinch of salt in the batter for good luck.

  ‘Anyone else got any cake trivia?’ Myla asked earnestly, oblivious to her sisters’ mockery.

  Melissa wrinkled her nose as she used a wooden spoon to mix the butter and the sugar together. ‘This is so unhealthy. For my birthday, I want a fruit salad.’

  ‘Imagine living in Melissa’s head,’ Molly muttered to Margot. ‘I bet she wants to ban fairgrounds for being too fun.’

  But Margot didn’t hear her, because she’d stuffed a raspberry in each ear to block out the impromptu history lesson.

  They popped the delicious white chocolate and raspberry concoction in the Aga. While they waited for the magic to happen, they started the washing-up so their mum didn’t have to come home to a messy kitchen. Of course, the kitchen was always messy, so it was a little like rearranging deckchairs on the Titanic, but it was the thought that counted.

  Molly dunked her finger in the cake-batter bowl. ‘Hey, remember the time we went to see that unicorn show at the theatre for Melissa’s birthday?’

  ‘And Minnie stormed the stage?’ Margot wrestled the bowl from Molly and shoved her entire face in it to lick the last scraps. Melissa rolled her eyes.

  Molly chuckled. ‘And started kissing the pink unicorn to death.’

  ‘Hey!’ Minnie said, indignant. ‘It did not die. Not like Granny Bettie. She’s dead.’

  Molly couldn’t help it then. Minnie’s morbid exclamations made her snort with laughter every time. She was always pointing at stationary objects and insisting they were dead: rocks, street lamps, Margot during a particularly heavy sleep.

  Myla smiled wistfully. ‘Or what about when Dad was still around, and we went bowling? And he . . . he . . .’

  As Myla trailed off, Melissa shot a worried look at Molly and Margot. Myla was the only one old enough to have any real memories of their father – he left right after Molly was born. Minnie had a different father altogether, who wasn’t in the picture either. Which meant Myla often felt alone in missing their dad, and struggled to talk about him with her sisters.

  This made Molly feel a bit guilty. What you’ve never had, you don’t miss, and yet it would’ve been nice for Myla to have someone to share the heartache with. There had always been a kind of distance between Myla and the rest of them, and Molly suspected this was partly why, though there was the whole super-genius thing too. Once, on the plane journey to their one and only foreign holiday in Majorca, Molly had asked if it got dark above the clouds. Myla had never looked at her the same since.

  ‘Oh no!’ Minnie wailed.

  ‘What is it, scampi?’

  ‘I forgots to put the egg in. Sorry.’ Sure enough, the semi-beaten eggs sat in a bowl over by the broken dishwasher.

  ‘Hey, it’s OK, Minnie-moo!’ Margot grabbed the bowl and gave it a good stir. ‘We can put them in now. The cake hasn’t been in the oven that long.’

  ‘OK.’ Minnie stared at the ground, tears pooling in her shiny blue eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Stop apologising, silly.’ Molly grabbed her by the armpits and hoisted her up on to her hip. It was getting harder to do that now that Minnie was so much bigger, and Molly suspected she’d need a titanium hip replacement by Christmas. ‘It was a tiny mistake.’ She ruffled Minnie’s hair, which now not only contained garlic sauce but also cake batter, raspberry juice and several toothpicks from the chip shop.

  ‘See?’ Margot said, scraping the eggs on top of the partially baked cake. It had already formed a solid top, which meant she couldn’t mix the eggs in properly with the batter. ‘It’ll be perfect.’

  This was not convincing in the slightest.

  An hour later, the girls were sitting around the wonky kitchen table forcing down what can only be described as cake topped with burnt omelette. The only one who seemed to be enjoying it was Minnie, who immediately demanded seconds, then thirds. The others found new and inventive hiding places whenever Minnie wasn’t looking. Molly really hoped she would remember to retrieve the slab of omelette from the pocket of her school blazer, because the last thing she needed was to be sent out of double chemistry for smelling like eggy fart.

  Thankfully, there was soon a knock on the door, and Margot, Melissa and Molly all dashed out of the kitchen to escape the grossest dinner they had ever had. Molly got to the door first, and swung it opened breathlessly.

  Eddie of the Ears stood before her, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

  Eddie, whose ears would’ve looked more at home on a baby elephant, was in Molly’s class at school. He was one of the regulars at the chip shop, and always ordered the same thing: chips and bits. Molly didn’t blame him. Those bitty, salty scraps of batter scooped from the top of the deep fat fryer were second only to white chocolate in her eyes.

  Clutched in his hand was a large seashell with something painted on the curves.

  Margot grinned in disbelief. ‘Eddie of the . . . Eddie.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Eddie said, smiling widely. ‘You can say Ears. Although Eddie of the Eddie has a certain ring to it.’

  Molly shifted uncomfortably, willing her sisters not to say anything too embarrassing. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Eddie shrugged. ‘I just wanted to say happy birthday. Because, you know, it’s your birthday. And I want you to be happy. Wait, no, that’s intense. Er . . . happy birthday, anyway.’

  He held out the seashell, which had ‘Happy Birthday Mollie’ painted on it in pink and green. It looked a little
like a toddler had written it, but it still made Molly feel warm and grateful.

  ‘Thank you, Eddie. That’s so sweet.’

  ‘Sorry it isn’t more,’ he said, pulling his beanie hat down so his flaming-red hair wasn’t on show. ‘I don’t have a job or anything.’

  ‘You can have mine if you want,’ Molly laughed. ‘All the free chips and bits you can eat.’

  ‘Awesome. They wouldn’t even have to pay me.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief. They don’t pay me either.’ Molly rolled her eyes. ‘Getting to live in this lavish mansion is payment enough, my mum reckons.’

  ‘Do you want to come into our lavish mansion for some cake?’ Margot burst out. There was mischief written all over her face, and Molly made a mental scan of the living room for potential booby traps. Definitely a whoopee cushion under the armchair, and almost no condiments in the kitchen were safe.

  ‘What kind of cake?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘Scrambled egg,’ Margot said solemnly. ‘Beans and bacon are optional.’

  Eddie looked confused and awkward. ‘What?’

  ‘Long story,’ Molly muttered hastily. ‘Eddie doesn’t want to come in, do you, Eddie?’

  She actually wouldn’t have minded chatting to Eddie some more, since he was always pretty funny in the chip shop. But she didn’t trust her sisters not to do anything embarrassing, and she certainly didn’t trust Minnie not to try to kiss him like the poor pink unicorn.

  Eddie, however, looked suddenly crestfallen. ‘I . . . no, I suppose not. Sorry for bothering you.’

  ‘No!’ Molly insisted, realising how awful her rejection sounded. ‘You weren’t bothering me at all. It’s just . . . my sisters are kind of intense. That’s all.’

  ‘Rude,’ said Margot indignantly.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Eddie smiled. ‘I get it. See you at school.’

  Before Molly could protest, Eddie strolled away dejectedly, hands stuffed in his pockets. He climbed into a beaten-up old car, which was waiting with its headlights on at the end of the street. His mum must’ve waited to see if he was staying, Molly realised with a pang. He was completely sweet, and she’d totally offended him.

  ‘Margot!’ Molly snapped, swirling on her heel. ‘Why’d you invite him in?’

  ‘What?’ Margot held her hands up in mock innocence. ‘He likes you! God knows why, because you’re the absolute worst, but still. He’s cute.’

  ‘Yes, but our family is not cute. Not in the slightest.’

  Suddenly rummaging around in her mouth, Margot pulled out a chunk of omelette that she’d stored in her cheek like a hamster, then stuffed it hastily down the back of the battered velvet sofa. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Transformation

  That evening, the sky was clear and smattered with twinkling stars. The new moon reflected in the smooth surface of the ocean. It was nearly midnight, and the town was fast asleep. And yet, for some absurd reason, here Molly was in a secluded little cove on Little Marmouth beach, shivering in her dolphin-print pyjamas.

  Less than five minutes earlier, her mum had hauled her out of bed and out of the house. Despite Molly’s protests, her mum was adamant, and threatened to feed her tuna salad every day for a month if she didn’t oblige. Like any sane person, Molly detested tuna salad, and so here she was.

  Now she was left wondering why on God’s sandy earth her mum and three older sisters were perching on a cluster of rocks and staring at her so expectantly as she stood at the edge of the water. Minnie had mercifully been left to snooze in the lighthouse mere metres away.

  ‘May I help you?’ Molly said. She patted her face to make sure there was nothing on it. The light of her torch swung wildly around the cove.

  ‘I wonder what colour it’s going to be?’ Margot chattered excitedly, hopping from one foot to the other. Her long curly hair was wrapped up in a silk sleep turban, which she’d stolen from the snooty old lady on the promenade.

  ‘It better not be yellow. That’s my favourite colour.’ Melissa folded her arms across her chest.

  Margot snorted. ‘Definitely not pink. What’s the opposite of pink?’

  Myla pushed her glasses up her straight nose. ‘RGB and CMY are the correct representations of the spectrum of visible light, wherein the opposite of red is cyan, and the opposite of light is dark. Thus, the opposite of light red, a.k.a. pink, is dark cyan, a.k.a. teal.’

  Margot smirked. ‘Or . . . pinkn’t.’

  A wave crashed and fizzed on the sand, narrowly missing Molly’s feet. The tide was coming in.

  Molly was getting more irritated with every nonsensical comment. ‘What are you talking about, for the love of –’

  ‘Less of the lip, Molly,’ her mum tsked. Thankfully she was fully clothed this evening, which was a relief for everyone. ‘And for what it’s worth, my money’s on tangerine.’

  Molly pressed her teeth down on her tongue to stop the snarky comment from escaping. But just then, another wave lapped at the shore, at Molly’s feet, and the tips of her toes began to tingle.

  She blinked against the moonlight, wriggling her toes in her now too-tight wellington boots. The tingle continued to spread, a confusing warmth building in the arches of her feet, shooting up the planes of her shins and wrapping around the crooks of her knees.

  Am I having a stroke? she wondered, terror growing in her chest.

  Her great-uncle had a stroke once, back when Molly was in primary school. Apparently he smelled burnt toast when it happened. Molly sniffed the air in desperation, trying to pick up a trace of charred Hovis, but all that met her nostrils was the tangy stench of seaweed. And, you know, seagull poop.

  ‘What’s happening to m–’ she started, before realising her discomfort was causing excitement levels amongst her siblings to skyrocket. The more her legs shook like jelly, the more they grinned and squealed. ‘Seriously, why–Ooft!’

  Suddenly her legs clamped together, causing Molly’s balance to be entirely thrown off. She fell backwards and hit the sand with a muffled thud, eyes watering from the impact. As she did, her loud-mouthed family fell deadly silent.

  ‘Can someone help me up?’ Molly moaned, massaging the spot on her shoulder that had taken the brunt of the fall. Nobody moved. ‘Or, you know, don’t, and just watch me suffer.’

  Still silence.

  Her hip was aching too. Molly went to rub it, and let out a squeal.

  It felt like . . . scales?

  Molly gasped, wriggling into the best sitting position she could manage. She was terrified to look down, but her eyes tugged her there anyway.

  No. Surely not. She had a tail.

  A mermaid’s tail, whiter than snow.

  She was dreaming. She had to be. Or was it an elaborate practical joke? Margot was famous for her pranks, and this was a particularly impressive one. Next she’d be turning Fit Steve into a centaur. Molly didn’t think she’d mind that, actually. She’d always thought centaurs were weirdly handsome.

  ‘Very funny, Margot,’ she said, trying to find the place where the tail ended and her waist began so she could wrench the darn thing off. But even in the starlight, Molly could see that Margot was pale as the moon, lips pressed into a faint pink line. And, most notably, Margot also had a tail. Pillar-box red and speckled with coppery sparkles.

  In fact, they all did. Mum, who was now paddling in a rock pool, had a tail of dreamy lavender. Melissa’s was buttercup-yellow, and Myla’s was deep emerald-green with silver shimmers.

  Really, this was a very advanced practical joke. Molly had to applaud Margot. She had definitely evolved from the days of cling film over the loo.

  She was about to congratulate her sister on her world-class pranking abilities when something stopped her in her tracks. Her hand had found the place where the tail joined her waist, high up near her belly button, but there was no seam. It was like the scales were welded to her skin. Like they really were a part of her.

  The t
hought sent her stomach into a spiral, and dizzy spots prickled around her vision.

  ‘Um, guys? What’s going on?’ she asked.

  Myla was the first to speak. ‘It’s white. That’s . . . different.’

  ‘That’s boring,’ Melissa added.

  Margot snorted. ‘When it’s Minnie’s turn, I’m starting an official sweepstake, and I’m putting all my worldly possessions on mauve.’

  Molly felt four pairs of eyes boring into her, like when the kittiwakes watch you intently in case you drop a chip. She still felt dazed and woozy, the way she did when she was drifting off to sleep.

  Forcing some strength into her voice, she muttered, ‘If you’re done with your nonsense commentary, I have some questions.’

  ‘Right! Yes, of course,’ said Mum, wiggling her pale purple tail in the rock pool. ‘What would you like to know?’

  Molly stared at her. ‘Well, I thought that might be obvious.’

  ‘Well, we thought the mermaid thing might be obvious,’ Margot snarked back.

  Molly shot her a dagger-filled glare.

  Shuffling up on to a rock, her mum said gently, ‘You’re half-mermaid, sweetie.’

  ‘Half ?’

  ‘Your dad was a regular human.’

  Molly never thought she’d envy her long-lost father for something as basic as his biology. ‘Lucky him.’

  Mum ignored the snark. ‘Anyway, now that you’re thirteen, your mermaid side has awoken. You’re old enough to explore the other part of your life. Your tail. Your mermaidhood. But don’t go in the deep sea. It’s no longer safe. Especially for half-humans.’

  ‘Oh, right, of course,’ Molly muttered. ‘No sea. I’ll just flop around on the promenade, then. How about ponds? Are ponds dangerous? Or bogs?’

  ‘Ponds are fine,’ Mum answered, as though it had been a serious question. ‘I wouldn’t recommend bogs.’

  Molly’s mind raced. Surely, surely she was dreaming. And yet when she bit down hard on her tongue, she didn’t wake up. Her chest pounded, and her breathing grew quicker and quicker as she tried to fight back the tide of panic.