In which most things come to a happy end.
Billy had to say something; people were waiting. A hundred pairs of eyes blinked at him.
‘Hello.’ He was acutely aware that his voice was the only sound apart from the gentle lapping of waves behind the podium.
Hello was a start, but it wasn’t going to be enough. What should he say now? His speech, months in the planning, deserted him. He couldn’t remember a single word of it. He looked over to Mark. What had he said? “What’s in your heart, or some shit.” Well, there was plenty of shit in Billy’s heart, dumped there by the likes of Ralph and even his own timid father. He remembered what Mark had told him about his step-dad, and he wondered, for a moment, if that story would do. No, it wouldn’t. This was to do with him and what he believed.
From nowhere, an unusual sensation trickled through his body as if someone was pouring warm milk into his brain. It filtered through his veins to reach the end of his fingers and the tips of his toes, filling him with an awareness that took away his confusion.
There, that was it: What he believed.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Ralph was going to do this today, but he’s tied up. So, like I should, I stand here as the youngest fisherboy in the village.’ The crowd applauded politely, as was the custom at this point. That gave him a boost. ‘I am your merman.’
The villagers clapped harder at this. This was going to be easy. Billy was sure of what he wanted to say and do, and the words were indeed going to come from his heart.
‘Every year,’ he began. ‘Every year for centuries, our forefathers have held today’s ceremony. We bless the sea because it blesses us. It gives us what we live on, and in return, we respect it. Every day the tide comes in, waits around for us and then carries us out on our boats. We sail over it, and it supports us. We take what we need from I,t and then the tide brings us back. The same tides as our great-grandfathers sailed, the same sea as their ancestors respected and used hundreds of years back.’ He raised up an imaginary glass. ‘Here’s to the sea.’
At this, the crowd lifted their hands in the same way and returned the toast.
Expectant faces waited for his next words of wisdom.
‘The tide comes in,’ he said. ‘Some days it’s calm like this, some days it’s angry. On other days, it comes in high, threatens us in storms until we realise how dangerous she can be, but we know she will calm. Sometimes she comes in the night, gentle and mysterious; other times she’s simply there when we wake up, waiting and ready. She comes and she goes, but we can’t live without her.’
He was in danger of repeating himself, but he couldn’t persuade his mind to step off the track it was leading him down. The warm, milky feeling in his veins had seeped through to his skin, and he was completely calm.
‘We accept the tide and her changing ways,’ he said. ‘We can’t turn it back. Why should we? We need it.’
‘Aye, but she don’t need us,’ someone called from the back, and others agreed.
‘She does,’ Billy replied, his voice rich with growing confidence. ‘We need each other. We need her moods and the changes she brings with the seasons, and she needs us to be here for her. To understand her, to respect her. We do this for the tide.’
‘What’s your point?’ Old Sam bellowed as the audience grew restless.
‘Who are we to turn back the tide?’ Billy raised his voice and took hold of the lectern. ‘Who are we to say when she comes and goes? We can’t. We just have to accept her. We do it willingly. You’ll get my point, Sam, in a moment. Even you will understand it.’ He came around from the lectern and stood with nothing between him and the villagers. ‘It’s up to me to choose the village mermaid for the year, and that’s what I am going to do.’
There was excitement in the crowd, particularly from those who had daughters. Someone pushed a couple of girls through to the front, others went willingly, but the younger ones tried to hold back.
‘We’ll get free fish,’ someone whispered loudly, shoving a terrified ten-year-old.
‘I can’t stand fish,’ the girl squeaked.
‘Who is it?’ another voice called. ‘And where’s Ralph?’
‘Ralph is…’ Billy tried to think of a way to say it. ‘Ralph’s gone diving,’ was what came out. ‘He was going to be up here, but he turned his back on the tide of our traditions. What I’m doing is opening up the harbour so the tide can come and go as it wants. You get me?’
They clearly didn’t.
‘Oh, for Cod’s sake. Right.’ Billy drew in a deep breath. From the heart, he told himself. ‘As your merman for the year, I, Billy Hill, officially choose…’
The silence of anticipation was as tight around him as the net had been around Ralph. There was no escaping it now.
Billy lifted his hand and pointed a finger over the heads of the crowd. Where it settled, so it chose. ‘Our mermaid for the year, our treasured one who represents all the good in the tide,’ he said, reciting the time-worn speech of his ancestors, ‘will be…’
A hundred pairs of eyes followed it eagerly. Some girls clasped their hands together and jumped, trying to get their faces into his sightline. Others hid behind their mother’s aprons, hoping it wouldn’t be them. The finger moved from left to right and then on, beyond the crowd until it came to rest, pointing directly at his choice.
Heads turned to Mark, Sandra and the woman with the feather in her hat as everyone took in the magnitude of what Billy was doing.
‘I woke up this morning,’ Billy said. The confused crowd looked back at him blankly. ‘I mean I woke up, of course, or else I wouldn’t be here, but I also woke up to something. I heard you all speaking to yourselves in the street. I saw my dad help himself to things at the post office, and he said he’d leave the money.’
‘I did!’
‘You were all speaking plain, and I realised that that’s what we ain’t done in this village for years, if ever. What’s more, I got spoke to plain, as well. I learnt things about someone ’cos he told me them honest like, and, although I still don’t understand why, I did the same back. You all did, didn’t you?’
There was some agreement at this point.
‘We all did,’ Billy said. ‘So that’s it. Ralph was going to persuade you to get these incomers out of our village. And so was I. But not now.’
‘So, you’re choosing one of them as our mermaid?’ In the absence of Ralph, Bill’s dad became the village spokesman.
‘I am, Dad, yes. And, if we want the sea to respect us, and bless us, and take care of us, then we all have to accept my choice.’
‘And your choice is?’
‘They’re foreigners,’ Old Sam shouted. ‘We can’t have that.’
Strangely, no-one else backed him up.
‘We have whoever the merman chooses,’ the vicar said. ‘It’s in all the books. It’s your custom, not mine.’
‘Thank you, Vicar,’ Billy said. ‘Well put.’
‘So?’
‘And so,’ Billy concluded. ‘Changes are coming to our village like the changing seas, and we’re going to accept them.’ He lifted his finger again. ‘I choose my mate, Mark, from Mile End.’
Mark was not sure that he wanted to be a mermaid; it sounded a bit gay. He was certain he didn’t want to go up on that platform in front of this bunch of inbreeds and put himself on show. They’d hate him for it, surely? They were going to hate Billy too, for what he had just done. Either that or think the guy was joking.
‘I think you have to go up there, dear,’ Miss P said. ‘It would seem impolite not to.’
‘Is it safe?’ Sandra asked.
‘There’s only one way to find out.’ Miss P tipped her head towards the stage, and Mark took in a deep breath.
‘I can’t,’ he said.
‘The people are waiting,’ Miss P said. ‘And it looks like they are waiting quite courteously. I don’t think you have anything to fear.’
Mark looked at his mum. She was smiling proudly.
As he walked away, he was sure Miss P said, ‘For a moment there I thought I was going to need another Gurkha Black Dragon.’ It made no sense, but it soon drifted from his mind as the villagers ahead of him parted to allow him access to the podium.
Billy smiled his toothpaste-advert grin at him, one hand held out ready to be shaken.
Mark stepped onto the platform. ‘What do I have to do?’ he asked. His legs were weak, and he wished he’d had time to go to the bathroom.
‘Just be yourself, mate,’ Billy said and looked at his hand.
Mark took the hint and the hand.
Quiet applause began, but within a few seconds, the sound swelled. There were a few jeers from a few fishermen at first, but their wives shut them up, and soon everyone was clapping and whistling.
‘I don’t know what’s come over this lot,’ Mark said as he let go of Billy’s hand.
‘I got no explanation for it either,’ Billy agreed. ‘But whatever it is, it’s worked.’
The faces of the villagers glowed with a friendliness that Mark had not seen before, not here, not anywhere. He expected them to storm the stage and drag him away, but instead, they carried on applauding.
‘No flaming torches, no screaming women, no calls for the Burgermeister to kill the monster,’ Billy said. ‘Looks like you just rewrote a James Whale script.’
‘Actually, I think you’ll find it was Faragoh and Fort who wrote the screenplay,’ Mark said.
‘With uncredited contributions from Florey and Russell,’ Billy replied.
‘Good Cod, you do know your films, don’t you?’
‘I reckon I know a lot of things now that I didn’t know yesterday,’ Billy said. ‘I got it on DVD if you want to come over later and watch it.’
‘Yeah?’ Mark’s heart glowed for a moment, and then the warmth became a cold concern. ‘Hey,’ he said, as the applause died. ‘I don’t have to kiss you or nothing? I don’t owe you a… a lumpsucker, do I?’
‘Hell no, mate.’ Billy stepped away from him and gave him the once-over. ‘No. You don’t have to do anything. Oh, except…’
Billy reached over the edge of the platform where one of the hereto aggressive fishermen handed him a bucket. He passed it to Mark and pointed to Sandra.
‘You have to give this to your mum. She gets a free bucket every week for the next year.’
Mark’s stomach turned over at the smell of the fish; he’d never been that keen. ‘Cheers,’ he said flatly. ‘She’ll be made up.’
‘Oh, yeah, one other thing.’
‘What?’
‘You have to say something.’
Mark was acutely aware that the crowd were watching him, waiting to hear what their mermaid had to say.
‘Like what?’
‘Whatever’s in your heart.’ Billy winked at him and stepped back, giving Mark the floor.
Mark’s mind was a blank He heard only the sea behind him and his heart thumping in his ears. Yesterday he would have told this lot to bugger off and leave him and his mum alone. That was yesterday. Today, his heart said something different.
‘I just want to say…’ He was talking, but he didn’t know where the words were coming from. ‘I mean.’ He faltered. ‘What I mean to say is…’ His mum stood proudly next to the strange woman with the crocodile skin two-piece. Billy raised his eyebrows in anticipation. Mark addressed the crowd. ‘First off, can’t I be a merman like him?’ The crowd was unimpressed. ‘Ah, okay then, worth a try. Well, as your mermaid,’ he said, ‘I want to say that from today onwards, on every Fish Festival Day, or whatever you lot call this thing, there’ll be a free drink for everyone at The Fisherman’s Arms. We may be the ones living there and running it now, but it’s everyone’s pub.’
The crowd exploded into cheers and shouts. Old Sam picked up his accordion to play a celebratory tune and fell headfirst to the ground with a wheezy A-flat minor. One of the post office ladies rattled across to Sandra and led her into the crowd, where Mark gave her the bucket. Before Mark knew what was going on, Billy had his arm around him, and the two of them were among the villagers. There were pats on the back, hands were shaken, and some even said, ‘Welcome, mermaid.’ A chubby girl with a huge nose and bushy eyebrows pushed through to the two of them, shot daggers at Billy and planted a kiss on Mark’s cheek, scratching him with her moustache.
He and Billy fled and caught up with Sandra.
‘You did the right thing, Mark,’ she said. ‘But I am glad you said only one free drink.’
‘Mum, this is Billy.’ Mark pushed him forward. ‘He’s an okay bloke.’
‘Billy.’ Sandra didn’t look impressed. ‘Yes, we have met before. You called me names.’
‘Yeah,’ he said with a wink. ‘But you still served me, ’cos I’m gorgeous.’
Sandra handed him the bucket of fish. ‘Deal with it,’ she said. ‘I can’t. I’m from Islington.’
‘It’s easy,’ he said. ‘You slit it, get your fingers in and pull out the guts. Come on, Mark, I’ll show you.’
‘I think I might just chuck-up,’ Mark said.
‘Everyone does the first time, but you get used to it.’ Billy peered into the bucket and pointed to a flapping fish. He put on his best Viktor Frankenstein voice. ‘Look, it’s moving. It’s moving!’
‘It’s alive! It’s alive!’
The two boys clung on to each other, laughing as they headed towards the pub.
‘It’s alive?’ Sandra had no idea what was so funny.
‘Something to do with darling Jimmy Whale.’
She turned to see Miss P directly behind her, and they watched the two lads admiring Miss P’s Lagonda.
‘No haddock on the paintwork, please!’ she called.
‘I think they were mackerel,’ Sandra said. ‘Miss P, will you be staying another night?’
‘I don’t think there’s a need, dear,’ Miss P said. ‘I am sure I am wanted elsewhere, but there is one thing I still need to do while I am here. Would you excuse me?’
Miss P drifted off towards the inn, and Sandra found herself in the clutches of the vicar.
‘May I just say, dear lady,’ he began, ‘that your son has shown great generosity of spirit. I feel that the village has changed. You have my gratitude.’
‘To be honest, Father,’ she said, admiring the grey at his temples and his lean, handsome face. ‘I don’t know what Mark has done, but I would agree that some kind of change has come about in him. He also seems to have lost the accent we spent years and a lot of money trying to iron out of him. But he always was a good boy underneath, and his manners have remained.’
‘Perhaps you would like to accompany me?’ the vicar said. ‘To see the church? It’s a little way up the hill. Bona view. Are you a church-goer?’
‘I was,’ Sandra admitted. ‘But I have lapsed these last few years. Other things got in the way. No, I shall be honest. A certain man got in the way. As he is no longer around, yes, I would love to come and see your church, but maybe tomorrow. I apparently have a party to host today.’
‘Quite. I understand.’ The vicar bowed his head briefly.
‘I did sing in a choir once.’ She wondered why she had told him that. She hadn’t mentioned it to anyone in years. ‘But I wasn’t very good.’
‘Believe me,’ the vicar said. ‘You can be no worse than Mrs Lumpsucker.’
‘Is that even a real name?’
‘Sadly, yes, and altogether far too appropriate. I wonder where she is? I do hope there is nothing amiss. I should go and see. I will bid you a good day, and a hearty thank you for what you and your boy have done for my flock. I shall join you in a tipple later this evening.’
‘That’s a date,’ Sandra said without thinking.
‘It is? Oh dear, how disturbing.’
‘I don’t mean it like that, Vicar.’
‘Oh, thank Cod for that.’
The vicar walked away, leaving Sandra to wonder how on earth she was going to manage the catering.
