‘Well, Grace was helping me wash my hair. I need help sometimes.’
‘You can’t wash your own hair? How old are you?’
Please, Isaac. No questions. Lucy, don’t reply. I hear him flush and stick my head around the door again. He’s standing there, tempted by the curtain.
‘Right, washing hands and off to bed you go, please. Here, let me help you with the soap.’
He looks at me curiously and at the pile of sopping-wet clothes on the floor.
‘Why did she lie to me?’ Isaac asks.
‘Lie to you about what?’
‘Why is she in the bath, it’s the middle of the night?’ I look at his confused face and don’t quite know what to say. Do you tell a young impressionable child that a grown adult tried to invade a ship and fell off said ship into the docks? I don’t think that’s good parenting.
‘It’s because I’m a mermaid.’
I stop for a moment to hear the voice beyond the curtain. Isaac’s mouth opens in shock. From pirates to mermaids in one evening, that’s good work.
‘I went swimming in the docks. I came back here to wash up and Grace lets me use her bath to wash my tail. Sometimes my human legs fail me and I need to be in water.’
‘Can I see your tail?’ he asks.
‘NO! If you see me in my mermaid state then I can die.’
‘Your sister can see you.’
‘That’s because she’s family.’
I stand here not really knowing how to contribute to this fairy tale, bemused at how he’s buying into this but not the idea that she couldn’t wash her own hair.
‘And you must keep this a secret, Isaac. Promise. Pinky promise it with Grace.’
He nods his head furiously and sticks his little finger out. Oh. OK.
‘Now, go back to bed, Isaac.’
I hear his footsteps literally sprint through the corridor to the girls’ room and I pull the curtain back to reveal that Lucy has covered her parts with all our washcloths.
‘I look forward to him waking up in half an hour now when he has nightmares about there being a large fish person in my bath.’
Lucy shrugs. ‘Possibly less scared than if he’d seen me naked, though, right? With all my piercings?’
‘This is true. Just don’t snag my nice Muji washcloths on your taco ring, OK?’
* * *
I’ve left Lucy upstairs in my well-loved Huggly and several layers of hoodie and thermal joggers. Meg made fun of the Huggly but look at Lucy now. It may just save her life. She’s lucky she’s in the house of someone so averse to the cold but also runs a comfortable line of clothes meant for working from home. I’ve also left her sweet tea and given her three hot-water bottles, expertly filled up by Sam, who’s now sitting at my kitchen table, cradling a mug and urging me to also hydrate and warm myself up. I don’t look particularly well, given a couple of hours ago I was spewing over the edge of the docks, but he doesn’t seem to mind my tired, sallow face and frazzled hair.
‘Thank you, knight in shining armour.’
He doffs an imaginary hat to me.
‘You’d do the same for me,’ he surmises.
‘You know, I think I would. I owe you.’
He takes a long sip of his tea and then looks at me. ‘I’ll bank that for another time.’
