have to say if you don’t want to.’
‘I don’t mind.’ It was true. This seemed like safe ground. ‘It was all a bit sudden, actually.’
Victoria raised one foot, held on to a downward strut and lifted her leg out behind her. ‘Did your mum do a midnight flit?’
‘No. It wasn’t like that.’ She fished back through her memory to the events leading up to it. Time had smoothed them, and they now seemed equally as unlikely as last night’s outburst. Had her mother been so unhappy? Everything had been normal until something was missed. A birthday? Or was it an anniversary? She screwed the memory back down into its hiding place. She wasn’t going to think about it. ‘Mum went to stay with a friend at first, so there wasn’t room. And then I had exams coming up.’ It had been a convenient reason and one, she realized, she’d need to reinforce with something now her exams were done. She remembered how the phone call last night had ended. It would be awful if her mother turned up, telling her off about being rude. She pushed the thought away.
The conversation lapsed once more. Victoria seemed engrossed in her balancing act, and Helen let her mind drift. The air in the garage always had a smell of being kept in the dark. The big double doors at the front were never opened, so the only new oxygen was what came through the side door. And if the garage air wasn’t changed enough, what about the air in the boat? She imagined it briefly as a separate atmosphere, heavy, settling within the confines of the hull like gas in a mine. From above, it would have a surface, lapping against the inside edge with little opaque waves. It was as if the two of them were caught in their own world, sitting at the bottom of this pool of heavy air. She imagined knives pressing against the soles of her feet. Who would come to rescue them? Suddenly it was hard to breathe.
‘We’re like mermaids in a cave.’ She hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
‘What?’
‘Never mind.’ It was like a bubble bursting, letting in a breath of pure oxygen. Victoria felt very real, sitting across from her on the swinging chair, somehow more solid than she had been before. Not easy to explain. ‘I was thinking about air.’
‘And this has something to do with mermaids because …?’ Victoria jumped down from her chair, freezing in position at another shift from the boat. ‘I keep forgetting where I am!’
She relaxed her arms and edged herself with cautious steps to the other end. Helen followed her progress.
‘Why do you call your mum by her name?’ Again, she surprised herself by saying it out loud.
Victoria glanced over her shoulder. ‘Well, it’s her name, for a start.’
‘My mum would go mad if I called her Barbara.’
‘I’d go mad if someone called me Barbara.’ Victoria shrugged. ‘She’s left anyway. You can call her whatever you like.’
The boat’s sides were painted in a thick cream paint, overlaid by a slightly oily layer of dust. Helen’s finger slid along it, gathering up a layer of black and leaving a clean-edged trail. High up in the front end, where the edges narrowed and darkened as they came together, there was already something drawn into the dust. It was a sketch of a man’s head coming over a wall, his big nose hanging down. A familiar image, one her dad used to draw everywhere: birthday cards, steamed-up car windows. Somewhere on a beach, him dragging a stick in the sand, trying to finish before the tide came in, her mother holding a pile of towels and picnic bags and rain bouncing off the concrete steps up to the promenade. Victoria’s voice broke in.
‘Do you ever go and stay? With your mum?’
‘She keeps suggesting it. But I don’t want to.’
‘Is she that awful?’ Victoria wasn’t giving up. ‘Did you have to do all the housework and sleep under the stairs?’
‘No.’ Helen stopped and thought about the tidying up and constant buzz of vacuuming that had been the backdrop to her
‘I don’t mind.’ It was true. This seemed like safe ground. ‘It was all a bit sudden, actually.’
Victoria raised one foot, held on to a downward strut and lifted her leg out behind her. ‘Did your mum do a midnight flit?’
‘No. It wasn’t like that.’ She fished back through her memory to the events leading up to it. Time had smoothed them, and they now seemed equally as unlikely as last night’s outburst. Had her mother been so unhappy? Everything had been normal until something was missed. A birthday? Or was it an anniversary? She screwed the memory back down into its hiding place. She wasn’t going to think about it. ‘Mum went to stay with a friend at first, so there wasn’t room. And then I had exams coming up.’ It had been a convenient reason and one, she realized, she’d need to reinforce with something now her exams were done. She remembered how the phone call last night had ended. It would be awful if her mother turned up, telling her off about being rude. She pushed the thought away.
The conversation lapsed once more. Victoria seemed engrossed in her balancing act, and Helen let her mind drift. The air in the garage always had a smell of being kept in the dark. The big double doors at the front were never opened, so the only new oxygen was what came through the side door. And if the garage air wasn’t changed enough, what about the air in the boat? She imagined it briefly as a separate atmosphere, heavy, settling within the confines of the hull like gas in a mine. From above, it would have a surface, lapping against the inside edge with little opaque waves. It was as if the two of them were caught in their own world, sitting at the bottom of this pool of heavy air. She imagined knives pressing against the soles of her feet. Who would come to rescue them? Suddenly it was hard to breathe.
‘We’re like mermaids in a cave.’ She hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
‘What?’
‘Never mind.’ It was like a bubble bursting, letting in a breath of pure oxygen. Victoria felt very real, sitting across from her on the swinging chair, somehow more solid than she had been before. Not easy to explain. ‘I was thinking about air.’
‘And this has something to do with mermaids because …?’ Victoria jumped down from her chair, freezing in position at another shift from the boat. ‘I keep forgetting where I am!’
She relaxed her arms and edged herself with cautious steps to the other end. Helen followed her progress.
‘Why do you call your mum by her name?’ Again, she surprised herself by saying it out loud.
Victoria glanced over her shoulder. ‘Well, it’s her name, for a start.’
‘My mum would go mad if I called her Barbara.’
‘I’d go mad if someone called me Barbara.’ Victoria shrugged. ‘She’s left anyway. You can call her whatever you like.’
The boat’s sides were painted in a thick cream paint, overlaid by a slightly oily layer of dust. Helen’s finger slid along it, gathering up a layer of black and leaving a clean-edged trail. High up in the front end, where the edges narrowed and darkened as they came together, there was already something drawn into the dust. It was a sketch of a man’s head coming over a wall, his big nose hanging down. A familiar image, one her dad used to draw everywhere: birthday cards, steamed-up car windows. Somewhere on a beach, him dragging a stick in the sand, trying to finish before the tide came in, her mother holding a pile of towels and picnic bags and rain bouncing off the concrete steps up to the promenade. Victoria’s voice broke in.
‘Do you ever go and stay? With your mum?’
‘She keeps suggesting it. But I don’t want to.’
‘Is she that awful?’ Victoria wasn’t giving up. ‘Did you have to do all the housework and sleep under the stairs?’
‘No.’ Helen stopped and thought about the tidying up and constant buzz of vacuuming that had been the backdrop to her
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