Popshot Magazine – August 2019

“Your mother.”
“She knew about...this?”
Grandma looked down at me. "Of course. She was one, too.”
I shuffled, wanting to stand because I was the same height as her now, and could
meet her gaze. But, of course, that was when I had legs.
“That’s a lie. She was human.”
“Sometimes. Then, once a month, this happened.”
“So this isn’t permanent?”
My body was baked and I longed to go back in the water. My eyes turned to the
river, as if they could feel it watching me, calling to me.
“I expect it will last a few days.”
“Did Dad know?”
She snorted. “One advantage to him being in the army, he was home so seldom we
could hide it from him. As we’ll be able to hide this. Your poor father had no idea. He
thought she was some kind of goddess. Ever since he found her living by the Danube
River after the war. Wouldn’t hear a word against her. But I knew. The first time I saw
her, I knew she was trouble. Of course it wasn’t until you came that I realised what
sort of trouble.”
Memories of Mum flickered across my mind. Her ink-black hair, those intense
eyes, and her laugh. She was always laughing. For a while, after she left, I’d hear that
laughter in the house and search for her. As if she was playing another game of hide-
and-seek and I’d discover her crouched in a wardrobe or under the stairs. It took a
long time to accept the house was empty and the laughter was only a memory.
“I was with her when you were born. I saw your tail.”
“I was born with a tail?”
“She said all you lot have tails in the womb, only it’s usually gone by the time
you’re born. You were a month early, so it hadn’t... Anyway, she told me everything
then. About herself and the curse. And what would happen to you.”
“And you never thought to tell me?”
“Would you have believed me?”
I glared at the river. “What about Hannah?”
“She didn’t have a tail. Of course she wasn’t premature. We’ll have to wait and see,
but she’s always favoured your father. I have hopes she’ll be normal.”
Normal. The word resounded in my head. I would never be normal. That was when
it truly hit me. I was a mermaid. An actual fucking mermaid.
“What happened to Mum?" I asked. “Where did she go?”
“I don’t know. She just up and left. It was the only decent thing she ever did. We’re
all better off without her.” She straightened her back. “No-one can ever find out
about this. You understand?”
I nodded. I understood all too well. Her mouth twitched at the corners. Not a smile.
Grandma never smiled. The only one on record happened when Mrs Thompson’s
roses were ruined by aphids, and she lost her reigning championship at the annual
flower show. There was certainly no smile now. She turned and walked away, and
I watched her getting smaller and smaller. Except it felt like I was the one who was
shrinking. Disappearing into this new body. And there was a loneliness so staggering
that, for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.