The Mermaids

Nancy had heard about the Mermaid Society for ages. Seemed like the name was bandied about all over the place these days. She had been looking for a group that shared her interests for a long time and when the annual meeting was advertised in a pamphlet in the library, she decided to go along.

Her map said she was on the right road. That was good, she had fifteen minutes to spare. She had time to find the community hall. She wandered down the street looking at the big old Victorian houses, some clean with curtains, others scruffy with blankets or Indian throws across the windows. The tiny front gardens said who was house proud and who wasn’t. A man in a hoody swaggered by and she smiled at him, hoping he was no threat in the dark cold evening. The next building was a church so the community hall wouldn’t be far away. Mary was lit up from underneath, her shadow tall and higgledy-piggledy up the ivy that grew above her. Where do I go, Mary? Nancy asked. She looked around expecting mermaids to appear and guide her but they didn’t and she walked on. It must be around here somewhere. She stopped and asked a man in a fluorescent jacket wheeling his punctured bike along the pavement. He didn’t know, wasn’t from the area but said someone might know in the pub ahead.

She walked towards the pub but didn’t get that far. There was St Julian’s Community Hall. A man waited outside, a fuzzy blue hat pulled down on his head.

‘Hello,’ said Nancy. ‘Is this where the Mermaid Society meeting will be?’

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘You’ve come for the meeting?’

‘Yeah, is that okay? The flyer said it was open to anyone.’

‘Of course it is, of course. The only thing is, erm, I haven’t got the key.’

‘The key?’

‘To the community hall. The door is usually open. There’s usually someone there.’

‘Oh right,’

He rubbed his palms together and gulped, eyes making no contact with hers. She smiled to reassure him that it would be alright. It couldn’t be that bad.

‘Is anyone else here for the meeting?’ she asked.

‘No. Not yet. Hopefully Ian is on his way. He has a key.’

He turned and paced back and forth. Under the streetlight she could see that he only wore blue. Jacket, trousers, hat and shoes. It looked like he hadn’t shaved.

‘Oh,’ he turned towards her, ‘I have to let you know that if we don’t have five people for the meeting then it will be cancelled.’

Nancy looked around her. It didn’t look like anyone else was coming. She wondered about the safety of hanging around on a dark street, alone with a strange man, but then she saw him drop his shoulders, the weight taken off them.

‘Here comes Ian,’ he said.

A man came towards them. Either he was small or wearing a jacket too long for his body. Her blue man waved and a wave came back. As he came closer she realised he was a little short and his jacket was a too long, a German army coat.

‘No one else here?’ he asked.

‘No, except this girl here, she’s come along for the meeting, haven’t you.’

Nancy introduced herself and Ian was friendly and smiled and shook her hand. They walked to the door as the man in blue walked behind, scanning the road.

Inside, Ian set off the burglar alarm by putting in his pin number instead of the alarm code. He apologised over the screeching and pressed some more buttons until it stopped. Blue man was very concerned.

‘Do you think the police will come? Should we phone someone?’

‘I don’t think the community hall will have a direct line to the police station,’ said Ian.

‘I hope not,’ blue man walked out of the door to see if people were arriving yet.

‘So, what’s it all about?’ asked Nancy.

‘What? The Mermaid Society?’ said Ian. ‘Well, I suppose it’s a religion, or we’d like it to be. Not in the sense that Christianity is a religion, mind you. We don’t want to hurt anyone, or start any wars, we’re not religious in that way. Charlie there,’ He pointed out the door at the blue man. ‘He had the vision.’

‘Vision! What kind of vision?’

‘Er, it came to him in a dream I think. He had a vision of the future where we are all mermaids, so, he set up the Mermaid Society.’

‘How many members do you have?’

‘Oh, more than you’d think. More than will turn up today. Only a fraction of our members come to the meetings.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Well, not many people here today, but that’s because we picked a silly night, with the cup final on. Everyone’s in the pub.’

‘I heard that the society believes that man will evolve into a type of mermaid when global warming happens and the water table rises.’

‘That’s the core belief, yes. I mean, it’s that belief that makes us different from other religions.’

‘It’s something that really interests me. When I was a child I used to look along the beach for caves to hide in if there was a nuclear war. I took cans and bottles of water to one I found. But now, it seems the main threat to the human race is climate change. I’ve been so worried.’

‘Well, we believe climate change is part of God’s plan to get us back into the water. Not ashes to ashes. We came from the water, we evolved from the water, and to the water we will return.’

‘Wow,’ Nancy looked round at Charlie, who was tapping his fingers against the wall, and swaying from side to side.

How lucky he was to be the one who had this vision.

Ian had gone to get tables and chairs from a side room. Nancy went to help. They carried a table at a time and Nancy felt peaceful. This was the right place. When they came back with chairs, a dark haired woman had arrived on a pedal bike. Dressed in sea green and turquoise flowing skirt and scarves, she collapsed on the chair Nancy had barely put down.

‘Oh, it is too much, too much,’ she said.

‘Are you OK?’ Nancy asked.

‘This life of feet and roads and pedalling. I cannot take it any more. I want the water, I need the ocean. The ocean must engulf us all and take us into its beautiful home. We will be the pearls in the oyster that is a world of water and waves. I cannot let myself breathe this air much longer. Charlie!’ she shouted across the room to him. ‘When will your vision come?’

Charlie flashed frightened eyes at her, and twitched.

‘He doesn’t have a time frame, you know that,’ said Ian.

Charlie wandered out of the hall onto the street.

‘He makes promises and promises,’ the woman shook her dark hair like a horses mane.

Nancy sat down at the table. She wanted to introduce herself but the woman seemed not to see her. She looked around at the walls, the faded children’s drawings and posters about child benefits stared back at her. For the first time, she felt there might be a future for the human race.

‘We will not wait for the others,’ said the woman, ‘I do not have time. Ian, you will write down my words. I must write a letter to the Prime Minister telling him of our future. I will make him understand and he will inform the people. It will be much quicker than waiting for Charlie.’

Ian got paper out and they sat round the table ready to begin.

‘Dear Gordon Brown,’ the woman said, her hands at shoulder height, fingers splayed.

‘Wait,’ said Ian.

The woman closed her fingers, her shadow making a duck’s head across the paper.

‘Whose address are we using?’

The woman’s big, dark eyes looked first at Ian, then across at Nancy.

Nancy flinched.

‘What does this mean?’ she said, her palm now flat throwing the paper into darkness.

‘I think he wants to put an address at the top of the page,’ said Nancy. ‘To show the Prime Minister who the letter is from.’

‘I do not know you,’ said the woman. ‘You are new?’

‘I’m Nancy. This is my first Mermaid meeting.’

‘Welcome. I am Simona. Listen to what I am about to say in this letter and you will learn about our Mermaid future.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Ian, put there,’ she pointed at the top of the paper, ‘Mermaid Society, at the banks of the Thames, soon to be swallowed by our Mother Ocean.’

Ian wrote it in the most swirling handwriting.

‘Your handwriting is wonderful,’ said Nancy.

‘Thank you,’ said Ian. ‘I learnt from my grandfather. His handwriting was amazing and I picked up a few things.’

‘Shhh,’ said Simona. ‘Write. Dear Gordon Brown.’

Ian wrote it.

‘I am writing to you…’ said Simona.

As she spoke, Charlie walked in.

‘You’ve started the meeting,’ he said.

‘Do not disturb my thoughts,’ said Simona.

‘But we can’t start. There are only four of us. We need five people for the meeting to be valid.’

‘Who says?’

Charlie’s eyes looked heavy with sadness and he walked away.

‘Should I go after him?’ asked Nancy.

‘It is not important,’ said Simona.

Nancy looked at Ian and he shrugged.

‘Dear Gordon Brown,’ said Simona with force and they looked back at her.

‘What shall I put?’ said Ian.

‘I am writing to you to tell you of the Mermaid Society. We have seen the future, and you must tell the people of the world, so that they may prepare.’

The letter turned out to be very long and Nancy was tired by the time they had finished. Charlie had not returned and Nancy had a nagging worry about him.

‘Will he be alright?’ she asked Ian, as Simona swished away on her bike shouting goodbyes.

‘He is certainly a sensitive soul. But we must trust that Mother Ocean cares for him and will do right by him. That’s what I believe.’

Nancy felt the positive energy of his faith and smiled a serene smile. This was a great society, and she felt honoured to have been to their annual meeting. She swapped numbers with Ian, and her mood was high all the way home. In her flat that night, she slept well for the first time in months. She would be a mermaid.

It wasn’t until a week later that the thought occurred to her that when she was a mermaid, what would happen to her cat? Would Aripip evolve too, or would land animals die out? She phoned Ian to ask, but he didn’t know. He gave her Charlie’s mobile number but the phone number he gave her said, ‘This number has not been recognised.’ She contacted Ian again. He was worried and they decided to go to his house.

She met Ian in Dulwich, still wearing his too long jacket but with a worry line across his forehead now. He took her to the house where Charlie lived with his dad. They knocked on the blue front door.

The door opened an inch at first, then wider.

‘Ian!’ exclaimed the man with white professor hair and a big smile. ‘We’ve been trying to contact you but we didn’t have your number. Do you know where Charlie is?’

His voice was confident, expecting a yes.

Nancy could feel Ian draw in breath. She turned away so not to see the father’s face.

'He said he was going down to the river. That was two days ago,' said Charlie's father. 'We've been worried sick. He said the time had come. What was he talking about Ian?'

A church was opposite. Nancy walked towards it looking for a statue, Mary, but there was only a crucifix above the door. She turned back to see Ian facing her on the other side of the road.

‘Oh Mother Ocean!’ she cried to the grey clouds above her.

It began to rain. Nancy cried tears of joy.

'The floods! They're here!' she cried.

Ian and Nancy held hands as they walked through the October rain. They would wait by the Thames for the water to rise.

the swans

The Swans

Of course I could tell the ticket inspector I had my wallet stolen by no good youngsters, chavs as they call them. I'm sure they have chavs in Norfolk, they seem to everywhere these days. I could tell him my car was bombed by terrorists, I expect they have insurgents in the market towns. I'm much too old to hide in the toilets as I would have done in my youth.

I can see him now, he's coming down the carriage. Lord, I feel like hiding. A very rum business. I'm sure I can give him my details but you never know with the jobsworths these train conductors tend to be.

'Tickets please,' he calls. He walks straight past.

Perhaps I'm invisible. Or maybe I died and didn't realise. I went to Hell. This year's been Hell enough for anyone. Yes, it's a certainty. I died, not Val. Val is living a perfectly good life and I'm here in what I think is a living Hell but is actually death. Well, I've solved that conundrum.

On the opposite table is The Mirror. I walk over to retrieve it. I'll do the sudokus. That'll take my mind off things. I open the paper from the back and find the puzzle. Of course being a lesser newspaper, the sudoku is easier than the ones I set my Year 7s doing, twenty odd years ago, when these things were unheard of in print. I finish in seconds. Now what shall I do for the remainder of the journey? Not the crossword. No Val to fill in the blanks for me. As I always said, mathematics is a fine subject but it doesn't aid you in learning the English language. No, no Val these days. Must carry on.

This train is one of those trundlers. Of course they wouldn't update the tracks round here. I'm confounded that the train is even running on this lonely stretch. There's only one other passenger on here. She looks like a local with her pasty face and shopping bags. She has probably been to Norwich for the day. An event no doubt. Arriving home with goods like an American GI. There were lots of American GIs round here once upon a time. Accounts for the level of intelligence I seem to have come across.

We're coming up to an interesting point here. I can see for miles. The only dot on the landscape is the remains of a windmill. A lot of land is flooded. Good for those swans swimming up and down with their adolescent cygnets. Not so good for the farmers. Of course there has been a lot of rain lately.

I study the flood. This Norfolk trip has been a complete failure. The sunken boat. All my personal belongings under murky broads. It wouldn't have happened if that wife of mine was about, that's for sure.

Now, what is that? Someone has thrown... What is that? It came from the train. If I'm not mistaken that was a body. Yes I'm right. I can see it now, surfacing by the swans. That's a woman. A dead woman by the looks of it. And she came from the train. I can't quite believe this. A murder. Now who on Earth threw her out of the train? The windows are far too small. The doors won't open until the conductor deems it necessary. Often long after the train has stopped in my experience. But no time for tirades now old boy. It seems there's a murderer on the loose. If only I'd spent my years reading crime stories. Never been much of a reader if truth be told. A mathematician though. And this is a crime that a simple calculation reveals could only have been committed by the train driver. Or the train guard. Of course that was why he was rather absent minded when he strolled down the train. Which reminds me that I haven't got my mobile phone. I shall have to make a citizen's arrest.

I shall watch that door and see if he makes a run for it. I know I'm a retired gentleman now but as Val always said, You're a rugby player and it shows. Indeed it does. I'm fit and healthy and could outrun any man. The train guard looked like he had a bit of flab on him. Yes, I shall march him down to the nearest police station for his crime.

Lord, a dead body. Must have been a crime of passion by the looks of things. Wife or mistress I'm not so sure. Skinny thing she was though, very thin.

I stand up and walk down the train. I can stand by the front carriage doors. He will need to open them and when he does, that'll be it for him. I wait by the doors. We pass the boats in the harbour, and the rusty containers holding God knows what. And we slow, and slow.

I hear a rustle from behind the locked door. Out he comes. He still does not see me.

'Excuse me, sir!'

He ignores me and opens the doors from a box on the wall.

'Sir!' I say. 'I am arresting you for murder.'

I see panic in his eyes. He moves as if to run. I stand firmly in his way. Not a rugby player for nothing. He pushes me to one side. I block him. He shan't escape.

And he's gone. The bugger's gone. Right through my legs. Seems I've lost my skill. I dread to think what Val would say. But now I'm giving him a headstart. I jump off the train and run. There he is, running through the side gate. I follow. The road is busy and he skids through the traffic. I make a run for it. The cars are moving slowly and I make it across the road, waving thanks to the careful driver of a red Renault. I can see him in his uniform crossing the harbour bridge. I run after him, a little out of breath now. He must be more so, I'm sure.

And I've lost him. A rare sunny day, and I can't spot him for all the children running through the fountain, their mothers chatting in gaudy dresses.

'Have you seen a man in uniform, running?' I ask a youth in baggy clothes.

'No,' he grunts.

The amusement arcade is straight ahead. I walk inside. The noise of tinny music, shooting games and teenage voices. He could jump out at me in here. I look behind the machine that grabs fluffy toys. He could be anywhere. A crash and I look around. Some spotty kid has won on the 2p machine. The only grown ups I can see are scruffy men in T-shirts on the fruit machines. No uniforms in here. But I can't give up. I owe it to that poor woman lying in a ditch. A giant stuffed parrot cackles. I head to the beach.

'Have you seen a man in a National Express train uniform?'

The bored girl in the ice cream kiosk shakes her head.

'Have you seen a man in a National Express train uniform?'

'Not as far as I can remember, dear' says the bronzed old lady from her deckchair.

I ask the rough looking young man with a pitbull.

'Yeah, seen loads mate.'

'It is very important,' I say to his laughter.

'There's a pub there,' he says. 'Have a drink, mate. Might cheer you up a bit.'

A pub. Perhaps the man has taken rest there. A sordid establishment called The Harbour. I suspect it is the kind of place in which sailors get stabbed.

Inside I am hit by the darkness of the place. I make out the silouettes of men. None alone. I walk to the bar.

'By any chance,' I ask the barman, 'Have you seen a man dressed in a uniform?'

'What that man that left his clothes in the Men's. Thought there was something iffy about him. Very strange. I've got them in the back. Do you want them?'

'No! I don't want his clothes. I want him. He has committed a crime. Now, do you recall what he was wearing when he left?'

'Beach gear. Yellow shorts and a T-shirt. What they sell next door. The ones what say 'Beach Boy.' I've got a good memory me. They don't let me do the quiz here no more. I win all the prizes, don't I.'

There is no time to waste. I run to the door. Out into the blinding light of the sun. He could be anywhere, but my guess is, he'll stay close to the crowds.

I walk along the promenade. I scan the beach. A windbreak hides a family with a naked child. A man in small blue trunks wades into the sea. I turn to the beach huts. A bright gold woman opens her legs so that the sun can reach her inner thighs. I rush away. I check the sand-covered people walking up the steps. I check the man with a cowboy's hat standing by the donkeys.

Ha. I stop still. There he is, sitting on the sea wall eating a sugar-ridden doughnut. I edge my way to the burger kiosk behind him.

'Excuse me?' I ask the vendor. 'May I use your phone?'

'Fuck off. I'm not a charity.'

'Shush. I am attempting to make a citizen's arrest. I need to phone the police.'

'You old busybody. Get out of here. I've got customers waiting.'

'The idea that anyone would buy burgers from your dirty little shed is quite outlandish.'

I shall have to do this alone. I look around and the murderer still sits, waggling his thick legs off the wall, like a child. Not a care in the world. Well I'll soon change that.

I walk up behind him. I grab hisarm. He drops his doughnut down into the sand. He leans forward as if to jump.

'No!' I say. 'You're coming with me.'

'I ain't done nothing.'

'What do you mean? You murdered a woman and you threw her to the birds.'

'She loved the swans.'

I am taken aback.

'You loved her!' I say.

'She were a ballerina when I met her. Taught at the ballet school till she got poorly.'

'Why did you murder her?'

'She just died, tha's all. Been ill for last the ten years she has. Getting worse and worse. Last three years she in't been out of her bed poor woman.'

I sit beside him.

'My wife died a year ago.'

'We were together since we were sixteen,' he says.

'Cancer?' I ask.

'MS,' he says.

We sit. I look at the sea, at the windless sky, and the horizon dotted with buoys and boats. The sun against my shoulders is hot. It weighs me down.

Story

I think Neal is secretly a woman. He’s trapped in a man’s body and he daren’t tell. I got him a skirt. I’m on the way to his house with it now. A skinny skirt for his skinny hips. It’s one of my favourites with little flowers round the bottom, a subtle colour for a brand new woman.

I can’t wait to tell him I know his secret, he’s going to be so pleased to finally realise there’s someone out there who thinks it’s ok, and we can be lesbians together.

I walk down his street, his is the house with the big tree. Sometimes I just come and stand outside and I know he won’t see me because of the tree. I know he’s sick of me coming round all the time. He ignored all six of my texts today but I know why. Neal is secretly a woman.

I knock on his door and his face falls when he sees it’s me. Normally it makes me a bit nervous but I’ve worked it out now. I follow his long legs into the house and he slumps on the sofa, picking up the joystick for his computer game. The smell of overturned cans with cigarette butts in hits me. I have to breathe through my mouth. Guess what, I got you a present. His eyes look to Heaven then back to the TV monitor. He’ll be happy when he sees.

I got you a skirt. He looks at it, an eyebrow raised. His face looks disgusted, mouth upturned, as if he would never wear a skirt. He’s prepared. I didn’t think he would be. I thought he would be shocked that I knew. He shakes his head at me and tells me I’m mad, sitting there with his legs wide open. It’s just an act. He wants to swivel his hips wearing my skirt. And I’m really worried about him because he seems so unhappy, and every time I come round he seems so distant and cold. I know it’s because he’s a woman.

And I’m stroking his arm and telling him, it’s OK, it’s amazing what they can do these days. I don’t know why he’s getting so angry, he should be happy I know the truth. Finally he can be free. He chucks the computer game on the floor and grabs me by the arm, pulling me towards the door.

And when he says, just leave, I get angry at him. You’re a woman, I tell him. You’re a woman. Don’t open the front door, I’m not going until you admit it. You’re a woman. He shakes his head at me and pushes me gently till I’m out of the door and the door is shut and I don’t think I’m going to see him again. I thought he was ready. He told me I was mad, he’ll tell everyone I’m mad. They’ll believe him. I text him as I walk away, ‘It seems so unlikely but I’ve seen it in your eyes.’ He won’t reply. He never replies. And he’s a woman. I don’t care about the beard, forget the beard, underneath the beard, I know he is a woman.

hideous

Lots of things are hideous
If you look at them long enough
The wrinkles on my thumb
The smooth grey corner of the television.

Lots of things are hideous
If you look at them without thought
The sleeping lady's lips on the bus
The out of date lino - not yet retro.

Lots of things are hideous
If you look at them with disappointment
The bare trees against a rainy sky
The dust on the piano keys.

Lots of things are hideous
Through my eyes -
And I apologise.

my little pony

Pink horse with straw mane
Points its hooves towards me -
Eyes look straight ahead
As if I never existed.
Didn't I play with you pink pony?
Did I?
Only to cart around my fairies.
No! I remember now -
You were enchanted.

african drum

Drumming, drumming
Hands slapping goat skin
Until palms are red meat, pounded.

Drumming, drumming
Fearful of being out of time
Rhythm as instinct not thought

Drumming until the sound meets
In the middle of the circle
As ancient voices, singing.

Drumming, drumming
They speak to me
As I leave the circle, never to return.

train ride

Passing blue bin lorries,

Privet and concrete warehouses

On the way to Deal.

Rolling by cranes and sand piles

Calling at Ashford -

Debenhams and Stagecoach buses.

Pink woolly hats and a zipped up coat

Wrap up warm for the seaside

A windy February morning.

Picking up speed past redbrick homes

A monkey puzzle tree and PC World.

Faster and faster until church spires fade

Green fields appear, sheep, ploughed land.

Whiz into a tunnel and rumble out

To a home for electricity, pylons skyhigh -

Shaped like helter-skelters.