Page 16 - The Mermaid Call

grow Enchanted Tails into a Richard Branson empire. I want that too, but I want Mum to do it with me, like you see vans with Someone & Son: Melusine & Daughter.
I prodded one of the soft fabric mermaid dolls sitting beside our ancient brass till. “You all think you’re sooooo special.” Blue and green shimmery tails, long hair in different shades, black, brown, blonde. Nothing vaguely shoulders-short or toffee-coloured. I made a fist and punched them each on their small, perfect button noses so they toppled drunkenly across the counter, right as the bell above the door went. It makes a sound like Tinkerbell – a bit lame, but – “The tourists want magic!” Mimi defends it. I straightened up professionally and tidied the mermaid dolls and stretched my mouth into my practiced welcome-smile (a close relation to school-photo smile). Mimi’s been trusting me to manage the shop on my own for nearly a year now. She says it’s good for my confidence.
A woman began wandering round with two small girls in identical purple coats. They were soon making oohs and awws over the larger plastic dolls. I kept my welcome-smile, even though it hurt. I was useless at faking.
“That’s the one I want. She’s so beautiful, mummy.” The smaller girl stroked the shiny hair of a mermaid.
“Just like you, Rosie,” the mum said, stroking her daughter’s hair like she was a doll too. Then, “Polly, how many times? Stand up straighter,” she snapped at the older girl, glasses and straggly bunches. Within a flash of a mermaid’s tail, the mum was ushering them out again; a hushed mumble about checking out the doll on Amazon. We get a lot of those, browse-and-buy- on-liners.
I sloped my shoulders in solidarity with straggly Polly – her mum hadn’t even flicked a look at me; professional welcome-smile for nothing. I snuck a glance at the wall to my right. At the framed picture there of Mum getting crowned Festival Mermaid 2001. Nearly thirteen like me. A sudden clawing erupting in my chest with a memory of her voice.
“I always thought my daughter would look just like me.”
It was something Mum said to Mimi a few years ago. And I’d stored it in the murky depths of my mind like tinned vegetables at the back of the cupboard. Occasionally, I tried to