Kirsty scribbled the name on a business card. “You look him up online when you get him home. I think you’ll like his story.”
“What was that all about?” Mal asked when they’d gone off, smiling, with their own bubble-wrapped package.
“Bufeo Colorado. He’s a pink river dolphin from the Amazon Rainforest who turns into a handsome man at night and goes on the prowl for love.”
Mal laughed. “Now I’m wishing I’d bought him instead of Zen here.” He patted the parcel under his arm.
“Keep it down. You’ll hurt her feelings, poor thing. And he wouldn’t have done you any good anyway. Bufeo only seduces women.”
“That’s sexist, that is. And, like, why’s he want to cut out half the population like that? Total waste if you ask me.”
“But if you know what you like, why not go for it? I’ll see you tonight, Mal. Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.”
In other words, Bugger off so I can charm some more customers. Fair enough.
Mal buggered off.
On the way back to the Sea Bell, Mal got out his phone and did a quick internet search on Zennor. It turned out to be a Cornish village with a mermaid legend, around fifty miles from Porthkennack, down near St. Ives, which . . . sucked a bit. Cos the first thought Mal had when he read it was Wonder if Jory’s been there? Followed by Maybe we could go together.
Yeah, right. Even if Mal took a Valium and sat in the back of the car with his eyes shut, which was basically how he’d managed the journey from the airport to Porthkennack in the first place, there was still the thing where spending that amount of time with Jory was a very bad idea.
Sod it.
Kirsty’s house suited her, Mal reckoned when he got round there just before seven. It was small, but sort of quirky. The terrace was built on a hill so each house was a few feet higher than its neighbours, and Kirsty’s, on the end, was the tallest of the lot. The whole row was painted white with grey roofs so they looked like proper old-fashioned Cornish cottages and they were all weird angles too, which shouldn’t have worked but did.
Even if he’d lost the address, Mal would’ve known Kirsty’s house—the front garden was all pebbles, with driftwood sculptures taller than he was set up in it. When he got closer, Mal could see the pebbles were arranged into patterns, with little pools of smaller ones set around plants and sculptures.
There wasn’t a door bell, so he knocked on the wood of the front door.
It was opened by a young lad with wire-framed glasses and a serious expression. “Are you Mal?”
“Yeah. Gawen?” Mal tried to make sure he said it right.
The lad was so much like Jory, it kind of hurt to look at him. He was small for twelve, just like Jory had said he’d been himself, and had the same big soft eyes and wary expression. His hair was all Jory too—blond and unruly. Not much sign of a beard yet, but give it time.
“Yes. Mum said you should come on through.” He turned and walked down the narrow hallway without so much as a glance to see if Mal was coming too. Amused, Mal shut the door and followed.
They walked literally right through the house and out back to the garden, Mal catching a glimpse on the way of a sitting room that was all bright colours and patterned throws. Kirsty was standing in the garden, a glass of something in her hand, gazing over the fence, where the view stretched out across the fields. She had a skirt on this evening, a long, flowy one in tie-dye shades of purple, as seen on market stalls and students just back from a gap year trekking through India.
“Mum, he’s here,” Gawen said.
Kirsty smiled. “Found us, then.”
“Uh, yeah. Brought this.” Mal held up the two-litre bottle of Rattler.
“Snap.” She toasted him with her glass and drained it.
“Do you like gaming?” Gawen asked. “I’ve got the beta version of Legends of Lorecraft II. Do you want to play it with me?”
Kirsty rolled her eyes at Mal, then turned to Gawen. “Not everyone wants to sit in front of a computer on a day like this, love.”
“Oh.” He stared at his feet and didn’t say anything else.
Mal felt bad for the kid. “Hey, I got mad gaming skillz, me. See these thumbs?” He waggled them in front of Gawen. “Honed by years of shooting stuff up. So you gonna show me this game of yours, then?”
Gawen looked at Kirsty. “Can I?”
She smiled. “Course you can. I’ll start getting dinner on. And no,” she added, turning to Mal, “I don’t need any help, before you start trying to split yourself in two.”
“Thanks, Mum,” Mal said to make Gawen giggle, and followed the kid up to his room, leaving the cider in the kitchen on his way through.
Gawen’s bedroom must have been amazing for a small boy. Instead of wallpaper there was a mural stretching over two walls, showing a winding trail that led through forests and across rivers and plains to a castle perched high on a hill, the scene filled with animals and mythological creatures. There was a dragon flying in the far distance, and a mermaid in the river—Mal could just see her through the gap in a bookshelf that’d been shoved in front of the mural to hold a collection of sci-fi classics and a haphazard pile of video games. A Star Wars poster was Blu-Tacked half over a faun, and a collection of stickers floated in the sky.
Gawen flung himself down on the floor in front of his open laptop and handed Mal a controller already hooked up to a USB port. Mal grinned. “Come on, then. Show me how it’s done.”
He lost track of time, playing the game—it wasn’t easy, keeping up with the kid—and was surprised when Kirsty poked her head around
