The Surface Breaks(33)

“Hello?” There is someone at the door. “It’s me,” he says. “Oliver. Oli, I mean. I was hoping to speak with you before you retire.”

I clap my hands. Oliver. Excitement courses through me, fizzing rich in my stomach.

“Is that a signal that I can come in?” he says from the other side.

I clap again, and the door opens. His curls are damp, and he smells of those trees that hung ripe with sharp-smelling yellow fruit on the beach where I left him. He is wearing a coat of soft, black material wrapped around him, the same on his feet.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says, as he sits on the bed, and I am light-headed being this near to him. Why did no one ever tell me that it was possible to feel like this? “I wanted to say hello.” There is silence, a silence I try to fill up with my prettiness. For what else do I have now? “Your eyes are so blue,” he says. “I don’t think I have ever seen a girl with eyes that shade before.”

It feels odd to be complimented on something that was so commonplace under the sea. The mer-folk would comment on the flame-red of my hair, or the sweetness of my song. No one would think to say my eyes were blue because what other colour would they be? There is another awkward pause. The Sea Witch told me that men like the sound of their own voices, that Oliver would present his opinions to me as if they were a gift; she said all I would have to do in return is smile and nod. Why is Oliver remaining quiet? Have I done something wrong, already?

He stares at his hands, the energy leaching out of him until he hunches over, like an old man. “I don’t know why I came,” he says, his voice bleak. “I don’t know why I do anything these days.” He stands up, his fingers brushing against mine as he does so. A shiver of heat runs through me and I am torn between pulling away and reaching forward and grabbing his hand, moving it to where I need it to be, to this new place that I have just discovered. Is this what the Sea Witch meant when she talked about desire?

“Goodnight,” Oliver says, with a wave.

Come back. I want to say. I am on fire. I am on fire because of you.

I turn the light off as I saw the maid do earlier. I lie there in the darkness, in my soft bed, and I do not think about my mother. I do not think of my father, and what punishments he has devised to ensure that the rest of his daughters do not dare to misbehave as I have done. All I can think about is Oliver.

Oliver and the way he might touch me.





CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Rise and shine, miss,” Daisy says, throwing open the slatted blinds, the sun chasing the shadows away. I stare out of the window. It is so strange seeing sky instead of water, sharp edges rather than soft blurs. Will I get used to it, I wonder? Could my mother be looking at that same sky today?

“You were out such a long time,” she says. Daisy is small, shorter than I, with dark blonde hair tied in a neat ponytail, her face more freckles than flesh. No one had skin like that under the sea; it was alabaster white from the moment we were hatched to the moment we dissolved to sea foam.

I find myself drawn to how different everyone looks up here, how unique. It is far more interesting than the conformity my father prizes. Daisy is wearing the same outfit the other girl servants are attired in, a black dress with a white band around her neck, those odd things on her feet that all the humans wear.

“Did you sleep well?” she asks.

I dreamed of the woman with the red hair again. My mother, it must be, for looking at her is like looking in a cracked mirror; almost the same but not quite. You have made a mistake, Gaia, she told me, and I thought I could hear my sisters screaming in the distance. The woman clasped my hands in hers, her eyes brimming with tears. I wanted to catch them, hold them to my lips. I wanted to know if her tears tasted of salt. You made a terrible mistake, just as I did.

“Very good,” Daisy says, as if I have replied. “But it’s time for you to get up now. Mrs Carlisle and Oliver are waiting for you in the orangery.” I place my feet on the cool, hard ground, holding on to the bed post to pull myself upright, a puffing breath. It feels as if I am dancing on nails.

“I chose this dress,” Daisy says as she rifles through the wardrobe, oblivious to my suffering. She holds up a garment for my approval. “Not that there was much of a choice,” she mutters, as she gestures for me to hold my hands up. She pulls my nightgown over my head, replacing it with this new dress. “Black clothes, and black clothes, and more black clothes,” she says, walking around me so she can tie up the back. “There was a storm, you see, and a shipwreck,” she continues, sitting me on a chair in front of the mirror. “It was terrible – everyone on board killed except for Oliver. It’s a miracle, don’t you think? Sure, what else could explain it?” Daisy bends down to push the feet (My feet. Mine.) into the same contraptions that she has on her own. “Do you not wear shoes where you’re from?” she asks; I am bent over, one hand pressing hard on her back, my feet lacerated from these shoes. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes, the shipwreck. To be fair, miracles always seem to favour the rich, don’t you agree? And god knows, the Carlisles are rich. Made their money in shipping – they own half the world’s boats and are scheming to take the other half off the Greeks as soon as they can. Not that I know much about business; all I know is that my wages are twice what any of my friends in the other big houses are making, and they’re always paid on time.” She ties the strings that will hold the shoes on my feet tightly. “The Carlisles are the most important family in this county, you know; my mum was proud when I got the job here.”