I slam the door shut, looking around. The car park is empty of cars, which is hardly surprising as the fog is thick here. I can scarcely see a foot beyond the car park. I can hear the sea, though. Its roar fills the air, and I start to walk towards the sound. Spotting a footpath, I take it down, the sand crunching beneath my feet. I avert my eyes from the sign on my left stating that the path is challenging and very steep in places.Nothingis keeping me from Sigurd.
“I’m so sorry, but I can’t make Christmas,” I say.
“Oh no. Why?”
“I’ve met someone,” I say baldly.
There are a few beats of silence. I skirt a path of rocks, looking vainly for the end of the path. It’s impossible to see as the fog is all around me. I want to run to find Sig and make surehe’s okay, but I slow my steps. It won’t do to take a header off the steep path.
“Adrian?” my father asks dubiously.
“No way.”
“Oh, thank goodness. Your mother only said this morning what a douchecanoe he was.”
I blink. “Pardon?”
“It was in one of her American shows. So, you’ve met someone?”
“Yes, in Cornwall. He er… He lives here.” I hesitate. “I think this is the one, Dad.”
He’d always told me I’d know the one when I met him.
The silence stretches long enough for me to check that the call is still connected. “Where did you meet him?”
“Well, that’s the funny thing. On the beach at Porthcurno.”
“You’rejoking.”
I frown. “No, why?”
“It’s strange. I don’t think I ever told you this, but when you were a baby, we were on holiday in St Ives. Your mum was in a shop, and I was waiting for her with you in your pushchair. A lady stopped me. I remember she was stunningly beautiful. She said you were meant for Cornwall and that I should tell you the stories of the place. She actually ran into her shop and brought me a book of myths and legends.”
I stop walking. “The one you used to read to me?”
“That’s the one. You remember it,” he says, pleased. “She told me you would meet your heart’s desire on Porthcurno beach one day.” A tingle runs down my spine. “Well, I dismissed it as a slightly batty lady who’d had a few too many Pimm’s, but it’s funny, isn’t it?”
I shake my head. Surely it can’t be…
“Did she tell you her name?” I ask softly.
“Well, it’s funny you say that. She said her name was Morveren Trewhella.”
I want to laugh out loud—this bloody magic world.
My dad carries on speaking, “And it’s funny because each time I read you the story of the Mermaid of Zennor, I thought of her. It was the mermaid’s name, wasn’t it? And didn’t she run away with a Cornish man called Trewhella?”
“She did.” I shake my head. “I have to go,” I say breathlessly. “I’ll ring you later.”
“Bring him home to meet us,” he says. “Love you, darling.”
“I love you too.”
I click the phone off. The path hits the beach at last, and I step onto the sand, breathing a sigh of relief at being on firm ground, and looking around in vain search of my dragon. I can hardly see a foot in front of me. I hesitate, sending my senses out to him and feel an immediate tug…
That way.
I strike off to my right. Objects loom out of the murk, and the sound of the sea is muffled, but I walk on. The sense of urgency builds, and I pick up speed. The wind buffets me, and I edge close to the water line where the fog isn’t so dense. Suddenly, I hear singing. It’s faint but so beautiful that it makes my heart stutter. Women’s voices rise in a song. I can’t work out the words, but the melody makes my blood pound. It’s wild and so magical I can almost feel it in my teeth.
