Image © Claire Fuller
When I was seven, we found a mermaid. Right there on the beach, forgotten by the tide, tiny and curled up asleep inside a cockle shell. We couldn’t wake her, though we tried.
She came home with us and lived on a shelf in our bedroom, with the shells and sponges, the driftwood and sea beans. We didn’t tell anyone what she was. She was ours.
Yesterday, my daughter showed me a mermaid she’d found on the beach.
‘Look after her,’ I said and then, too quietly for anyone except the mermaid to hear, ‘while you still believe in her.’