or two and then make their way back to the road; it would be fine. She’d see. They’d get up the hill and hitch a lift and by tomorrow evening they’d be laughing about all this. When he turned back to offer Clem a drag, he found her kneeling on the carpet, her palms pressed together, her lips mumbling.
‘What are you doing, Clem?’
‘I’m praying on my prayer mat. That’s what it’s for.’
‘Only if you’re a Muslim.’
‘God’s not bothered what religion you are.’
He flicked the soggy cigarette into the water. He knew she believed in angels and ghosts and her own private god, who thought church was a waste of time yet enjoyed getting the odd request, but he’d never seen her praying before, not on bended knee. He felt he’d really let her down then. She shouldn’t need to turn elsewhere for comfort. He hated the idea of her depending on someone other than him.
God, if you’re listening to her, get us out of this.
They both heard the music at the same time. It seemed to ooze through the pouring rain, the gentle strumming of a guitar accompanied by a pure, almost angelic female voice. It was coming from somewhere very near, from the rocks just around the corner, out of sight, as if a mermaid were sitting there, singing to them, luring them in. Quite stunned, they stared at each other, neither one of them moving a muscle, the clear voice briefly transporting them from out of their miseries. She sang of a bad moon rising. She made earthquakes and lightning, hurricanes and overflowing rivers sound like the most wonderful things in the world.
The mermaid was singing to them , voicing their worries. Slowly Johnny raised his chin up to the heavens and closed his eyes, feeling the rainwater washing his face, the music seeping into him.
Completely enchanted, they both moved slowly, as if any sudden action might disturb the singer. Johnny bent down and gently picked up the sail bag and Clem carefully folded up the prayer mat, tucking it under her arm, and then she took Johnny’s hand, both of them following the voice, their ears finely tuned, lightly tripping from rock to rock now that there was a new hope, now that their hearts had been lifted.
A small, barely populated bay crept into view. The strange thing was that they had never come across it before; it seemed to have popped out of the nothingness entirely for their benefit. The bay beyond this one held the boatyard which they had travelled to every day. But this bay was invisible from the road.
A smattering of small boats littered the water and through the darkness a few white houses stood out along the shore. There was only one light on in the entire bay, a warm yellow glow shining from a small boat moored by a short jetty not fifty yards away, bobbing about in the choppy water. The boat was stern to with the cabin doors ajar, light spilling out on to the cockpit dancing a zigzag across the choppy water to their feet, illuminating the slicing rain between them.
It was from this boat that the mermaid sang, her voice pouring out like rays of sunshine, touching them with its warmth.
Her voice had been joined by another. The second was the voice of a child and together they sang in perfect harmony about that bad moon on the rise.
Now that Johnny and Clem could see properly with the light of the boat to guide them the rocks seemed less slippery despite the relentless rain; their feet found it quite easy to grip. It poured harder and the thunder rumbled closer. They heaved themselves up from the rocks on to the pier and walked twenty paces or so to the beginning of the little wooden jetty, the voices fading a little now that the boat was beam to. Johnny adjusted the sail bag on his shoulder and took Clem’s hand. They stepped on to the jetty, their sodden shoes making no noise as they slowly moved down the planks towards the boat, stopping right at the stern. Written on the transom in curled looped lettering was the name Little Utopia .
That was
‘What are you doing, Clem?’
‘I’m praying on my prayer mat. That’s what it’s for.’
‘Only if you’re a Muslim.’
‘God’s not bothered what religion you are.’
He flicked the soggy cigarette into the water. He knew she believed in angels and ghosts and her own private god, who thought church was a waste of time yet enjoyed getting the odd request, but he’d never seen her praying before, not on bended knee. He felt he’d really let her down then. She shouldn’t need to turn elsewhere for comfort. He hated the idea of her depending on someone other than him.
God, if you’re listening to her, get us out of this.
They both heard the music at the same time. It seemed to ooze through the pouring rain, the gentle strumming of a guitar accompanied by a pure, almost angelic female voice. It was coming from somewhere very near, from the rocks just around the corner, out of sight, as if a mermaid were sitting there, singing to them, luring them in. Quite stunned, they stared at each other, neither one of them moving a muscle, the clear voice briefly transporting them from out of their miseries. She sang of a bad moon rising. She made earthquakes and lightning, hurricanes and overflowing rivers sound like the most wonderful things in the world.
The mermaid was singing to them , voicing their worries. Slowly Johnny raised his chin up to the heavens and closed his eyes, feeling the rainwater washing his face, the music seeping into him.
Completely enchanted, they both moved slowly, as if any sudden action might disturb the singer. Johnny bent down and gently picked up the sail bag and Clem carefully folded up the prayer mat, tucking it under her arm, and then she took Johnny’s hand, both of them following the voice, their ears finely tuned, lightly tripping from rock to rock now that there was a new hope, now that their hearts had been lifted.
A small, barely populated bay crept into view. The strange thing was that they had never come across it before; it seemed to have popped out of the nothingness entirely for their benefit. The bay beyond this one held the boatyard which they had travelled to every day. But this bay was invisible from the road.
A smattering of small boats littered the water and through the darkness a few white houses stood out along the shore. There was only one light on in the entire bay, a warm yellow glow shining from a small boat moored by a short jetty not fifty yards away, bobbing about in the choppy water. The boat was stern to with the cabin doors ajar, light spilling out on to the cockpit dancing a zigzag across the choppy water to their feet, illuminating the slicing rain between them.
It was from this boat that the mermaid sang, her voice pouring out like rays of sunshine, touching them with its warmth.
Her voice had been joined by another. The second was the voice of a child and together they sang in perfect harmony about that bad moon on the rise.
Now that Johnny and Clem could see properly with the light of the boat to guide them the rocks seemed less slippery despite the relentless rain; their feet found it quite easy to grip. It poured harder and the thunder rumbled closer. They heaved themselves up from the rocks on to the pier and walked twenty paces or so to the beginning of the little wooden jetty, the voices fading a little now that the boat was beam to. Johnny adjusted the sail bag on his shoulder and took Clem’s hand. They stepped on to the jetty, their sodden shoes making no noise as they slowly moved down the planks towards the boat, stopping right at the stern. Written on the transom in curled looped lettering was the name Little Utopia .
That was
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