chapter 2

little mermaid

1983

Sitting poolside in her gold triangle bikini, Mum looked like an angel with her sun-kissed body and bleach blonde hair. She watched me on the towel next to her, stroking my head, tucking feathery wisps behind my ear. I was a quiet child, easily settled, in my own world most of the time; it was normal for me to sit in silence, playing with my toys or scribbling on paper.

She closed her eyes for a blissful moment, enjoying the morning quietness of the holiday complex before it got busy around ten-thirty. She tilted her face towards the bright Ibizan sun, the crickets rubbing their wings together in the tall grass between the buildings, all the tension slipping away from her muscles in the healing warmth.

A mere second passed before she heard a small plop. Knowing instantly, as only mothers can, that the ‘plop’ had a deadly ring to it, her head spun to the towel where I had been. Empty.

Her eyes darted left and right. Nothing.

Panicking, when I was nowhere to be seen, her heart suddenly sank. As had I.

Jumping up, glaring into the water, she saw an unusual sight. There, sitting on the shallow pool floor, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, was her baby. She launched in immediately, scooped me up and held me in the air, staring into my blinking wet eyes.

“Are you ok poppet? Are you alright?” she stammered, frantically. She held me tight to her chest, rocking back and forth. I was fine.

The flicker of time I’d taken to get into the water was inconceivable. I didn’t hear this story until I was much older. She was, understandably, reluctant to tell it. Apparently, when she caught sight of me on the blue tiled floor, I looked as calm as if I was simply watching TV in the living room.

I wondered what had gone through my little mind that day. Maybe I slipped and was in shock. Maybe I thought the shiny water was a hard surface and went running towards it. Maybe I’d followed a bird flying overhead. Or maybe it wasn’t an accident at all. Maybe when Dad gave me swimming lessons earlier that day it reminded me of the sensation of floating during Mum’s pregnancy, and I wanted to be back in the comfort and security of the womb. Maybe the water called me. Maybe I felt safe under there. Maybe I felt at home.

If truth be told, for years—decades—after I was pulled from the bottom of that pool, I struggled to ever feel at home again.