Mermaid tattoo across a back

The tide took the bottom step of the slipway on Tuesday, the one Dad poured the year before you left, and it has taken the rest of the cement with it. I went down at first light to see what was left and found the rock below the chapel wall wet and bare, with the weed hanging off it like grey wool. Mrs Penhallow says the sea wants what it's owed. I told her the sea has never once paid me.

Something you won't believe. Sitting on the big black stone where the surf breaks white was a woman, or the back of one, combing her hair with her fingers. Her tail lay over the edge into the green water and the scales caught the grey light the way the pilchard boats do when the nets come up silver. I stood very still, the way Dad taught us with the seals. When she turned her head to the spray I saw the side of her face, sad and sharp, and then a wave came over the stone and when it cleared she was gone, only the rock and a gull.

I know what you'll say. You'll say I've been reading Nan's books again. But I left the bucket on the wall and the bucket was full of sea water this morning, and nobody in this house has been down there but me.

Come home at Christmas if the boat allows it. Bring your lamp. Mum sends love, and says to tell you the hens have stopped laying out of spite.

Love, Jenna