The Florentine Quilt

Prologue

PROLOGUE

‘CLARENCE’, MELBOURNE, 1996

L ittle sisters are so annoying. We’re supposed to be asleep, but I’m curled into a ball with my back to the door, hiding my book from Esther . I’m very cross with her. I knew it was her as soon as I touched the loopy scribble at the end of my book, but she told Mummy she didn’t even have a pen licence yet. I wish she and Beatrice would stop their snooping. Those two spoil everything.

Under the quilt, my torch makes faint wavy circles on the page. I love reading because it takes me to faraway places. This book is part of a mystery series, but I’ve read The Tale of Mermaid Rock too. It’s about a mermaid who sits on a rock combing her hair and staring out to sea. The story says she sings a beautiful song and then sends fishermen to their deaths. I’m only nine, but even I know it’s wrong to kill people stone dead.

When I told Mummy the mermaid wasn’t like that in real life, her eyes looked big like gumballs. ‘ How do you know that?’ she whispered and checked over her shoulder. I don’t think she wanted Gran to hear.

I never want to hurt Gran’s feelings, so I whispered too. ‘ Because she’s my friend.’

‘ The mermaid is?’ Her mouth made that wiggly worm line it does when Daddy reminds her to check their diving gear.

Sometimes I can’t tell if I’ve actually met a person or they’re inside my head. It looks kind of the same. But I didn’t tell her about the tickly feeling it gave me in my stomach. Would she believe me?

‘ The story says she uses evil powers to call up a great storm that kills the fishermen. But she wouldn’t…,’ I took a deep breath, ‘she said she sings to warn people when a storm is coming. Doesn’t that mean she’s a friendly mermaid?’

‘ Mummy —’ I concentrated on her face to make sure she was listening. ‘ You and Daddy aren’t taking the boat out tomorrow, are you?’

She stared past me like when my sisters are telling tales. I had to make her understand. The mermaid told me to remember that seven days after she appears, the sea will swallow up a boat in a shipwreck. ‘ Mummy …?’

‘ Don’t you worry about that, darling. Let’s forget about the mermaid for now.’

I’m up to chapter six when voices from Gran’s garden reach my open window. I’ve read the same line three times; the torch batteries are fading and my eyes sting. I lay my book down on the bed and yawn. My eyelids are so heavy…

‘ Perhaps you should pay her attention.’ I open my eyes. Gran sounds mad.

‘ Oh , Mum , really? There’s nothing to worry about. It’s not uncommon for children to have conversations with make-believe friends.’

‘ We both know that’s not what I mean,’ Gran growls. ‘ I’ve never spoken of how difficult their lives were…’ Her words fade away. ‘ And if Theodora has inherited it?—’

My stomach twists when I hear my name and I sit up. ‘ Inherited ’ means I have the same reddish-brown hair as Mummy . But why is that a problem? I don’t understand.

‘ She’s sensitive, that’s all…’

‘ Life is never easy for the square pegs.’

‘ Mum ! Mike and I don’t believe in all that mumbo-jumbo you go on about. Scientists work with conclusive evidence. If you’re so worried, you stay and look after them.’

‘ You know I can’t. It’s the annual quilt exhibition…’

‘ No , I’m sorry. That was unfair. I know what it means to you. It’s more than enough to have us living with you between grants—and we are grateful. But Mike insists we check the gullies for the study before the tide changes. We can’t afford to lose weeks waiting for the right conditions. It has to be tomorrow.’

For a few minutes, their words are hushed by the swish of leaves in the trees. I snuggle under the covers. Then a chair scrapes the cobblestones. Cups and glasses tinkle and clink. They’re coming inside…

‘ You’re right. But I suppose what happened to my grandmother makes me cautious. I’ve watched the child in her own little world. She has a great imagination, though I suspect there’s more to it. We might need to keep a lid on things— you know—encourage her not to take it seriously.’

The back door closes, and I rub my eyes. Take what seriously?

All I hear now is the clicking of cicadas—so loud they sound like an angry crowd shouting. In my head, where I see stories, the mermaid combs her hair and her long silvery tail swishes against the rocks.

I met her at the Esplanade market last weekend. Daddy was looking at paintings, but the one he liked was too expensive. We left the artist and walked along the beach with the ice creams he bought us instead.

The mermaid called to me from the rockpool near the pier. I told Mummy I wanted to collect shells for a project, but I fibbed— I had to speak to her on my own. The sky turned grey and the wind blew sand across my toes.

The mermaid pursed her lips and whispered a sweet song in one long breath. When it finished, her whole body glistened and glowed. She opened her arms wide and swept her hands towards the sea. Then she stared at me and pointed to the sky. ‘ Beware , Theodora . A storm is coming.’

I suck in a breath.

Tomorrow is the seventh day.