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Death smells of macaroons.
Amelie was slumped over the kitchen table, face in a plate of meringues. Spearmint-green flakes stuck to her left cheek. Her glazed irises remained fixed upon a vase of spiky dahlias, cut and arranged by Grace that very morning. Every tangerine petal was bug and blemish free; my sister was well known locally for her green fingers.
My body sagged and my A level folders fell onto the floor.
‘About time, considering this is all your fault,’ said Grace, appearing from the pantry in a veil of chlorinated steam. She threw a ball of latex at me.
This was really happening.
I peeled on the gloves, unable to stop gawping at Amelie’s violet lips.
‘Would you believe it?’ continued Grace. ‘I ran out of black sacks. Had to nip out and get some more.’ She took a step closer towards me and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Where have you been?’
I reached into my tunic pocket for my phone. Grace cocked her head on one side so that her marmalade curls parted, revealing a tiny sliver of snowy hair against her scalp. She narrowed her eyes for a second then flapped her hands about her temples. ‘Never mind. You’re here now.’ She leaned forward and pecked the top of my forehead. ‘We’ve got lots to be getting on with. You can start by bagging her up. The packing tape is in the top drawer of the dresser.’
Grace wafted out of the room, her strappy sandals clicking across the hallway.
For some reason Amelie wasn’t wearing any shoes.
After I finished, I stared down at my handiwork; a black shiny parcel criss-crossed with brown tape. Grace stood there, leaning on the mop, her toe tapping to some hidden melody within her mind.
‘We’ll put her in the utility room for the mo.’ It was as though she was talking about an old hat-stand that was going to the charity shop.
It was the morning and Cassie couldn’t find her mermaid doll. Despite it being there last night, Myrtle had vanished from her bed. From the sound she was making, you would have thought her world was coming to an end.
Gil’s blonde hair was ruffled and there was a soft glow at the tips of his hollow cheekbones. He was simultaneously begging the girl to eat toast and marmite soldiers whilst tying her soft hair into a French plait.
Gil closed his eyes and took a deep breath in through his nose. ‘Em, would you be a sweetheart and have another scout around to see if you can find it? I’m never going to get her to school at this rate.’
I sipped my coffee. I had sacrificed my spoonful of cream and sugar to show Gil how cosmopolitan I was, but without them, the drink tasted of liquid charcoal and was making my empty stomach recoil. Gil opened his eyes wide, his soft mouth downturned at the sides. He was beautiful even when pushed to the edge of his patience. Cassie batted another piece of toast onto the floor. ‘Pretty please.’
I got to my feet and stretched, my spine giving a satisfactory click. ‘Cassie – you know what?’
The little girl immediately stopped her wailing and looked at me. Direct conversation with me was unusual; a novelty worth quietening down for. ‘Do you know what day it is today?’ I asked.
Cassie hiccupped and sniffed in rapid succession. Her big eyes were bright, her dark lashes glistening with tears. Cassie gave a small shake of her head. Behind her, I saw the tip of Gil’s tongue poking out whilst his brow furrowed as he ducked down to wrestle with the hair at the nape of her neck.
I folded my arms. ‘It’s a full moon tonight and, if you don’t shut up and do what Gil tells you to, the real Myrtle will hear about it.’ I tapped my foot against the polished oak floor. Cassie’s full lips were parted. ‘And,’ I continued, ‘if she does, she will be sure to stay on the bottom of the lake to avoid having to listen to your horrid caterwauling. Mermaids hate loud noises.’
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