Emily Windsnap and the Siren's Secret by Liz Kessler Read Free Book Online Page A

clearly saw it as a permanent invitation to stop by. Mom and Dad didn’t seem to mind him anymore, but I still couldn’t relax while he was around.
    “Come on in, Charles,” Mom said. “The kettle’s just boiled. Help yourself to some tea.”
    Mr. Beeston rubbed his hands together and rummaged through our cupboards for a tea bag and a mug. “Very well,” he said. “Don’t mind if I do.”
    He brought his tea over and sat down on the shabby sofa. “Not interrupting anything, am I?” he asked in his usual completely oblivious way.
    Durr! Er, yes. Our lives!
    “Mary P. was just talking about her parents,” Dad said.
    For some reason, Mr. Beeston shifted awkwardly on the sofa. He must have hit one of the loose springs. It’s not the comfiest sofa in the world. “Oh. Ah. Well, I’ll leave you alone then. Don’t want me hanging around, do you?” he said, and started getting up.
    “Don’t be silly, Charles,” Mom said. “You’re virtually one of the family now. Sit down.”
    It was just as well I didn’t have a drink of my own or I would have spluttered it everywhere. One of the family? I don’t think so!
    “I was just going to tell Emily a bit more about them,” she said. “In fact, you remember them yourself, don’t you? Perhaps you can help out.”
    “Me?” Mr. Beeston blustered, almost spilling his tea in his lap. “What can I tell you? I don’t know anything !” His face had practically turned purple, and he looked even more uncomfortable than people generally look on that sofa. What was his problem ?
    Mom shrugged off his reply and turned to me. “You remember what I told you, don’t you? Why they moved away?”
    “They thought you were going crazy because you told them you were in love with a merman.”
    Mom nodded. “That’s right. They thought I was delusional or that I was making it all up because I didn’t want to tell them who was the real father of my baby.”
    “Didn’t they try to get you to leave Brightport and go and live with them somewhere else?” I asked.
    Mom nodded. “But I wouldn’t. I didn’t even know why — I just knew I couldn’t leave. There are all sorts of things about it all that I’ve never understood.”
    “Like what?” I asked.
    “Well, for one thing, like why Granddad left me the boat when they went off without me.”
    “Why don’t you understand that?” I asked.
    Mom shook her head. “There was just something about it that didn’t fit. I used to tell myself it meant that a small part of him forgave me, or even believed me. That maybe when things had calmed down a bit, they’d get back in touch.”
    “But they didn’t?” I prompted.
    “No. Not once. Nothing. Apart from the cards they sent for birthdays and Christmas. That was it. They never even wrote more than their names. Not even Love. Just Mom and Dad, or Nan and Granddad on yours.” She smiled sadly at me. “It was so strange, so unlike them. They were always so warm and friendly. Everyone knew that about them. But what could I do? They just didn’t want to know me.”
    Mom fell silent. There wasn’t much any of us could say. Dad held tightly on to her hand. Mr. Beeston was still fidgeting and twitching. All the time Mom was talking, he’d been sitting there looking around the room, pulling at a loose thread on his jacket, tapping his foot nervously. It was as though he were trying not to listen.
    Oh, I’m sorry, I felt like saying. Are we boring you? His life was obviously much more important than anyone else’s.
    The second Mom stopped talking, he slurped his tea down in one final glug and jumped up from the sofa. Pulling up his sleeve, he looked at his watch. “Gosh, is that the time?” he said in his I’ve-got-much-more-important-things-to-do-than-waste-my-time-with-you-people tone of voice. “I’d better get going.”
    And before we could say “Oh, really, do you have to? Won’t you stay for another cup of tea?”— as if!— he’d shuffled over to the door,