Magnus Fin and the Selkie Secret by Janis Mackay Read Free Book Online

moods.
    “Anything you want, son. Just say the word. Anything at all. You’ll have to get rid of that white tracksuit. Study them magazines, son. See what them celebs are wearing, then copy them.” Mr Mole put his big tattooed arm around his son’s shoulders and gazed about the kitchen, as though imagining it all gleaming new. Lowering his voice he said, “Don’t forget us, son.”
    Billy shook his head, and burped. “Course not, Dad.”
    Mr Mole stood by the breakfast bar, staring at his son in admiration. Billy threw the empty Coke bottle into the bin. Then he fiddled with his phone. “So, the gear, Dad. I’ll need a stack of notes. A stack.” He continued fiddling with his phone, waiting for his dad to come up with the money.
    Mr Mole frowned and eventually pulled a crisp fifty-pound note from his back pocket. “She’s a beauty,” he said, handing it over slowly, studying the Queen’s head as he did.
    Billy had hoped for more. Lots more. But he knew enough to know that fifty quid was – in the old-fashioned world of his Dad – loads. He took it, said thanks, fiddled some more with his phone, then went off to find his mum. He managed to wheedle another fifty quid from her, then, with a hundred pounds in his tracksuit pocket, he took the bus all the way into OxfordStreet in central London. Billy Mole was going to kit himself out for the big, bright, rich and famous world of journalism. He snapped his fingers. He whistled. He was going to hit the big time. Billy Mole couldn’t wait!
     
    It was dawn when a black seal lifted his head from the slack water. The seal called out – a long low call – but no one heard. Then he made for the shore, where, using his strong front flippers, he bounced, rocked and hauled up the stony beach.
    A pale rose tinted the eastern horizon. The seal lay on the beach, looking like a smooth dark boulder, until he lifted his head and sniffed the cool air. Then he began to roll from side to side, popping fat seaweed pods beneath him.
    As the seal rolled, he uttered a low sound, which grew louder as his movements became more vigorous – until the sound was no more the howling of an animal but of a boy singing. That wasn’t the only change. The dark folds of his seal skin fell away. The skin around his flippers peeled back and in their place human hands appeared, with long human fingers. The tail fins of the seal fell back and in their place emerged legs and feet. By this time a whole seal skin lay on the beach, and from it the figure of a boy rose unsteadily to his feet.
    The seal-boy scooped up fronds of seaweed and wrapped them around his body. He bent to secure his seal skin under a stone then stood upright and took a few hesitant steps across the beach. He slipped, fell over, laughed, and shakily rose to his feet again. He walked like a boy, free from crutches, who quickly masters the art of walking. Confident now, he lifted his arms highinto the air then broke into a waddling run. He jumped over stones. He picked up a plastic bottle and threw it into the air. He hopped on one foot. He kicked his ankles together, and all the time he made whooping sounds, as though being a boy was the best thing in the world.
    Only his strange outfit set him apart from any other teenage boy. He had slim, long limbs, a tall slim body, a face filled with enthusiasm and curiosity, bright green eyes and a fine sweep of black hair. But always as he ran, and jumped, and played, he kept a wary eye on his seal skin. Often he turned his head with a jerk, as though afraid of being discovered. And sometimes, tripping over the twisted body of a seagull or a pile of litter, he stopped, gazed downwards and sighed.
    Then he ran up to the beach path, squatted down and looked along it, as though waiting for someone. Selkies, unlike humans, don’t have watches. For Ronan the seal-boy, morning had long since begun. The sky was streaked with red and soon the sun would be up. He didn’t dare stay on the beach long,