Free False Mermaid by Erin Hart Page A

have sent it off before going to bed. She checked her watch. Just after daybreak in Ireland now, not a decent hour to call.
    The subject read:
Tune.
No message, only an audio attachment. Opening it, she recognized Cormac’s flute instantly, hearing his breath in the low register that seemed to scour up dusky earth, and in soaring high notes that rang with the freshness of spring water and clear air. The music brought back that astonishing moment out on the bog only a few days ago when she knew all the way through to the center of her being that she loved him.
    She hadn’t been sure for the longest time, and then suddenly it was a fact, a binary value that switched from zero to one in the space of a single heartbeat. The sound of the flute filled her ears, playing out all the fierce, secret relief she had felt at the sight of him that day on the bog. He would have come along on this journey, she was certain, had she given him the slightest encouragement. But for some reason she had resisted. She couldn’t ask him to follow her, not here, to this terrible place. At least he had not asked for an explanation. She wouldn’t have known how to answer, except to say that since Tríona’s death, things like honesty and integrity and decency seemed strange to her—suspect, almost. After all, there had been a time when she had believed that Peter Hallett possessed all those qualities. Sometimes it felt as if she’d lost the ability to distinguish truth from falsehood. The whole world seemed skewed off-center, and try as she might, she couldn’t manage to get it righted.
    Cormac’s tune began again, and she let it play.
You’re not a person who gives up,
he had said.
But neither am I
. There was no doubt about the first part, much good it had done her so far. All she could do was to hold out hope that the second bit was true as well. Still, she could never blame Cormac for finding someone else, if he did. Someone who fit his life much better than she ever would. No promises, they’d agreed. Cormac had troubles of his own, without getting sandbagged by hers.
    An instant message suddenly appeared on her screen:
    —Are you there, Nora?
    She could hear his voice in the words, and her heart jumped again. She turned down the music and picked up her mobile. He answered on the first ring.
    “Cormac, I meant to call. I’m so sorry—”
    “Everything all right?”
    How could she tell him the truth? “Everything’s fine. You’re up early.”
    “I was going out for a row. Just thought I’d see if you were around.”
    “How’s your father?”
    “Actually doing what he’s told—for once.”
    “I’m glad. Where is his home place, exactly?”
    “Just up the road from Glencolumbkille. A very remote spot. Hard to believe, really. I didn’t know places like this still existed.”
    “Sounds lonely.”
    He hesitated. “I actually like it—the wind and the waves. You know me—the wilder the better.”
    “Speaking of which, thanks for the tune. I was having a listen when I got your message just now.”
    “So it came through?”
    “Like you were right here beside me.”
    She could hear the smile in his voice. “That was the general idea.”
    “What do you call it?”
    There was a slight pause, and she imagined him looking up at her from beneath dark brows—nervous, hesitant, unused to rituals of self-revelation. “What if I tell you the next time we meet?”
    “So mysterious. What was it that ancient Greek said about the Celts?”
    “‘They speak in riddles, hinting at things, leaving much to be understood.’”
    “Some things never change, apparently.”
    His voice turned serious. “Still got your hazel knot?”
    She felt for it in her pocket. “Right here.”
    “Good—hang on to it. I feel bloody useless over here.”
    “Cormac, please don’t—”
    “Nora—” He was on the verge of saying something more but demurred. “You’re probably knackered. I’ll let you get some sleep. Mind yourself now—and