“I’ve never actually asked,” I say, surprising myself as I realize this. “I don’t recognize his accent. They say he came here as a young man and saw a mermaid from the end of the pier. Heard her sing. No one ever recovers from that. He’s been waiting for her to come back ever since.”

“Another legend?” says Violet. “There seem to be a lot of those around here.”

Outside, the weather has begun to change. The dark clouds have been replaced by a strange blue-grey light. Through the windows, all details of the sea and the town become fuzzy and indistinct as the wind dies and a sea mist creeps in.

“Seegol’s coming back,” I say, under my breath. “Quick, get your book out.”

“What for?” Violet looks confused.

“You want to find out about the malamander, don’t you? Trust me, leave the book on the table and see what happens.”

“Two plates of crispy golden fish and chips,” Seegol announces, arriving at our table and placing the food under our noses. The salty, vinegary smell of the chips makes it suddenly hard to think straight.

“Thank you, Mr Seegol,” says Violet, putting her book down in a very obvious place and eating a chip. Then another and another. “Wow, these are amazing!”

“Ah!” sighs Seegol, giving a little bow. “Always a pleasure to—”

And that’s when he sees the book.

“This?” he says to Violet, lowering his voice and glancing over his shoulder. “You are reading this?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. I just got it. I don’t really know what it’s about.”

“It is about the fish-man,” says Seegol, whispering now. “But it is not something to talk about here. My customers, they get scared. It is not real, that is what I tell people. It is better that way.”

“You make it sound like you aren’t so sure,” says Violet. “About the malaman —”

“Ssh!” Seegol sits down quickly at the table, nudging it with his fat belly as he does so. “Please, do not say its name.”

He picks up the book and pushes it back into Violet’s hands before continuing.

“You are right, I am not so sure. It is not possible, of course, for there to be a scaly creature that can walk like a man and swim like a fish. Yet, I have seen things. On the pier, at night, in the shadows, I have seen things. In my country, we leave gifts for beings like this, for spirits. Offerings. At night, when I close up, I too leave gifts – the fried fish that is left over – outside on the pier. In the morning, it is gone. And so, I have never had any trouble.”

“Seagulls might have something to do with that,” I say, and Seegol raises both shoulders in a shrug. “I have no trouble from the seagulls, either. Maybe it is all the same thing.”