The Mermaid Who Wouldn't Brush Her Hair
8 pages · 7 min · ages 5+
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The brush snagged. Tug. “Stand still, Isla,” said Mum. Isla did not stand still. Isla was a mermaid, and mermaids are very good at wriggling. She flipped her tail and shot out of Mum's hands, and her hair floated round her like a big, curly, golden cloud. “Brushing is boring!” said Isla. “Tomorrow!” “If you don't brush it,” said Mum, “something will move in.” “Nothing moves into hair,” said Isla. She zoomed past the old sunken teapot where the fish played hide-and-seek, round the coral, and back again. Isla was the fastest swimmer in the whole reef, and on Saturday was the Wave Race. She was going to win the Golden Shell.
On Monday morning, something moved in her hair. A small red crab climbed out of a curl and looked around. “Nice place,” said the crab. “I'll take it.” “You can't live in my hair!” said Isla. “Too late,” said the crab. “I've unpacked. The name's Mr. Pinch.” He disappeared back into the curl. From somewhere inside, Isla heard him humming. Mum swam past with the brush. “Brush?” asked Mum. Isla looked up at her hair. It was a very small crab. It was hardly anything. “Tomorrow!” said Isla.
On Tuesday, a sleepy snail moved in, right behind her left ear. Then came five baby seahorses. They curled their tails round her curls and swung on them like swings. Wheee! Wheee! “We live here now,” said the seahorses. “Brush?” asked Mum. Isla's hair was getting heavy. When she swam, she went a little bit sideways. “Tomorrow!” said Isla, going a little bit sideways out of the room. “Close the door,” said Mr. Pinch. “There's a draught.” There was no door. It was a hair.
On Wednesday, the doorbell shell rang. Outside was a purple octopus holding eight suitcases, one in each arm. “Hello,” said the octopus. “I'm Olga. I heard there were rooms.” “There aren't any rooms,” said Isla. “It's hair.” But Olga was already climbing in. It took her a long time, because of the suitcases. By Thursday, Isla's hair was a whole town. A lantern fish lit up the top like a street lamp. The seahorses had a playground. The snail had a garden. And Isla could only swim in slow, wobbly circles. The Wave Race was on Saturday.
“Excuse me, everybody,” said Isla, very politely. “Could you please move out?” “No,” said the snail, and went back to sleep. “We're having a nap,” whispered the seahorses. “I've just put the kettle on,” said Olga. Mr. Pinch looked down from the top. “We like it here,” said Mr. Pinch. “It's got a lovely view.” Isla shut her eyes. She thought of the Golden Shell, and of all the other mermaids zooming past her while she went round, and round, and round. Her tail felt heavy. Her cheeks felt hot. Asking nicely had not worked. Isla decided to try asking not so nicely.
Isla spun. She spun round and round, faster and faster, whipping her hair like a washing machine, until she made a whirlpool. Whoosh! The sand went up. The fish went flying. The seahorses held on tight. “Wheeeeee!” they shouted. “Again! Again!” Olga held on to all eight suitcases and laughed. The snail did not even wake up. Isla stopped. The reef went round and round without her. Everybody was still there. She sat down on a rock, very dizzy, with a whole town on her head. “I'm never going to race again,” said Isla.
Mum sat down next to her with the brush. She didn't say “Brush?” She just waited. Isla looked at the brush. She thought about the seahorses shouting, “Again! Again!” She thought about the old sunken teapot, which was big and round and empty. Then Isla had her own idea. She held the brush up to the very top of her hair. “Who wants a ride on the big hair slide?” “Us!” shouted the seahorses. Isla brushed, long and slow. Wheeeee! Down slid the seahorses, all five, and out of the ends of her hair, straight into the teapot. “Again!” Down slid the snail, still asleep. Down slid Olga, suitcases and all. Brush, brush, brush. Wheeee!
On Saturday, Isla's hair was smooth and shiny, and she swam as straight as an arrow. She won the Wave Race by a whole tail. Everyone cheered, especially the seahorses, who were watching from the spout of their new teapot house. The judge lifted the Golden Shell and put it on top of Isla's head, like a crown. Something moved. A small red crab climbed out of the last curl, looked at the Golden Shell, and climbed right in. “Nice place,” said Mr. Pinch. “I'll take it.”