The Complete Ingo Chronicles: Ingo, The Tide Knot, The Deep, The Crossing of Ingo, Stormswept. Helen Dunmore
glances at Conor for help, but Conor’s not saying anything.
“All right, then. Roger thinks – for some unknown reason – that I’m not being fair to you about the dog business. He reckons you’re old enough and responsible enough to have a dog. But if he’d seen today’s carry-on, he might change his mind.”
“Mum!” My thoughts are not just whizzing around now, they are performing loops and swoops and dives and turning back on themselves. Roger – Roger – thinks Mum’s not being fair about Sadie. And he’s trying to get her to change her mind. Trying to persuade her that we can have a dog…
Pictures crowd into my head. Sadie, in our house, in her own basket. Sadie, padding upstairs to my room to wake me in the mornings – or maybe even sleeping in my room. Me taking Sadie for long walks whenever I want. Taking Sadie on the coast path, up on the Downs, checking her paws for thorns, brushing her coat, giving her a bath outside, taking her to the vet, whistling for her when she’s roaming around outside…
Come on in, Sadie girl, Conor’s gone up to Jack’s so it’s just you and me this evening, but we don’t mind, do we? We’ve got each other.
“Don’t look at me like that, Sapphy. It’s not decided yet.”
“Oh, Mum.”
“I’m still thinking about it. Mary Thomas says she’d keep an eye on the dog during the day, when you were back at school.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“Take it easy, Saph,” says Conor.
“We won’t say any more about it now,” says Mum. “I must get on with this picnic. They’ll be here soon.”
“You’re really going down there, then, Mum?” Conor asks. He sounds like an adult, not a boy. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
“Maybe she’ll take up diving,” I say, before I can stop myself. Mum shudders.
“One day at a time,” she says. She lets go of me, and I step back.
“One day at a time, sweet Jesus,” I sing, then I continue, because Dad always did, “One drink at a time, sweet Jesus.”
“I’d be angry if I thought you knew what you were singing, Sapphire,” says Mum severely. “Making mock like that.”
“She’s only singing what Dad used to sing,” says Conor. Dad’s name falls awkwardly, and conversation stops. Mum looks from one of us to the other.
“I’d better get on,” she says at last. “Roger and Gray are bringing the boat around,” and she begins to butter more bread.
Conor and I look at each other. For the first time, what’s about to happen seems real. I’d rather keep on thinking about Sadie, but I can’t. Roger and Gray are coming here. They’re going to dive. An exploratory dive by the Bawns, Mum said.
Roger thinks it’s an ordinary dive, like he’s done a hundred times before. Him and his dive buddy and his powerful boat and all his wonderful equipment. Roger, Mr Experienced Diver.
But Faro’s there. The Mer. All of it. The tiny bit of Ingo that I’ve seen, and everything else that lies hidden. It’s hidden because it wants to be hidden. The Mer don’t want Air People there. The Bawns mean something that I don’t understand. Faro said so. It was when we were talking about the Bawns that he got so angry. Faro said that Roger would never go there. All of Ingo will prevent it – was that what he said? Or was it something about protecting the Bawns? All of Ingo will protect them. Whatever his exact words were, Faro meant every one of them. His face was like the sea when a storm’s whipping up on it.
“Me and Saph’ll go on down to the cove then, Mum, unless you need us here,” says Conor. “Sure you’ll be all right climbing down?”
“I can manage,” says Mum. “It’s not the climb down that worries me.” She makes herself smile and I know how afraid of the sea she still is. How hard she’s trying, because of Roger. “I’ve got to do it on my own.”
“Be careful. The rocks are slippery,” warns Conor. “Let me help you, Mum.”
“Do you think I don’t know by now what the sea can do?” asks Mum quietly. “You two go off now, and let me finish this in peace. I’ll see you down there later. Roger’ll be glad to show you the diving equipment, Con. He says there’s a starter diving course you can take, at the dive school in St Pirans. It’s just a week, to give you a taste of what diving’s like. He’s going to fix it up with that friend he told you about.”
As soon as we are out of the cottage, we start to run.
“Conor, they hate divers. Faro told me—”
“I know. Air People with air on their backs—”
“Taking Air into Ingo. Did Elvira tell you that as well?”
“Yeah.”
“And he’s going to the Bawns. He doesn’t know—”
“What about the Bawns? What doesn’t Roger know?”
“I’m not sure. But it’s something serious. Faro said there was something out at the Bawns so important that the whole of Ingo would defend it. He wouldn’t tell me what it was.”
“And Roger’s going to dive there. That’s all we need.”
Down the track, down the path, over the lip of the cliff, and down, down, hearts pounding, hands slippery with sweat, stumbling on loose stones and catching hold of the rock. Down and down, sliding on seaweed, jumping from rock to rock, past limpets and mussels and dead dogfish and dark damp crevices where the sun never goes and there are piles of driftwood and bleached rope and plastic net buoys.
And down on to the firm white sand. Everything is calm and sunny and beautiful. The sea is like a piece of wrinkled silk. The beach is empty. Little waves curl and flop on to the shore. We shield our eyes from the light and squint towards the rocks at the entrance of the cove. Nothing. No sign of a boat.
“They must be out there.”
“How long would it take to come round by boat from St Pirans?”
“I don’t know. Not that long. Roger’s boat has a powerful engine.”
“Maybe it’ll break down,” I say hopefully.
“It’s new. Anyway, dive boats usually carry back-up parts,” says Conor.
You can’t see the Bawns from here. The rocks at the mouth of the cove hide them. Maybe Roger and Gray are out there now, preparing to dive. They don’t know what the Bawns mean to the Mer. They’ll trespass without knowing what they’re doing, and all the force of Ingo will be against them.
“If only we had a boat,” mutters Conor.
“We’ve got to get out there somehow, before they do!”
“We can’t,” says Conor. “We’ll just have to wait. It’ll be OK, Sapphy. Roger knows what he’s doing. He’s a dive leader.”
“What’s that mean?”
“He’s got loads of experience. He’s passed exams and stuff. He’ll be all right.”
But Conor doesn’t sound as if he believes it, and nor do I.
“Conor, we can’t just stand here waiting. We’ve got to do something.”
“Swim?” asks Conor sarcastically. He knows as well as I do why we mustn’t swim out of the cove. We know how dangerous it is. There’s always the rip waiting to take you. The water’s deep and cold and wild, and a swimmer who gets swept away doesn’t last long.
“But I’ve got to do something, Conor. It’s my fault. It was me