Helen Dunmore - The Complete Ingo Chronicles - Ingo, The Tide Knot, The Deep, The Crossing of Ingo, Stormswept

We don’t even have our meals together very often, because Mum’s at work nearly every evening and often in the day as well. Mum tells us where she’ll be and what time she’ll be back and what time we’ve got to be in by, and she leaves lots of notes and we have her mobile number. But it’s a different family from the one we used to have, and sometimes it’s not much like a family at all.

We’re just three people who live in the same house , I think. We’re not a proper family any more .

I look down, in case Mum sees the thoughts in my eyes. She’d be so upset. She’d think I’m blaming her for working all the time, and that I don’t understand that she has to earn the money, because Dad’s gone.

If only I could tell Mum how strange the days are when she’s gone off to St Pirans to work, and I know she won’t be back until midnight. The days are long and there’s no shape to them. Mum gone, Dad gone, the house quiet. Sometimes I go down to the kitchen at night, when Conor’s gone to sleep and I can’t. If Mum was at home, she’d come up with a glass of water for me and sit on the side of my bed and say, Don’t worry, Sapphy, just relax and you’ll soon drop off . But when Mum’s not here, I can’t make myself stop worrying.

I listen to the fridge purring. Every so often it gives a click and stops. I wait for it to start purring again and when it does I feel glad, as if the fridge is a friend – which is so completely pathetic that I could never in a million years say that thought aloud to anyone. Certainly not to Mum.

Visitors say that where we live is like paradise. They pay a fortune to come here on holiday. They say we don’t know how lucky we are to live here all the time. This is the best summer we’ve had for years, everyone says so. It’s hot and dry and there’s sunshine day after day after day. All the verges are brown from the heat. Mum says St Pirans is jam-packed with tourists. The restaurant is full every night, that’s why she gets back so late.

If only I could explain to Mum how empty the days are. How scared I get when Conor wants to go out without me, even if it’s only up to Jack’s for an hour. He always asks if I’ll be OK, and I always say, “I’ll be fine. I’m going to watch TV.” Mum thinks I go and see Katie, or one of my other friends, but I don’t. I feel cut off from them, because their lives are going on the same as ever, but mine has completely changed.

It’s all right as long as Conor’s here. When he’s at Jack’s he’s not that far away. I could get on my bike and find him if I had to. But when he went away to Ingo without me I was so afraid I thought I would die.

I won’t stay here on my own, being scared. I won’t be the one who is left behind. I’ll leave before Conor does, this time. I’ll go far away, where I won’t need any of them.

“You’re all right, Sapphy, aren’t you? You’d tell me if anything was wrong, wouldn’t you?” Mum asks. She smoothes down my hair. “This hair’s like a tangle of seaweed. We need to brush it all out,” she says.

“Can you do a henna wax on it, Mum?”

“I’m sorry, Saph. There isn’t time today.”

I love it when Mum does a henna wax on my hair. It takes a long time. She washes my hair first, and dries it a little, then she massages henna wax all over my hair, and she wraps my head in a hot towel and we sit and chat for half an hour so that the henna has time to work. The henna’s not coloured, it’s just to make your hair soft and shiny again after you’ve been swimming in the sea every day.

“Maybe you should have your hair cut. It’d be easier to keep it in good condition if it was short.”

“No, Mum!”

“All right, all right. But if you want it long, you’ve got to look after it. Some of these knots are so bad they’ll need to be cut out soon. And look how long it’s getting. It’s below your waist.”

I’m growing it.

Mum lets my hair fall. She looks at her watch.

“I’m sorry, Sapphy. I’ve got to—”

You’ve got to go. I know . But I don’t say it. I want to keep the soft look on Mum’s face.

“Will you do my hair on your day off, Mum?”

“Mm, maybe Sapphy, we’ll have to see—”

I forgot. On Mum’s day off, on Sunday, Roger is coming. Maybe that’s why Mum’s got to go now. Maybe she’s meeting Roger before work, and that’s why she’s wearing the rose perfume.

“Conor’s waiting for me, Mum. Got to go,” I say, pulling away from her. But again, she holds me tight. She strokes her hand over my rough, tangly hair again.

“Your hair,” she says, “I really ought to do it,” and she glances again at her watch. “Come on, Sapphy, we’ve just got time.”

But I don’t want Mum doing my hair in a big rush, glancing at her watch. I like it when we’ve got loads of time, and we sit and chat. Henna hair waxes are one of the best things I do with Mum, just the two of us.

But not now, not while she’s really wanting to be in St Pirans, with Roger. I draw myself out of Mum’s grasp.

“We’ll do it another time, when you’re not so busy,” I say. For some reason Mum’s eyes go shiny, as if she’s about to cry. I’m so alarmed by this that I gabble, “Got to go, Mum, see you later, have a good day,” and turn and run across the garden, so that for once it’s Mum who is left standing at the door, watching me go.

“You didn’t tell her anything, did you?” asks Conor.

“No.”

“Make sure you don’t, Saph. Mum’s got enough to worry about. Besides, she’d think we were crazy. No one is going to believe any of this stuff.”

Our trainers scuff up dust and pebbles as we run. The pebbles rattle, and that’s when I realise what the sound is that I’m not hearing. There’s no sweet sound any more, no singing voice. There’s no pull from the sea either. When did it stop? Was it while Mum was talking to me? There’s no hurry any more, no pressure. Conor and I might go down to the cove, or we might not.

As we come round the corner of the track, between the tall granite hedges, we see someone standing in the middle of the track. It’s Granny Carne.

“What’s she doing down here?” mutters Conor. And it’s true that you don’t often see Granny Carne so close to the sea. She belongs up on the Downs, in her cottage near where the Midsummer Bonfire’s built. Her cottage is half-buried in the side of the Downs. Half-buried, or maybe half-growing out of the earth. That’s why her earth magic is strong, maybe, because she lives so close to it.

“I don’t know,” I answer. I feel uneasy. Granny Carne’s eyes always make me feel as if she knows things about me that I don’t even know myself.

Granny Carne stands waiting for us to come up to her. She is tall and straight and full of dignity, like a tree growing from deep earth.

“How’s your mother?” Granny Carne asks. Her amber gaze sweeps over our faces.

“She’s all right,” says Conor.

“Is she? Let’s see, it’s more than a year since Mathew went now.”

The way she says Dad’s name reminds me that Granny Carne was his friend. Dad knew – Dad has known Granny Carne ever since he was a boy. He used to say she always seemed just as old as she is now. Granny Carne doesn’t change like other people change.

“My dad drowned,” says Conor abruptly. “That’s what they say.”

“But they never found him,” says Granny Carne. “Strange. A drowned man usually washes up somewhere, no matter if it takes weeks, or months. Do you think your father drowned, Sapphire?”

“I don’t know, I—”

I don’t know what to say, but strangely, I don’t mind Granny Carne’s questions. They’re not like some people’s questions about Dad, which drip with rumour and inquisitiveness. Granny Carne is asking for a reason. Conor draws close to her, as if he wants to ask her for help.