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

“You mean – are you talking about the Mathew Trewhella in the old story?” asks Conor in a strange, doubting voice.

“Yes, the first Mathew Trewhella. I’m going back a way, now” Granny Carne’s face is stern. She looks as if the things she’s remembering aren’t easy or peaceful.

Conor asks no more questions. He takes hold of my other hand, which is something he never does, and keeps it in a firm grip. And then he touches Granny Carne’s arm, so that the three of us are joined together in a circle. Earthed. The lane smells of dust and blackberries. I don’t want to get to the other side of Granny Carne any more. I only want to stay here, safe with her and Conor, with the sun warm on us.

Granny Carne’s brown face creases into a smile. She likes Conor, I know that. And Conor likes her. Like, like – do I really mean that? No, it’s not that Conor likes Granny Carne. It’s that Conor is like Granny Carne.

But how can that be? Granny Carne’s as old as the hills. Conor’s my brother. She’s tall and wrinkled and strange, and when Dad said she was full of earth magic, it wasn’t hard to believe him. Conor’s just a normal boy. But all the same, they are two of a kind.

The circle holds. It seems like a long, long time that we stand there, the three of us, but probably it’s only a few seconds. And then a dog barks. I glance up quickly, because it sounds like Sadie. What’s Sadie doing down here?

Yes, it is Sadie! She races down the track towards me, and skids to a halt on her front paws, looking pleased with herself. I run to her, kneel down, put my arms round her neck and rub my cheek against her face. She’s quivering all over with excitement, and her coat is hot from the sun.

“Sadie, what are you doing down here? Did you come all on your own? You bad girl, stravaiging over the countryside, you’ll get hit by a car…”

But Sadie doesn’t care. She’s panting from her long run and wriggling all over with the pleasure of finding us. She’s done it all on her own, clever Sadie, finding our scent in the middle of all the other smells of cows and foxes and chickens and cars. The world of smells is like a library with a million books in it, for Sadie.

“Good girl, clever girl, now take it easy, you’ve been racing much too fast in this hot sun.” I give her one last hug and then stand up, slipping my hand through her collar in case she runs off again. She presses against my legs, looking up with her intelligent brown eyes and giving short, sharp little barks.

“We must take her home,” says Conor.

Suddenly I realise that Conor and I are alone with Sadie. Granny Carne’s gone. When did she go? Conor shrugs. “You know what she’s like.”

“Sadie, come on Sadie girl, let’s go on up to the cottage and I’ll find something for a lead, and then we’re going for a long walk, all the way back home. They’ll be worrying about you. They’ll be wondering where you are.”

Sadie bows her head consideringly. She loves the word “walk”, but it’s still the end of her freedom, and she knows it.

“And we’ll get you a bowl of water. It’s uphill all the way back, you’re going to need a drink.”

We walk on up to our cottage, Sadie close at my side and Conor behind.

I’m so hungry. Why ever didn’t I eat those sausages? If Conor calls Jack to tell him we’ve got Sadie, we can eat before we walk her up to the farm. What food have we got? I bring up a mental picture of the fridge’s contents. There’s bolognese sauce, and half a tub of chocolate and pecan ice cream, a bag of peaches Mum brought back—

Suddenly Sadie stops dead. Her rear legs are stiff, her body quivers. Her head goes up, pointing towards the sea. She whines, deep in her throat, then lets out a volley of barks.

“What is it, Sadie? What can you hear?”

“Whatever it is, she doesn’t like it,” says Conor. “Hold on to her.”

I grasp her collar with both hands. She’s rigid, trembling. She’s not trying to escape, she’s flattening herself against me. She’s scared.

“It’s all right, Sadie, come on, girl. Come on in the house.”

Sadie shivers and backs away, pulling me with her. She whines and stares at me as if asking why I’m not hearing what she hears.

I can’t hear anything. I’m not going to hear anything. I put my hands over my ears. Stop it, stop it. I’m not listening. I can’t hear anything. Chocolate and pecan ice cream, spag bol, chocolate and pecan ice cream, spag bol, CHOCOLATE AND PEC— ”

“Saph, why’ve you got your hands over your ears?”

“Quick, Con, Sadie’s going crazy. Open the door, let’s get her in the house.”

We’re in. Sadie races around the kitchen, her claws skittering on the tiles. Suddenly she’s just a dog going wild and I’m just a girl trying to stop her. Calm down, Sapphire, and stop imagining things. You’re home.

I hate saying goodbye to Sadie. I kneel down beside her and she pushes her head against me. Her funny folding-down right ear has grown straighter as she’s grown older, but if you look closely you can see it’s not the same as her left ear. I stroke her ears gently, the way she likes it.

“It’s a blessing you two found her,” says Jack’s mum. “Jack won’t be back till late and I’ve got people arriving for bed and breakfast, so I couldn’t have gone looking for her.”

Sadie whines, and presses against me again. She doesn’t want me to leave. Jack’s mum bends down to pat her, but Sadie takes no notice.

“You’d think she was yours, the way she carries on. Or else you were hers. Sometimes I think dogs know who they ought to belong to,” says Jack’s mum.

“We should get back,” Conor says quickly. “Come on, Saph.”

“Why did you drag me away like that?” I complain as we set off for home. “Jack’s mum was being really nice. She’s made loads of scones for the bed and breakfast people too. I saw them on the table. If we’d stayed, she might have given us a cream tea.”

“We need to get home. You shouldn’t be outside. It’s not safe.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s calling you, isn’t it?”

“What’s calling me?” I know the answer, but I’m going to make Conor say it.

“You know.” He looks around and lowers his voice. “ Ingo . Saph, were you listening to what Granny Carne said?”

“Of course I was.”

“All that stuff about the first Mathew Trewhella. Granny Carne was talking as if she knew him.”

“Well, maybe she did,” I answer vaguely. I’m still thinking about Sadie. Maybe she is meant to be my dog. Maybe it’s really going to happen one day. Mum’s going to change her mind—

“Wake up, Saph! How can Granny Carne have known someone who lived hundreds of years ago? It’s all crazy.”

“Then why are you so bothered about it?”

“I can’t believe you’re so thick sometimes, Saph. What I want to know is why Granny Carne was talking about the first Mathew Trewhella. And why Ingo’s growing strong. If it’s all got something to do with Dad then we’ve got to find out more.”

I hear the echo of Dad’s voice, in the dark church long ago. I remember my own fingers tracing the outline of the wooden mermaid’s tail. I feel the gashes cut into the carving.

“The mermaid enchanted him,” says Conor. “She pulled him out of the church choir, down the lane and down the stream that runs to Pendour Cove. He never came back. People said that years later you could stand on Zennor Head and hear him sing his Mer children to sleep.”

“It’s only a story,” I say. “It can’t have really happened like that. And Granny Carne can’t possibly have known the first Mathew Trewhella.”