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

“Argue.”

“I’m not arguing.”

“Nor am I.”

Face to face, not arguing, we can’t think of anything else to say. But without saying anything, I know that something has shifted. Conor is my friend again. Maybe that sounds a strange thing to say, because how can your brother not be your friend?

“All the same, Saph,” says Conor after a while, “I am going out with Roger again. I do want to learn to dive. Roger’s going to fix up a course for me. He’s got a mate who’ll give me the course for nothing, in exchange for a favour Roger did him. It’s really interesting, what Roger does. It’s the kind of thing I’d like to do one day.”

“It’s dangerous,” I say, and then I realise I’m echoing what Conor’s just said to me. “The Mer don’t like it, Conor. And in their own world – in Ingo – they’re powerful. We aren’t.”

“I know, I know. Can you please stop being the Mer Broadcasting Company for two seconds? Listen. Roger’s not trying to do harm. He’s not working for an oil company or anything like that. He knows loads about marine ecology, Sapphire. He cares about it. That’s what he’s interested in. You ought to talk to him.”

“Don’t go out with him, Conor.”

“But why not?You’ve been out in Dad’s boat hundreds of times and nothing’s ever happened. Well, not much, anyway. So have I. What’s so different about Roger?”

“I don’t know. I can’t say. It’s feels like – I don’t know. Like bad weather coming, when the sun’s still shining. But you can see the storm moving in from the sea. And you feel the pressure inside your head.”

“OK, I promise, if it’s bad weather, or if it even looks like bad weather, I won’t go,” says Conor. But it wasn’t bad weather I was talking about. It was a different kind of storm. If I could put what I’m afraid of into the right words, then surely Conor would understand.

“And Roger won’t go out if there’s a bad forecast. He’s very careful. Divers have to be. Come on, Saph, we’d better go downstairs.”

I’m not finding the right words. But at least Conor won’t be going out again with Roger for a while, so I’ll have time to persuade him.

“Hurry up, Saph, Mum’ll be waiting.”

“She won’t. She’s happy talking to Roger. Anyway, you’d better change your jeans first, hadn’t you?”

“Why?”

“Because you told Mum they were wet. And it’s a good idea for Mum to keep on thinking that at least one of us tells the truth.”

All through tea I’m on edge in case Roger says something about seeing me underwater. I can’t eat more than half my slice of cake, even though it’s one of Mum’s best, and Mum is trying to feed me up. After Roger’s eaten two fat slices, Mum asks if he’d like a fresh pot of tea.

“You sit down,” he says, “I’ll make it, Jennie. You deserve a rest.” Then he turns to me and Conor. “Your mother is an amazing woman,” he announces, sounding like a character in a TV sitcom. “The best waitress in town, best cook I know – finest coffee and walnut I’ve ever tasted, Jennie.”

“Is that all I’m good for? Baking cakes and running around the restaurant?” asks Mum, but she doesn’t sound cross at all. Her voice is full of teasing laughter.

“I think you know that’s not the case,” says Roger, and they laugh together.

For several reasons this conversation makes me prickle. We know that Mum is a good cook. We know how hard she works. Isn’t that why we try all we can to help her? We don’t need Roger to tell us. It’s our life, not his – none of it is Roger’s business at all – and yet the way he laughs with Mum makes me feel as if I’m the one who is left out. I try to catch Conor’s eye to see what he thinks, but he’s on his way out already.

“Got to fetch the milk, Mum. See you in a bit.”

“I’ll make that tea,” says Roger, dragging his eyes away from Mum.

“Sapphire’ll help you, won’t you, Sapphy,” says Mum, settling herself luxuriously in her chair and closing her eyes. “Now this is heaven. All the meals cooked, nothing to do for the rest of the evening… Sapphy, love, show Roger where things are in the kitchen.”

Roger and I traipse into the kitchen. As soon as I’m alone with him, I suddenly realise how big he is. Not heavy, but broad and strong and tall. He has to duck his head to go through the kitchen doorway.

I don’t like being alone with him. I’m scared of what he might ask, so I start to gabble to fill up the silence. “We keep the tea bags in this tin up here, and the kettle’s over here. It doesn’t switch itself off, because the switch is broken. Mum’s going to buy another kettle when she’s been paid. If you fill it up to five there’ll be enough for a pot.”

“I have seen a kettle before,” says Roger mildly. He is watching me. He’s going to say something – ask me something. I must get away—

But I only get as far as the fridge before he asks casually, “Sapphire, how far can you swim?”

“I don’t know, quite a long way, I mean, not all that far, depends how flat the sea is—”

“Your mother tells me that you and Conor aren’t allowed to swim outside the cove.”

“No, because of the rip. Only if we’re out in a boat with… with someone. Sometimes we swim off the boat.”

“Have you been out in a boat with… someone … lately? In the last day or two?”

“No,” I say firmly, and I look Roger in the face because I can prove this isn’t a lie. “I haven’t been out in a boat since… since…” But I can’t say it. Not to Roger.

“Since what?” he insists. Anger springs up in me. Roger’s trying to act like my father, as if he has a right to question me.

“Since Dad took me out in Peggy Gordon ,” I say. I feel my face burning, but I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to let Roger see me crying.

“Oh. I see.” Roger is quiet for a while, then he says, quite formally as if I’m an adult like him. “I’m sorry, Sapphire. I didn’t mean to distress you.”

His face is troubled. For a moment I can’t help believing that he really is sorry. But I don’t want to believe it, or I might start having to – well, to tolerate Roger.

“S’OK,” I say grudgingly.

“No, it’s not OK,” says Roger slowly. “None of this is OK, I know that. Your dad dies, a year later I come along… It’s not easy for anyone. Have you thought about how hard it is for your mother?”

“Dad is not dead,” I flash out furiously. Roger stares at me.

“He is not dead,” I repeat, more quietly, but with all the force I can find. If only Roger would believe me, how much trouble it would save.

“You’re a complicated young lady,” he says slowly. ‘And I wish – I wish I could see inside that head of yours.”

“Well, you can’t. We’re human. We don’t share our thoughts. The kettle’s boiling. I’ll wash the mugs while you make the tea.”

I’m not sure if I’ll get away with this, but I do. Roger and I finish making the tea in silence. But just before we take it in to Mum, Roger asks, “Sadie. The dog you were walking. She’s one of the neighbour’s dogs, right?”

“Yes.”

“What breed is she?”

“Golden Labrador.”

“Nice breed.”

“Yes, she’s—” Suddenly Sadie is so clear in my mind that I can almost feel her warm golden body, her soft tongue licking my hand, her quivering excitement when she knows she’s going for a walk.

“You like her. You ever had a dog of your own, Sapphire?”

“No. Mum says it’s too much work.”

“Well, that’s true, a dog is a lot of work. I had one as a boy myself, and I found out the hard way that my dad meant what he said when he told me: If you get a dog, then it’s you that’s got that dog as long as it lives . But Rufie was the best thing in my life, after we came back from Australia and I found myself stuck in Dagenham. You and Conor could take care of a dog between you, I reckon.”