The Tide Knot. Helen Dunmore

I’m sure it was her this time.”

      “You can’t be sure, Conor.”

      “She was out in the bay earlier on, when the dolphins came.”

      “Are you certain? I didn’t see anything.”

      “She was there; I know she was. I saw her out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned she was gone. I expect it was because Mal and his dad were there. Elvira wouldn’t risk them seeing her.”

      “Do you think they could?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Maybe it’s only us who can see the Mer. Because of what Granny Carne said, you remember, about our blood being partly Mer. Maybe even if Faro or Elvira swam right up to the boat, Mal and his dad still wouldn’t see them.”

      I remember the words Faro said to me: Open your eyes. Maybe that doesn’t just mean opening your eyelids and focusing. Maybe it’s to do with being willing to see things, even if your mind is telling you that they can’t possibly be real—

      “Of course they’d see Elvira if she was there,” Conor argues. “You’re making the Mer sound like something we’ve imagined. Elvira’s as real as… as real as… Saph, why do you think she’s hiding? Why won’t she talk to me?”

      “I don’t know.”

      I don’t think I should say any more. Our roles seem to be reversing. Suddenly I’m the sensible, practical one, and Conor is the dreamer, longing for Ingo. No. Be honest, Sapphire. It’s not Ingo he’s longing for; it’s her. And maybe that’s what is making me so sensible and practical—

      “We’d better go home, Conor. It’s starting to rain.”

      “Saph, you said it!” Conor swings round to face me, smiling broadly.“You said it at last. I had a bet with myself how long it would be before you did.”

      “Said what? What are you talking about?”

      “Didn’t you hear yourself? You said, ‘home’.”

       CHAPTER THREE

      “I’m just taking Sadie out, Mum!” I call up the stairs. It’s Sunday night. Mum and Roger are painting the skirting boards in Mum’s bedroom. They have stripped off the dingy cabbage-rose wallpaper, and now the bedroom walls are bare to the plaster. Our landlady says we can decorate as much as we like, and I’m not surprised. Her paint and wallpaper are not only hideous, but also old and covered in marks. When we got here, Mum wanted to paint all the rooms white.

      “It’s a new start for all of us, Sapphy!”

      I’ve painted my room blue and green, so that it looks like the inside of a wave. Our landlady, Mrs Eagle, has been up to see it, and she says it is ’andsome. Mrs Eagle is old. Her name doesn’t sound at all Cornish, but that’s because she married a man who came to St Pirans from upcountry during the War, she says. He died long ago. She must be about eighty, and she owns six houses in St Pirans, all of them full of cabbagey wallpaper, I expect. But the rent is low, Mum says, and that’s all that matters. Rents in St Pirans are terrible.

      Mum appears at the top of the stairs. “It’s late, Sapphy. Can’t Conor take Sadie out?”

      “He’s doing his maths homework.”

      This is strictly true, but I haven’t asked him anyway, because I want to go out on my own. St Pirans is different when the streets are empty, and it’s dark, and there’s no one at all on the wide stretch of Polquidden Beach. I feel as if I can breathe then.

      “All right, but don’t be long. Let me know when you’re back.”

      Lucky it’s Mum, not Roger. Although he hasn’t known me very long, Roger is disturbingly quick to grasp when he is being told only a part of the truth, or indeed none of the truth at all.

      The wind has died down over the weekend. It’s a cold, still night and the air smells of salt and seaweed. The moon is almost full, and it is riding clear of a thick shoal of clouds. I decide to take Sadie away from the streetlights on to the beach, where she can chase moon shadows.

      I head down to Polquidden. The bay is full. It’s high tide. An exceptionally high tide. It’s not due to turn until eleven tonight, but look how far it’s come up the beach already. It reminds me of the autumn equinox, when the water came up right over the slipway and the harbour road.

      There is still a strip of white sand left, but the water is rising quickly, like a cat putting out one paw and the next. Something else that surprises me is how quickly the sea has calmed. Surely the water should be much rougher than this after all the wind yesterday and today? The stillness is eerie.

      Sadie doesn’t want to go down the steps. She puts her head down, with her legs braced apart.

      “It’s all right, Sadie, you’re allowed on the beach now, remember?” I give a gentle tug on her lead, but she won’t budge.

      “Sadie, you’re being very annoying…”

      I am longing to be down on the sand. I pull a little harder, but she digs in her claws. I don’t want to force her.

      “All right, then, Sadie. Wait here a minute.”

      I loop her leash around a metal post. Sadie whines. There’s enough moonlight for me to see her face. She is pleading with me to stay, but I’m going to harden my heart this time. I’ve got to go down to the beach. The urge is so powerful that I ignore Sadie’s voice, give her a quick hug and say, “Stay, Sadie!” and then hurry down the steps.

      There’s a sound of running water on my right. It’s the stream that tumbles down the rocks on to the beach. Children play in it and make dams in summer. The water glints in the moonlight as it pours over the inky-black rock. The sea is still rising. Why does it look so powerful tonight, even though there are no wild waves, no foam, no pounding of surf?

      There’s not much beach left. I walk to my right, towards a spine of rocks that juts from the glistening sand. A wave flows forward, and I leap up on to the rocks to keep my trainers dry. But I’m still not quite high enough, because now the water is swirling at my heels. I scramble up again on to dry rock, and look back. The bay is full of moonlight and water. The sea is lapping around my rock already.

      Sapphire, you idiot, you’re cut off! But it’s not very deep yet. Even in the dark I’ll be able to wade back easily before the tide comes in any farther. I’ll just take my trainers off. But I’d better be quick; look how the water’s rising—

      “You’ll have to swim,” says a voice behind me. I start so violently that I almost fall off the rock. A strong hand grasps my wrist.

      “It’s me, Sapphire.”

      “Faro.”

      “Yes.”

      Suddenly I’m angry with him. “Why don’t you and Elvira come and see us in daylight, like you used to?” I ask sharply. “Conor keeps looking for Elvira. Where is she?”

      “Here and there,” he says, with a gleam of laughter in his voice. “Around and about. Just like me.”

      “Don’t laugh at me!” I say angrily. “I hate it when people are here one moment and then they just—”

      I swallow the words I was going to say.

      “I didn’t disappear,” says Faro seriously. “I won’t ever disappear. I promise you. But in St Pirans it’s more difficult for you to see us. Even at night it’s not easy. There are so many people. And besides, St Pirans is not our place.”

      “I know that,” I say gloomily. “It’s not mine, either.”

      “But you’re human. That’s what humans