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

I’m not sure what they’d do.”

      “But Con, they’re our friends! Faro and Elvira are our friends, I know they are—”

      “But all their calling doesn’t save people, does it? They drown.”

      “That’s not their fault—”

      “These sausages won’t be fit to eat by the time you two get down the stairs!” yells Mum.

      I love sausages, but these don’t taste too good. Maybe they’re overcooked. I cut them up and push the bits under my knife and fork to make it look as if I’ve eaten more than I have. Mum hates it when we don’t eat our food. But she doesn’t seem angry this time. She looks worried.

      “Have some bread then, Sapphy, if you don’t want the sausages. It’s not like you not to be hungry.”

      But the bread tastes funny too. Much too dry, and chalky – it’s as if I’m trying to swallow earth.

      “Have a drink of water with it,” says Mum. “Here you are.”

      She passes me a fresh glass of water and I start to drink. But even the water doesn’t taste good. There’s something missing.

      Without knowing that I’m going to do it, I reach out to the saltcellar and tip a white stream of salt into my hand. I lick the tip of the index finger on my other hand and dip it in the salt. Then I taste it. It tastes so delicious that I dip my finger again. Salt. That’s what I need. No wonder the food didn’t taste good, and the water was all wrong. It needs salt.

      “Sapphire, for heaven’s sake, what are you doing putting salt in your water?”

      I drink down a long, refreshing gulp.

      “You can’t drink salt water! It’s bad for you!”

      Mum snatches my glass away. Never mind, I’ll make some more when she’s not looking.

      “Mum, what are those little brown fish called that you get on pizzas?”

      “Anchovies.”

      “Have we got any?”

      “You wouldn’t like them, Sapphy. One or two on top of a pizza taste all right, but they’re much too salty to eat on their own.”

      “But have we got any?”

      “I might have a tin in the cupboard somewhere. Now please, try and finish at least one of those sausages. You haven’t eaten anything.”

      Conor is watching me. Mum’s watching me. I cut up one of the sausages into small pieces and try to chew it.

      “I can’t, Mum. It tastes awful.”

      “Oh dear, you are ill. You’re so pale. Maybe you’ve got a stomach bug. But I’ve got to go to work tonight, there’s no one to take over my shift. Maybe I could ask Mary to come in and keep an eye on you again—”

      “I’m not ill. I’m fine, Mum, I just don’t want to eat these sausages.”

      “Saph, cool it,” says Conor warningly. I make a huge effort and swallow the hot, angry words that are rising in my mouth. Of course Mum’s got to go to work, but I don’t want Mary here to keep an eye on me. I’m not a baby. I don’t want Conor spying on me either. Everyone’s trying to stop me from doing what I want to do.

      Mum goes to the sink to start the washing-up. Normally I do it in the mornings, and Conor washes up in the evenings. Mum’s tired. She works so hard. I’ll get up in a minute and dry the dishes. Mum ought to be sitting down with a cup of tea.

      I watch Mum’s back as she scrubs out the frying pan. Everything seems different suddenly: safe. This is my home, the same as it’s always been. Mum’s radio is on as usual, Mum’s wearing her old jeans and a white T-shirt and she’s got her hair pulled back in a ponytail. That means she’s not going to work until later.

      I’m in the kitchen, having a late – well, very late – breakfast with my mum and my brother in a normal school holiday. Maybe I am hungry, after all. I don’t want the sausages, but maybe a piece of toast with Marmite. I’ll make a mug of tea for myself as well as one for Mum. When she’s finished the washing-up, she’ll sit down opposite me at the kitchen table and drink her tea and tell me funny stories about last night’s customers. What they said, and how much they drank, and how much money she made in tips. I love hearing about all the weird things that customers do in the restaurant. A customer even snapped his fingers to call Mum over once, but Mum just said to him, “Have you lost your dog?”

      “Mum,” I begin, but just then Mum turns the cold tap full on and the gush of the water hides my voice from her.

      And at that same moment, I hear it again. A sweet sound, sweet but sharp, like a knife that can cut deep inside you. It’s like the sound I heard in the mirror, but this time it’s shaping itself into words. The song grows louder and louder, and the comfort of Mum’s presence fades like a dream, until she doesn’t seem important at all.

       I wish I was away in Ingo

      Far across the briny sea,

       Sailing over deepest waters

      Where love nor care never trouble me…

      “Saph, what is it?” whispers Conor urgently. “What can you hear?”

      “Listen, Conor. Can’t you hear them?”

      Conor listens. I wait for the sound to fill his ears as it’s filling mine. I watch his searching, suspicious expression. I can tell that he hears nothing at all.

      I wish I was away in Ingo…

      “Conor, can you really not hear it?” I feel frightened, as if Conor and Mum are far away and I’m alone. The words are for me. Only for me, not for Mum or Conor. Conor can’t hear anything, and Mum goes on calmly washing-up.

      “Don’t listen to them, Saph,” whispers Con. “Close your ears. If you ignore them, they’ll go away.”

      He thinks it’s Faro calling me, and maybe Elvira, but I know it’s not them. These are the words Dad used to sing. But he is not the singer. Even Dad, my Dad with his fine voice, couldn’t sing so sweetly. The sweetness draws me like a magnet, out of my chair, across the kitchen, through the open door, away from everything I know and into another world—

      But Conor’s following me. “Where are you going, Saph?”

      “I’ve got to go, Con. They want me to come. They want me to come now.”

      “You mean Faro and Elvira?”

      “No, not them,” I say. I feel as if I’m speaking in a dream. I can hardly hear my own voice, and Conor’s is thin and distant. “They’re Mer voices, that’s all I know. They’re trying to tell me something – I’ve got to go there again – they want me—”

      “I’m not going to let you, Saph,” says Conor. He stands in front of me and spreads his arms wide. “You’re staying here. I’m not going to lose you as well as Dad.”

      I can easily get past him. I’ve got Mer strength in me now. I could walk straight through Conor, as if he were mist instead of flesh and blood. But Conor’s gaze is fixed on my face, holding me back.

      “I’m not going to let you go, Saph,” he repeats, and this time his voice is stronger.

      “I’m sorry, Conor. You have to let me go. I know I can find Dad.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “He’s there. You were right. He’s away in Ingo.”

      “Don’t you understand, Saph? They’re trying to make you think that! They want you to think you’re following Dad! That’s what this is all about.” Conor’s eyes blaze. “And then I won’t have a sister either.