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

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.

      Granny Carne’s called Granny, but she has no grandchildren. I don’t think she ever had children. She lives her wild life alone. She’s always lived in her cottage under the Downs. Sometimes people go there, when they need help. They go secretly. They don’t even tell their friends or their family. They knock on Granny Carne’s door and wait for her to answer. People say Granny Carne has the power to know the future, and sometimes she can look into your future for you. I don’t know how she does it, or what it’s like. It sounds scary to me.

      Dad once told me most people round here have been up to Granny Carne’s at some time. When they had need of her.

      “What kind of need, Dad?”

      “To help you make a decision, maybe. To resolve a question that’s troubling you. To see beyond the present.”

      “How can anyone see beyond the present?”

      “They say she can,” said Dad. I had the feeling he was hiding something from me.

      “Have you ever been to see her, Dad?”

      “I’m always seeing her.”

      “You know what I mean. To ask her about the future, like you said.”

      “I did once.”

      “What was it about, Dad?”

      “Well, it was about that dummy you still had when you were nearly three years old, Sapphire. I wanted to know if you would ever give it up, or if you would be taking it to school with you along with your packed lunch.”

      “Dad!” It was so annoying. But he wouldn’t tell me any more, no matter how much I asked.

      “Mathew knows this coast like the back of his hand,” says Granny Carne. “And the sea was flat that night he disappeared.”

      She said, Mathew knows. Not Mathew knew. That means for Granny Carne, Dad is still in the present tense. Just as he is for me and Conor. And if you’re in the present tense, then that means you must be alive. If Granny Carne really can see into the future, maybe she knows he’s alive. Maybe she can see that Dad’s going to come back.

      “So where is he, if he didn’t drown?” asks Conor.

      “He’s away somewhere, I believe.”

      “Away in Ingo,” I say immediately, without knowing that I was going to say it. Granny Carne’s amber eyes flash on me. I feel like a mouse or a vole when the eyes of a hunting owl light on it.

      “Ingo,” she says. “In Ingo, you say? It’s strange you should say that, Sapphire, because when I saw you coming down the lane I thought you had a look of Ingo on your face. There’s a bit of it on Conor’s face too, but not as strong as on you.”

      She knows, I thought. How can she know? How much does she know?

      “What’s Ingo?” I ask her.

      “I think you know that,” says Granny Carne. Now I feel like a vole when the owl’s rushing down towards it, talons spread. “Ingo’s a place that has many names,” says Granny Carne. “You can call it Mer, Mare or Meor. And it has its own Morveren name, but we don’t say that name, not while we’ve got our feet planted on the earth. Earth and Ingo don’t mix, even though we live side by side. Earth and Ingo aren’t always friends. Do you know the old name of Ingo, Sapphire? The old Morveren name?” Granny Carne asks the question casually, but now the owl is so close I can hear the rush of her wings. She really wants to know how much I know. But what would it mean, if I did know the Morveren name?

      “No,” I say, reluctantly, because now I wish I did know it. I wish I was truly part of Ingo and knew everything about it.

      “But you know who the Morveren are?”

      “No. Not really.”

      “Ah.”

      I think she’s pleased that I don’t know. Suddenly her eyes lose their fierce, owl-like glitter, and she’s an old woman again. Granny Carne turns, pulls a bramble out of the hedge, and gives me a plump, shiny blackberry. Even from the look of it you can tell it’s warm and ripe. But surely it’s too early for blackberries to be ripe – it’s only the end of July. I walked up the lane yesterday and I didn’t see any.

      “You have that one, Sapphire, and I’ll find another for Conor.” She searches the hedge and brings out another ripe berry. I hold my blackberry. I want to eat it, but at the same time I don’t.

      “Eat it, Sapphire,” says Granny Carne. I put the blackberry into my mouth. It tastes of earth and sunshine and spicy fruit. It reminds me of fields, woods, the farm, the puppies, Mum cooking apple and blackberry pie, autumn, wood smoke, lighting the fire, kicking through fallen leaves with Conor when we were little…

      “There’ll be plenty of fruit this year, with all the sun we’ve had,” says Granny Carne. “Now, Conor, tell me. Were you thinking of swimming today, down at the cove?”

      “Maybe,” says Conor. It doesn’t sound rude. He smiles across at her and I think that Conor and Granny Carne look a bit alike. Both of them have strong brown skins that love the sun, and shiny dark eyes.

      “I wouldn’t go today,” says Granny Carne. “There’s a strong current running. You might be able to swim against it, but not Sapphire. It would carry her away. She should keep inland today.”

      “But I want to go,” I say.

      “I know you do. Believe me, Sapphire, I know how much you want to go. I can feel it in you.” Granny Carne reaches forward and grasps my wrist. Her hand is strong and warm. “I can feel it running in you. But we lost the first Mathew – and then your father – and now who knows