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

should stay in its place, and then I can stay in mine.”

      She stands tall and stern. Her voice is a voice I have never heard from her before. Deep and powerful and not caring about anything but saying what it wants to say.

      If Ingo breaks its bounds. I don’t understand what she means. The sea comes in to the high tide mark, but no farther. The cove fills with water, and then it empties again. That’s what has always happened, so how can it change?

      Granny Carne is standing between me and the sea. She’s stopping me from getting to it. She’s planted in my way like a tree, or a rock. Suddenly I’m sure that if I can only get to the other side of Granny Carne, I’ll hear the sea singing again. Her body is blocking out the music of Ingo. I know it, and she knows it too. She’s standing there on purpose.

      “You’ll have heard about the other Mathew Trewhella,” Granny Carne goes on. “The first one. He was a fine man. Handsome as a prince, and he sang in the church choir. People used to say that he had a voice like an angel. You know the nonsense people talk. One person says it and then they’re all repeating it. But it’s true that he had a fine voice. Your father’s voice is the only one I’ve known that ever matched the first Mathew Trewhella’s.”

      I feel as if an electric current’s flowing through Granny Carne’s hand and into my wrist. It’s the same story, the story Dad told me when we were in the church, years ago. The mermaid, the wooden mermaid they slashed with a knife. Here she is again.

      Granny Carne won’t let go of me. Her voice rises louder. “But of course the story got told wrong over the years,” she goes on. “Stories get mixed up as they’re passed from mouth to mouth, down the years. It wasn’t just one mermaid that enchanted Mathew Trewhella. He fell in love with Ingo. It was Ingo that captured him. Mer… Mare… Meor… Ingo… That’s what took Mathew from his friends and family. And he’s never returned in all this time.”

      Why are you telling me all this? I think fiercely, trying to resist the current of Granny Carne’s story. You’re trying to stop me from going to Ingo. You’re trying to frighten me.

      “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.

       CHAPTER TWELVE

      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