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

it easy, Jennie, nothing’s happened. We took a bit of a battering against the rocks, that’s all. The currents out there are stronger than I’d allowed for.”

      “It’s dangerous,” says Mum. Her voice cracks with tension. “This whole coast is dangerous. People don’t realise.”

      “It’s OK, Jennie.” Roger’s hand grips Mum’s shoulder, rocking her gently. “You don’t have to think about it any more. Put it out of your mind. We won’t be diving around the Bawns again. There’s nothing there.”

      Mum’s face slowly relaxes.

      “You promise?”

      “Swear and promise,” says Roger. Conor and I exchange startled glances. I can see how relieved Mum is. Before we eat the picnic, she cleans Gray’s scratch carefully with boiled water and a pad of lint.

      “Strange,” she mutters. “This doesn’t look like a cut from a rock. It looks almost like a cat scratch. And it’s deep. I’m worried it’s going to leave a scar.”

      “You have everything round here, even underwater cats,” says Gray, wincing as Mum applies the antiseptic cream. It’s a lame joke, but Mum smiles.

      “But it does look like some sort of claw mark… we’ll have to watch it doesn’t turn septic.”

      “Give me dogs any day,” says Roger. “You know where you are with a dog. That reminds me, Jennie. What do you say we walk up to the farm one day this week, and find out what the position is with Sadie?”

      “Nothing’s settled, Sapphy!” says Mum hastily. “We’re making enquiries, that’s all. Don’t look like that.”

      “Like what?”

      “As if you’ll die if it doesn’t happen, that’s what she means,” says Conor. “Take it easy, Saph.”

      I force myself to be calm. Jack’s mum and dad might have changed their minds about selling Sadie. Who wouldn’t want to keep a dog like Sadie? I can’t imagine even thinking of giving her away, if she was mine.

      “Don’t look so desperate, Saph,” says Roger. “We’ll do what we can.”

      That night Roger sleeps on our sofa, and I hear him yelling out in the middle of the night. Mum goes padding downstairs, and I hear them talking, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. Their voices rise and fall for a long time. I ask Mum about it in the morning, once Roger has left.

      “What happened last night, Mum?”

      “Roger had a nightmare,” Mum says.

      “What was it about?”

      “You know how it is. Nightmares never make sense. He dreamed he was being tossed by a herd of giant bulls. They were underwater and he couldn’t escape. It must have been terrifying. He woke up drenched in sweat. Underwater bulls! Funny what our minds come up with when we’re asleep.”

      “Poor Roger.”

      “It’s nice the way you’re trying to get on with him now,” says Mum, smiling at me approvingly. “Do you know, when we were talking about his nightmare, he suddenly said he was very grateful to you. That was a strange thing for him to say, wasn’t it? What’s he got to be grateful to you for?You’ve only just stopped acting like a little madam with him… Sapphire, are you all right? You’ve gone very pale.”

      “It’s OK, Mum. Just sometimes it hurts when I breathe.”

      “What sort of pain is it? Does your chest feel tight? Breathe in deeply now, Sapphy, let me hear if you’re wheezing.”

      Mum wanted to be a nurse when she was young, but she didn’t have the right qualifications. She’s trained as a first-aider, but she always says she’d like to take it further. So far, the only place she has taken it further is in our house.

      “Mum, I haven’t had asthma since I was about six. It’s not that sort of pain.”

      “All the same, you ought to have a quiet day for once, tomorrow. Watch a film, read a book. You and Conor are always in that sea. You’ll turn into a fish if you’re not careful.”

      “Oh, Mum.”

      “I mean it.”

      “If we had a dog,” I say casually, glancing sideways at Mum, “it would be good to hang out around the house with her. When I wasn’t taking her for walks.”

      I can almost see the thought crossing Mum’s face. It’s true. If Sapphy had a dog to look after, she wouldn’t be running off down to the cove all the time.

      I say nothing more. With Mum, it’s best to let the thought settle, and sink in.

      If Sadie was here now, I could tell her everything. I could whisper it into her soft ears and she’d strain to understand me. I think she would understand some of it. There are so many things I can’t tell anyone, not even Conor, or Faro. So many questions I want to ask.

      It’s Conor that Roger ought to be grateful to, not me. Conor could barely breathe or move, but he faced the seals for Roger’s sake. I don’t know what magic was in Conor’s song, but it must have been powerful, to stop the seals’ attack. Granny Carne said that Conor had his own power, and he must never forget it. I believed that Conor was weak in Ingo, and I was strong, but it was Conor who saved Roger and Gray. Faro and I and Elvira only helped to finish what Conor began.

      I’ve called for Faro twice now when I’ve needed him. Both times he’s answered and come to help me. But he doesn’t come because of any power I’ve got, I’m sure of that. I don’t know why it is that there seems to be a bond between us. I feel as if I’ve known Faro much longer than I’ve really known him.

      Faro called me ‘little sister’. I said I wasn’t his sister, and he looked as if he wanted to tell me something, but then he didn’t. And then, when he was leaving us at the boat, he said it again. Little sister.

      I wish I’d thanked him. And those somersaults were amazing. I’d love to learn to do somersaults like that. Maybe Faro would teach me one day.

      No, don’t think of Ingo now. Don’t let Ingo get too strong in your heart, or it will crowd out everything. I’ve learned that now. It’s what the first Mathew Trewhella did, when he followed the Zennor mermaid and left Annie behind to give birth to his son without him.

      I used to think that when a child was born, a parent made a promise to stay with him. Or her. But if there’s a promise, it can be broken. That first Mathew Trewhella broke his promises. I wonder if he ever forgot them, or did the torn edges of his promises hurt him to the end of his life?

      When someone goes away from you suddenly, without warning, that’s what it’s like. A rip, a torn edge inside you. I have a torn edge in me, and Dad has a torn edge in him. I’m not sure if those edges will still fit together by the time I find him.

      And I will find him. That’s more than a promise. It’s the next level up from a promise: it’s a vow.

       CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

      It’s evening now. I’ve decided to clear the garden that’s been neglected since Dad went. I’ve been digging up weeds, chopping back brambles and piling up the rubbish into a heap. Dad would be pleased. I’m hot and sweaty but it feels good. Conor’s gone into St Pirans with Mum, but I’m all right on my own. Because… because something wonderful has happened. I have got someone with me. She’s lying on the path, watching me intelligently. Sometimes she gets up and investigates one of the million smells of the garden that only dogs can recognise.

      No, she’s not my dog yet. But I’m working on it. She’s visiting just for a week, while Jack’s family is on holiday. We’re going to see how she gets on here.

      “Supper