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

always got to go home. You stay in the shallows. You want to come to Ingo, but as soon as you’re here you want to go back again. Saldowr needs to speak to you. He has something to tell you.”

      I’m about to snap back, when I realise that Faro is sharp because he is hurt. He offered to take me to his teacher and I refused. The offer must have been important to him. Faro has never spoken to me about his father or his mother. Perhaps he has no parents, and this teacher means a great deal to him.

      “I’m sorry, Faro. I’d like to meet your teacher very much,” I say, “but I can’t tonight, not when I’ve left Sadie tied up.”

      “Hm,” says Faro, sounding a little mollified by my apology. “We’ll see. Saldowr is not like a tame dog, Sapphire. You can’t leave him tied up and return when you feel like it.”

      I stumble out of the water, dripping wet, into the chill of the night. The sea is slapping up to the very top step. As I watch, another wave pounces and the steps are completely submerged.

      I shiver again, uncontrollably. Quick, quick, I must get home. My fingers shake violently as I untie Sadie. She presses against me, her body warm against mine, and her rough tongue licks my hands. But Sadie is trembling too. She’s afraid. Cold makes my voice stammer as I try to reassure her.

      “I’m ssssorry I left you sssuch a long time… I didn’t mean to ssscare you, Sadie… Please, Sadie darling, stop shaking like that.”

      I slide my key into the front door lock, creep up the stairs and dive into the bathroom. I strip off my wet clothes, jump into the shower and turn it on full. The hot water prickles like needles on my cold skin. I stand there, eyes shut, soaking up the steamy heat. In Ingo I’m never cold. I’ll put my clothes in the washing machine, stuff my trainers with newspaper and leave them by the boiler so that they’re dry by morning—

      “Sapphy! Sapphire! Is that you in there?”

      “Yes, Mum!”

      “You were quick. I hope Sadie got a proper walk. Don’t use all the hot water, now.”

      I was quick, was I? So Faro was right. Time is hardly moving at all in Ingo tonight.

      “Out in a minute, Mum!” I call.

      The next morning I come down to find Sadie lying full-length on the living room rug. Mum’s making coffee at the kitchen end of the room. She looks up quickly as I come in.

      “Sapphy, I don’t want you to worry, but Sadie doesn’t look too good.”

      “What’s the matter?”

      “I don’t know. She’s not herself.”

      I kneel beside Sadie, and she thumps her tail languidly against the floor. Her eyes are dull. Even her coat seems to have lost its shine. But she was fine last night. I’m sure she was…

      A cold feeling of dread steals into my heart, mixed with responsibility and guilt. I left Sadie tied up to a post. I went into Ingo without thinking about her. I might have been gone hours. But I wasn’t, I wasn’t. I was back almost before she had time to miss me.

      Time. Is dog time the same as human time? Maybe my absence seemed endless to Sadie. Maybe she was afraid I’d drowned. Could Sadie possibly have guessed where I was? If she sensed that I’d left her behind, along with everything in the Air, to plunge into a strange world where Sadie couldn’t survive for more than a minute, how frightened she must have been. She must have thought I’d abandoned her.

      “Shall we go for a walk, Sadie?” I say, testing her. But she doesn’t rise to the challenge. There’s no joyous leap to her feet, no skittering of paws on the wooden floor, no gleam of delight in her eyes. Sadie stares at me sadly, as if to say, “Why do you ask me now, when you know I can’t come?”

      “She’s ill, Mum. She’s really ill.” I can’t help panic breaking into my voice, even though I don’t want to alarm Sadie.

      Mum leaves the stove, comes over and stares down at Sadie, frowning. “No, she’s not right, is she?” she says at last. “I wish Roger was here. He’d know what to do. But he’s up at Newquay today.”

      “I’ll take her to the vet.”

      “The vet? I don’t know. I don’t think it’s that bad, Sapphy. She’s only just become ill. We’ll let it wait a day or so, and see how she gets on.”

      “You’re only saying that because the vet is expensive!” I burst out. “I’ll pay for it. I’ve still got most of my birthday money. That’ll be enough.”

      “Sapphy, do you really think I’m the sort of mother who’d make you spend your birthday money on taking the dog to the vet? Do you?”

      Mum sounds really upset.

      “I don’t care. There’s nothing else I want to spend it on.” But I know I’m being unfair. Mum doesn’t see the danger, because she doesn’t know what Sadie experienced last night.

      “Listen,” says Mum soothingly, “stop worrying, Sapphy. If Sadie needs a vet, then she’ll go to a vet. But we’ll wait and see until tomorrow.”

      “But she’s ill, Mum. Look at her. She looks as if all her life’s gone out of her.”

      “It’s not as bad as that,” says Mum briskly. “You do exaggerate, Sapphire. There’s Conor coming down now. Maybe he’ll be able to convince you.”

      But Conor is in no mood for long discussions about Sadie’s welfare. He is giving an IT presentation at school today, and mentally he is already there, standing in front of the class. He barely glances at Sadie. “Calm down, Saph. Sadie’s tired, that’s all.”

      “Tired!”

      “Got to go, Mum. Later, Saph.”

      “Is that the time?” Mum exclaims. “Oh, no! Why do I keep getting these breakfast shifts?”

      Conor grabs his bag, guitar, IT folder, bottle of water and is out of the door.

      “The bus, Sapphire! You’re going to miss the school bus!”

      “It’s OK, Mum, you go to work. I’ve still got to make my packed lunch. The bus doesn’t leave for ten minutes.”

      The door slams, and Mum’s gone.

      Ten minutes. I open the fridge door and look inside. Milk, eggs, yoghurt… I stare at them. What did I open the fridge for?

      Wake up, Sapphire, you’re supposed to be making your packed lunch. But just then Sadie whines, very quietly and pitifully. I slam the fridge door and hurry to her side. In a second, the decision is made. I’m not going to school. I am taking Sadie to the vet. I know where his surgery is – on Geevor Hill. My birthday money is in the chest under my bed. Forty pounds. If the vet sees that Sadie’s sick, surely he can do something for forty pounds?

      “Come on, Sadie. Come on, now, good girl. We’re going to see someone who’ll make you feel better.”

      I clip on Sadie’s collar and tug gently. She clambers awkwardly to her feet, and pads slowly across the floor to the front door.

      I look up and down the street. No one’s about. “Come on, Sadie.” We make our way very slowly along the beach road and then up to the corner by the graveyard, where Geevor Hill begins. The vet’s surgery is halfway up. Sadie pants like a dog ten times her age. Her head droops to her chest.

      “Why ent you at school, my girl?”

      Oh, no, it’s Mrs Eagle. She’ll tell Mum.

      “Inset day,” I say quickly.

      “Never had they in my day,” says Mrs Eagle critically. “You belong to be at school on a working day.”

      I smile brightly, and slip past her. “Just taking Sadie for a walk, Mrs Eagle.”

      “Don’t