Читать книгу The Complete Ingo Chronicles: Ingo, The Tide Knot, The Deep, The Crossing of Ingo, Stormswept - Helen Dunmore - Страница 22

Mum straightens up and turns from the oven to the kitchen table where we’re all sitting. She places a pan of roast potatoes carefully on the heat-proof mat, next to the roast chicken which has been resting for ten minutes.

“The chicken’s having a good rest before we eat it,” Dad used to explain to us when we were little. “It’s hard work to be eaten.”

“Don’t fill the children’s heads with rubbish, Mathew. It rests so as to make the meat easier to carve, Sapphire,” Mum would say.

Dad’s not here, but we’re still eating roast chicken. Isn’t it strange that a meal can last longer in your life than a person? Sunday dinner, the same as ever. I stare at the golden skin of the chicken and the crunchy golden-brown roast potatoes. Mum always sprinkles salt on the potatoes before she puts them in hot oil to roast.

“I’ll just have potatoes and broccoli, Mum,” I say, when it comes to my turn. Mum has already heaped Roger’s plate with chicken breast and a leg as well, and he’s staring at it carnivorously.

“You’re not turning vegetarian again, are you, Sapphire?” asks Mum warily.

“I’m not turning vegetarian, it’s just that I don’t want any chicken.”

“Great-looking chicken,” Roger observes.

“It was better looking when it was running around, in my opinion,” I answer. I’m on safe ground here, because I know this is one of the Nances’ chickens, so I have definitely seen it running around many times. In fact I’ve probably even thrown grain for it, which makes the sight of it on the plate a little difficult.

“Is it better for a chicken to run around and have a good life and then die and be eaten, or for a chicken to be shut up in a box and never run around, and then die of natural causes?” asks Conor. Mum pours gravy on to Roger’s plate in a long stream. Her lips are pressed tightly together with annoyance. Her face is flushed from the heat of the oven on a hot day, and suddenly I wish I hadn’t said anything about the chicken running around.

“Lord, bless this food and all of us who gather here to eat it,” says Roger. We all stare at him. His face is calm and bland. He nods at me, picks up his knife and fork, and starts to eat.

“No disrespect to your workplace, Jennie, but this roast beats anything I’ve eaten in a restaurant,” he says, after swallowing the first few mouthfuls. I listen to his voice instead of the words and I hear something unexpected there. Mum never told us Roger was Australian. But his accent is not that strong. Maybe he went to Australia for a while, that was all. Diving on the Great Barrier Reef.

“I got gravy on my chin?” Roger asks, smiling. I must have been staring at him.

“No,” I blurt out. “I was wondering if you were Australian.”

Roger looks pleased. “Yeah, that’s right. I was born out there, in a little place in the Blue Mountains near Sydney. My parents emigrated there after they were married. But things didn’t work out for the family, so my mum came back here when I was ten years old. You can still hear the accent if you know what to listen for, I reckon.”

“I never knew that,” says Mum.

“Your daughter has a quick ear,” says Roger, and I can’t help feeling a bit flattered. I look down quickly to hide my smile. I don’t want Mum thinking I’m starting to like Roger.

“Eat your broccoli, Sapphire,” says Mum automatically, although I’ve already eaten it.

“She’s looking better, isn’t she?” Mum goes on. It’s not really a question to anyone, and no one answers.

“You’re feeling better, aren’t you, Sapphy?”

“Um, yes—” I begin, when I realise that I’m not feeling better at all. In fact I’m feeling very strange indeed, as if the Sunday table is rushing away from me. Conor’s looking at me worriedly. The room feels as if all the air has been sucked out of it, even though the kitchen door is open. The smell of food chokes my nostrils. Why are we all sitting inside when the sun is bright on the grass outside and the tide’s moving, tugging…

“The tide’s on the turn,” I say, before I know I’m going to say it. Roger glances at his watch.

“You’re dead right there,” he says, surprised. “Right to the minute. You keep your eye on the tides, then?”

“So do you.”

“I have to, I’m a diver. It’s second nature.”

“It’s first nature for Saph,” says Conor. I can’t believe he’s said that. Is he trying to give away our secrets?

“Is it?” asks Roger. He gives me a long, considering look. It occurs to me that divers probably have to be quite observant. “I’ve known people who get so that they can feel the tides, without ever needing to look at a watch or a tide-table. Lifetime of experience, I guess. But you’re a tad young for that.”

“The children have lived within the sound of the sea all their lives,” says Mum. “Children more or less grow up in the sea around here. Or at least, mine have done.”

“Can’t think of a better way to grow up,” says Roger. “Tell me, Sapphire. Does the sea sound different, when the tide turns?” He sounds as if he really wants to know, but I don’t answer. I’m struggling to listen. The noise of the sea is loud, filling my ears. Conor diverts Roger’s attention.

“I’d like to learn to dive,” he says, looking directly at Roger.

“No, you wouldn’t, Conor!” I burst out.

“You don’t know everything I want, Saph.”

“You’d need proper training,” says Roger. “How old are you now?”

“Thirteen.”

“If you’re serious, I’ll see what I can fix up. A week’s beginner course is what I’d suggest for a start.”

“I am serious,” says Conor. “I’d like to learn.”

“But it’s dangerous,” says Mum. “Isn’t it, Roger?”

“No more than anything else, if you’re careful. If you follow the rules, use your common sense and don’t take risks, you’ll be OK.”

Follow the rules. Use your common sense. Don’t take risks. Without my realising it, the roar of the sea has faded.

“But how can you discover anything, if you don’t take risks?” I ask.

Roger considers again. “Maybe there’s some truth in that. But you don’t start off by taking risks. You start off by doing all you can to minimise them. You have to know what you’re doing, go step by step, respect the force of the sea. Remember, you’re in a different world down there. An alien world. You’ll see what I mean when you make your first dive, Conor.”

“It must be beautiful,” I say innocently.

“Oh, it’s beautiful all right,” says Roger. “It’s a world of its own, what you see down there. It has its own light, not like ours. When a dustbin-lid jellyfish goes by, or even a shark – well, you see some amazing sights, I can tell you that. You have basking shark in these waters, did you know that?”

“Yes.”

“And there are weeds that grow as big as trees. It’s a another world. You have to respect the sea. We don’t belong down there. If you forget that, you’re in big trouble.”

But what you’re really doing is spying on Ingo, I say inside my head. The Mer don’t want you there. What’s so respectful about forcing your way in where you’re not wanted?

But I’m not going to say any of this aloud. Instead I nod and say, “Mm, maybe.”

“Roger’s going to take a boat out from the cove. He’s going to dive round here,” says Mum. Even though Mum hates the sea, she doesn’t seem to worry about Roger going out on it.

But she was afraid when Dad went out. Always afraid, even though she tried to hide it from us. When he was home in the cottage, with the doors shut and the fire burning, when there was a storm and nobody could think of taking a boat out, then Mum was happy and relaxed.

“It’s just an exploratory dive,” says Roger quickly. But I’m not sure that I believe him. I can sense danger. He thinks there is something worth diving for: a wreck, treasure, something to be dragged up out of Ingo into the Air. Something to be taken away from the Mer. Something valuable that Roger is going to discover, and no one else.

“What are you looking for?” Conor asks.

“I won’t know what’s there until I’ve searched around a little,” says Roger evasively. He glances round the table. “So I’d appreciate it if you kept all this quiet for the time being. I don’t want other divers muscling in on the site.”

“You mean, not tell our school friends and our friends who live around here?” I ask.

“That’s right. Not for the time being, anyway.”

“I won’t tell them, then, I promise,” I say, and I smile at Roger for the first time. A big, wide, warm smile that will put him off his guard. Mum looks at me gratefully. I can tell exactly what she’s thinking. What a relief, maybe Sapphy’s going to like Roger after all.

“Do you want this other leg, Roger?” asks Mum.

“You’re not to tell them about the dive,” hisses Conor as we wash up together.

I open my eyes wide. “I said I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”

“You know what I mean. I heard exactly what you said. You only promised that you wouldn’t tell people from school, people round here.”

“That’s all Roger asked.”

“Only because he didn’t know who else you might tell.”

“No, because he doesn’t know anything, does he? He doesn’t know or care about any of them. What’s going to happen to Faro if Roger finds what he’s looking for? It’s probably gold or treasure or something. Other divers will find out too. They’ll be swarming around here. And tourists as well. There’ll be people everywhere, all over the sea just like they’re all over the land. They’ll drive the Mer away.”

Very slowly, Conor wipes a plate dry. “Yes, I know. I’ve thought of that too.”

“If you’ve thought of it, then why are you encouraging Roger? Why did you tell him you wanted to learn to dive?”

“Because I do want to.”

“But you can, anyway! You can dive. You don’t need Roger. You don’t need air on your back and a black suit to go into Ingo.”

“Give Roger a chance, Saph. He’s all right. He’s not the type that would want crowds of people diving for treasure round here.”

I feel as if Conor’s slapped me. I take a deep breath, and hit back. “That didn’t take long, did it?”

“What didn’t take long?”

“You’re on his side already.”

“Give that glass here, you’re going to break it. Listen, Saph. It’s not about taking sides. Look at Mum. Don’t you think she looks better? Do you want her to go back to what she was like just after Dad went?”

Mum and Roger are in the living room. They’re playing cards, and it sounds as if Mum’s winning. As Conor and I stand listening, we hear Mum laugh. A warm, soft, chuckling laugh. She sounds relaxed and happy.

“She’s a lot better,” says Conor. “A lot. You want Mum to be better, don’t you, Saph?”

“You don’t care about Dad any more.”

Slowly, Conor’s face flushes under his brown skin. Slowly, spacing out his words, he says, “Don’t ever say that again.”

“I won’t, I won’t, Conor, I’m sorry—”

But Conor’s gone. He turns his back on me and walks out quietly. He doesn’t slam the door, but the way he shuts it is worse than a slam. I hear his tread on the stairs, going up to my room, and up the ladder into his loft. He pulls up his ladder and shuts the trapdoor, shutting me out.

Conor has turned his back on me. Conor doesn’t want to be with me. He’s angry and I know that Conor’s worst anger is very quiet and it goes on for a long time.

It’s all my fault. Why was I so stupid? I’ll go after him. I’ll tell him I’m sorry. I’ll make him believe I’m really sorry for what I said.

“Conor?” I call from beneath the trapdoor, softly in case Mum hears and asks what’s going on. “Conor? Con, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. It wasn’t true, what I said.”

But there’s no answer from Conor. I feel crushed inside from fear and loneliness. There’s Mum again, laughing, and now she’s saying something, but I can’t hear what it is. Conor’s right. Mum does sound happy. And there’s Roger, laughing too, joining in.

I have the strangest feeling that, already, Roger belongs here more than I do. In a while, when he knows I’m not standing here waiting any more, Conor will come down the ladder. He’ll play cards with Mum, and Roger will talk to them about diving. I can see the three of them together, belonging to one another, and the pain inside me grows stronger.

Why was I so stupid? Why ever did I say that Conor didn’t care about Dad? I wish I could bring the words back. If only I knew how to make time run backwards. If I did, all the mistakes I’ve made could be undone.

Mum and Roger are laughing again. Mum is happy. Is she happier because I’m not there? Maybe Mum doesn’t want me here, reminding her of Dad every time I open my mouth. I look like Dad. Everyone has always said so.

If only Dad was here.

But just as I think that, for the first time a small, bleak voice inside me whispers, “Maybe they’re right, and you’re wrong. Maybe he’s never coming back.”

All the loneliest thoughts I’ve ever had crowd into my head. I feel cold and tired, and I don’t know what to do. If only there was someone to help me. But there’s only emptiness, swirling inside my mind.

Until I feel something. A pull, a tug, faint at first and then stronger, stronger. I know what it is. The tide is falling fast.

It’s already an hour past the turn. I know it without knowing why I know it. I can feel the tide inside me, as if my blood has turned to salt water. There’s the pull of it again, stronger, almost lifting me off my feet. Now. I’ve got to go now.

Hurry. Hurry. Hurry. You’ll miss the tide.