Stormswept (12 page)

“It’s nearly November
.
It’s freezing. Don’t you care how worried I’ve been? I told Mum you’d gone to see Mrs Bassett and you’ve been here all the time. You made me tell a lie. You’ve been gone for hours.”

“Jenna, I swear I haven’t. But listen, I’ve got loads to tell you—”

“You
still
don’t get it, do you?” Jenna faces me, arms folded, eyes flashing fire. “Sometimes I can’t believe how unbelievably selfish you can be, Morveren. You don’t think about anybody except yourself.”

Digory catches up with us and stands there saying nothing, his eyes round as he looks from me to Jenna and back again.

“Jen – remember Digory’s here…”

“You should have thought of that, then, shouldn’t you? Mum’s at work this afternoon,
remember,
so someone’s got to look after him. I waited and waited and then I thought maybe you’d had an accident or something and – and – you just don’t care, do you? As long as you’re doing what you want.”

Her mouth trembles for a moment and I want to put my arms round her and hug her, but know that if I try she’ll push me off. “You don’t care about anyone except that – that—”

“Malin. He’s a person. He’s got a name.” I’m starting to get angry too.

Digory squats on the sand, drawing a picture with the end of a stick, apparently deep in his own world. But he’ll be listening to every word.

“You shouldn’t have brought him.”

“He doesn’t know,” whispers Jenna quickly. “I don’t want him to—”

“I do know,” says Digory’s voice from down around our feet. “I know that you and Mor found a mermaid and you’re looking after it.”

We both stare at him, stunned.

“Digory!”

“It’s true, isn’t it? You were keeping it a secret from me. It’s not fair.”

“He’s not a mermaid, he’s a boy called Malin,” I say. “How do you know anyway? You’ve been listening again, haven’t you?”

“I
have
to listen, otherwise you and Jen don’t tell me anything,” mutters Digory. “Can I see him?”

“No, you cannot,” snaps Jenna.

“I want to play my violin to him.”

Jenna and I look at each other. We’ve got to handle this one carefully. Digory is incredibly stubborn and once he sets his mind on something, he won’t give up even if it takes days and days. And he might tell Mum…

“He’s hurt. He needs to rest. You playing would wake him up.”

“I could make some music for him,” Digory continues, as if he hasn’t heard me. “Mer people like music. They have a band, like we do, with violins and bodhrans and flutes and—“

“Maybe when he’s better,” I say quickly, before Digory can develop his fantasy any further.

“Digory knows he hasn’t got to say anything to anyone,” says Jenna, in her encouraging
Digory’s a big boy now
voice which usually works when it’s a question of getting him to do something. Maybe it’ll work this time. Digory’s stubborn, but he’s also very secretive.

“Do you understand, Digory? No telling Mum, no talking about it out loud to yourself when you’re playing?”

Digory draws the last wheel on an enormous lorry in the sand, and nods.

“How is he, then?” Jenna asks me, in almost a normal voice.

“Sleeping.” I realise that we are both talking about Malin in the same way now. Jenna’s no longer trying to pretend he’s some kind of figment of our imaginations. He is a real person, and we have a real problem.

“I can hear Mer music now,” announces Digory casually.

“No you can’t,” Jenna and I say together.

“It’s out there.” He waves his arm out where the sea flashes and sparkles in the weak sun. “But they’re a long way off so you can hardly hear it.”

I don’t believe him, of course, but I find I’m holding my breath, straining to hear something beyond the noise of the sea. There’s nothing but waves breaking, and the cry of gulls. Or is there…?

“They’ve gone now,” says Digory. “They must have finished their music. Can I see Malin?”

“No, he’s asleep.”

“And we’re going home,” says Jenna, with a closed look on her face. She takes a firm grip of Digory’s hand. “You’re going straight to the shop, Digory, and you’re staying with Mum. Mor and I have got half-term homework to do.”

“Maths?” I ask her.

“Yes. I need a lot of help with my maths.”

I follow her and Digory along the beach. Just from the look of her back, I can tell she is still in a massive mood. As soon as Jenna and I are alone there’s going to be a major row.

But the major row doesn’t happen, because when we get home after dropping off Digory, Bran Helyer is walking up from the harbour.

“What’s
he
doing here? Did you ask him over?”

“Of course I didn’t,” says Jenna, but her colour deepens. Bran has always liked her, right back from reception class. His mum is an Islander but when Bran was eight she went away upcountry. Bran’s mum wanted to take Bran with her, but she couldn’t. His dad said he had to stay and he’s not the kind of man you can easily persuade. Bran went to live with his dad in Marazance. His dad’s not an Islander and he never liked living here. Bran does see his mum’s family, but not very much even though he really loves his nan. His dad doesn’t like it.

Bran says his dad’s “in business”. Sometimes they have loads of money and Bran comes to school with a new pair of trainers every week, and a new phone and stuff for his computer. Other times he doesn’t look as if he gets enough to eat. Bran’s dad is clever and although there are a lot of rumours about what kind of business he’s in, nobody has ever proved anything. Bran’s clever too. He used to be top of the class before he decided it wasn’t cool. If he did any work at school he’d pass all his exams brilliantly. He gets suspended instead.

“What are
you
doing here?” I ask him. Bran and I never bother with being polite. I don’t like him and he doesn’t like me. I wish he’d stay away from Jenna.

“Came over to see my nan, didn’t I?” says Bran, opening his eyes wide and putting a thick expression on his face. “Nice to see you too, Morveren.”

“Bran,” says Jenna, with an almost inaudible touch of pleading in her voice. Bran turns to her. I can’t really describe how it happens, but his whole face softens. It’s a bit like the way that Jago Faraday has a smile that only Jenna ever gets. Just for a moment Bran looks like a different person.

“You want to come for a walk, then, Jenna?” he says, pronouncing her name as if it’s a jewel. Jenna glances quickly at me, at Bran, and at our cottage wall as if the answer is written there.

“Um… where to?”

I fold my arms and give Bran a “you’d better watch yourself with my sister” glare.

“Maybe along the strand a way?”

I’d forgotten how Bran always calls it “the strand” the way Mrs Bassett does, and all the old people. It sounds funny when he’s so young and hard, with his shoulders hunched in a leather jacket which no one round here would be able to afford. Jenna blushes more, from panic.
Keep him away from the pool, Jenna.
Jenna hears my thought – probably it’s her own thought too.

“Let’s go the other way, Bran,” she says, “past the harbour.”

Bran shrugs again. “All right then. Not a lot of choice in this dump, is there?” He always talks like that about the Island now, since his mum left, and it always makes me angry.

“Marazance is the best place for your dad’s business, I know that,” I say.

“Don’t, Mor,” says Jenna quickly.

“One of these days someone is going to shut that mouth of yours for you,” says Bran, very quietly and looking only at me.

“It won’t be you,” I answer.

“I’m not coming anywhere with you, Bran, if you talk to Morveren like that,” says Jenna.

“I don’t know why you bother so much about
her.
”

“What you say to Morveren is the same as saying it to me.”

For a moment I think Bran’s going to leave. No one tells
him
what to do. But then, as he stares at her, a small smile curls his lips as if he’s just found another thing about her that he likes.

“Right then,” he says casually, and without looking at me, he walks away with Jenna. Jenna glances back with an expression I can’t read. Is she nervous or a bit apologetic – or does she actually look quite smug?

I want to go back to Malin, but I can’t risk it while Bran’s on the Island. What time is it? I go round the corner so I can see the face of the church clock.

Half-past two. But that’s impossible. It was dawn when we went out this morning. If the church clock’s telling the right time, then Jenna really was waiting for six hours. But all I did after she left was get the live water for Malin – and then pour it – and then I went down into the pool with him. All that can’t have taken more than an hour. Two at the very most. Maybe I fell asleep when I was watching him… But I’d know if I’d been asleep…

Time must have rushed forward, like a wave. If I’d been able to see the church clock then, would the hands have been whizzing forward with the minute hands crossing over the hours like in a cartoon…?

I stare up at the church clock, trying to think it through.

“Jenna?”

I spin round. “It’s Morveren, Dad.”

“You had me caught that time. You had just that dreamy look Jenna gets.”

“I was thinking about how time works.”

Dad laughs. “It goes too fast, I do know that. Where’s Jenna, then?”

“Oh – she’s at home I think.”

“Right. I’d better get on. Billy’s boat is in the yard and I said I’d give him a hand with the anti-fouling paint.”

Dad’s always helping people out with stuff. He and Jenna have a lot in common. They’re kind, and people feel easy with them. But they also both have hidden depths. For example, Mum loses her temper easily, but it doesn’t last long. She’ll be in the middle of shouting at you when she suddenly notices that there’s a flower on one of the new roses she planted, and she’ll rush out to look at it and then a little while later you’ll hear her singing. Dad hardly ever gets angry, but when it happens you feel cold all over, and it lasts for ages.

One year, when we were little, we had our birthday party in the village hall. All the kids came. Jenna’s cake was brought out first, then mine was set in front of me, with eight of those magic candles on it. Other kids started messing about with them, blowing them out so they’d light again, and I leaned forward to blow harder than anyone else because it was my birthday. I told you that Jenna and I both have really long hair. Mine fell forward and then the flame from the candles jumped up and in a second there was a flare of fire across my head. Before anyone even screamed, Dad threw himself down the table and bashed out the flames with his bare hands.

I was fine, and Dad’s hands were only a bit burned. There was a terrible smell of burned hair, and Jenna was crying. I didn’t cry, I was too shocked. Dad came round the table and picked me up and held me tight.

I stare at Dad, thinking of this. Suddenly I want more than anything to tell him about Malin, even though I know it would be crazy and anyway I swore to Malin that I wouldn’t. But I feel somehow that Dad would know what to do.

“You all right, Morveren?”

I nod. “Yeah, fine. Loads of homework, that’s all,” I add in a fit of inspiration.

Dad raises his eyebrows. “Not like you to get too worried about homework, is it?”

“Um – we’ve got exams coming up before Christmas.”

Dad looks thoughtful. “You’ve got to try and get some qualifications, you know. Otherwise it’s a hard old world. There’s no jobs here.”

“I’ll be OK. You and Mum do all right.”

“Maybe we don’t want you and Jenna scratching round to make a living.”

“I don’t want to leave here.”

“I know you don’t. But look at Jenna. She’s no cleverer than you, but she’s going to have all the doors opening for her if she keeps on like this. Maybe she won’t leave the Island. But she’ll be the one choosing, not having her life chosen for her. You understand what I mean?”

Dad has never talked to me like this before. He makes much less fuss about my school reports than Mum does. He doesn’t go on about what the teachers have said on parents’ evening, either. But he must have been thinking like this all along.

“If I thought you couldn’t do it, Morveren, I’d never say a word. But you’re a bright girl. I don’t want you throwing away your chances just because you’re as obstinate as your dad.”

“Were you like me, Dad?”

“Course I was. I had it all worked out. I had the offer of an engineering apprenticeship up near Truro, if I passed my maths exam, but I wasn’t having it. Didn’t want to work for anyone else, didn’t want to leave the Island. Didn’t want this and didn’t want that, while those that did went after it. I messed about at school, because school didn’t matter. Well, here I am.”

“But you like it, Dad! You want to be here.” I hate the idea of Dad not liking his life.

He nods. “I do. I didn’t want to make the break with all that’s gone before, that’s the truth of it.”

All that’s gone before
… There’s a row of granite headstones in the churchyard, with our name on it. I suppose that’s what Dad means. But it’s not because of them that I want to stay on the Island. Well, maybe a little bit. My DNA and the Island soil are all mixed up together.