The Tide Knot (23 page)

  We had to run home in wet clothes and bare feet. Luckily it was raining hard by then, so we didn’t look too strange.

  Mum asked where our trainers were, and I said we’d left them outside because they were wet; that was true in a way.

  Conor’s going to go back for our stuff first thing tomorrow morning. It’s already getting dark now.

  We did fall into a rock pool. That part was true as well . It was my fault because I was standing right on the edge of the rocks so that I could watch the dolphins swim back out to sea. I was waving at them; that was stupid because obviously they were looking ahead, not back at us.

  The truth is, I could hardly bear to see them go. There I was, up on land, and I felt stranded. The rock was so hard and rough, and everything was too cold and too noisy and too—too
solid
somehow. So I watched the dolphins until I couldn’t see them anymore. And then I slipped, like an idiot, and fell backward into the pool and cut myself again. Conor jumped in after me because he thought I’d hit my head on the rock. The pool was quite deep, and I was under the water for a few seconds. But I wasn’t in Ingo. I swallowed some water accidental y, and it tasted of salt, and then some of it went into the back of my throat and made me cough and splutter. I knew for sure then that I was back in the Air. Ingo was closed to me.

  “Where’s Sadie?” I ask suddenly. I haven’t thought of Sadie for hours and hours, but I don’t feel as disloyal as I did the time I left her tied up by the beach. Sadie’s been safe at home all day. She’s used to the fact that we have to spend whole days away from her, at school. She didn’t know that I was in Ingo, so she wouldn’t have been pining for me.

  “Roger’s taken her for a walk,” says Mum absently, rubbing my wet hair with the kitchen towel. “Up those stairs now, Sapphy, and straight into a hot shower. Conor, I’m going to throw a duvet down. Get that wet stuff off yourself, and wrap up in the duvet in front of the fire. You go in the shower after Sapphy.”

  “Thanks,” says Conor. “Why do girls always get the shower first?”  

  It’s a rhetorical question. He knows the answer: They just do.

  “Mum,” I ask as I go upstairs behind her, “why are you at home anyway?”

  “My cold’s got worse. I can’t be sneezing all over the customers’ plates.”

  No, she doesn’t look well . I touch her hand. “Mum, you’re burning hot. Why don’t you go to bed?”

  “That’s what Roger said. But I can’t settle. I don’t know why. I’ve got a funny feeling…” Mum makes a face, as if she’s trying to laugh at her own fears. “Stupid, isn’t it?”

  “What sort of feeling?”

  “As if something’s going to happen,” says Mum very quietly, as if she doesn’t want anyone to overhear.

  “But what could be going to happen? You mean here, in the house?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I did. I’ve just got this uneasy feeling all over my skin. I can’t settle. Sadie was the same. She kept whining and padding up and down and twitching until Roger got fed up with it and said he’d take her out.”

  “She was probably only wondering where I was.”

  “No. It wasn’t that, Sapphy. The hair on the back of her neck was standing up. Bristling.”

  “But Sadie’s got a smooth coat, Mum.”  

  “You could see it, all the same. It made me think of the way dogs are supposed to know when an earthquake’s coming.”

  “An
earthquake
! There can’t be an earthquake here in St. Pirans.”

  I’m relieved. If all that Mum’s worried about is an earthquake, then I can relax.

  “You know how they say cats and dogs run out of the house when an earthquake is on its way, but nobody understands how they sense it? I think something’s in the air, and Sadie senses it. Something—something
ominous
.

  And that’s what I feel too.”

  “What do you mean, Mum,
ominous
?”

  “Oh, Sapphy, you’re better with words than I am. You know what an omen is. It’s a sign, a warning.” I open the bathroom door. I don’t want to talk about imaginary earthquakes or signs or warnings. What is really going on is strange enough. 

“Mum, you should go to bed.  Maybe you’re having, you know, whatever it’s called when people imagine things because they’ve got a high temperature.”

  “I’m not delirious,” says Mum, folding her arms. “I thought
you’d
understand, Sapphy.” She stares at me, her eyes very bright and swimmy and her face full of trouble. Mum’s not well at all . For a moment I feel as if I’m the mother and she is the daughter. Conor would put his arms round Mum and hug her if she looked like that, but I’m so cold and wet that it wouldn’t be a good idea.

  “If you don’t want to go to bed, Mum, why not rest by the fire with Conor? You shouldn’t be trying to do things when you’re ill . I’ll make you some tea as soon as I’ve had my shower.”

  “I don’t like the sound of the wind,” says Mum abruptly.

  “Listen to the way it’s blowing over the top of the house. That horrible empty, booming sound. And the waves were crashing right inside the harbor.”

  “Well , they do, don’t they, when there’s a storm?”

  “The wind’s still rising. I don’t like it. I wish Roger hadn’t gone out.”

  “He’ll be back soon. We’ll look after you, Mum,” I say as gently as I can. When I was in Ingo, I couldn’t properly remember that I loved her. How could I have forgotten?

  She’s not a frozen image. She’s Mum.

  “It’s only a storm coming,” I tell  her as reassuringly as I can. “It’ll pass.”

  “I know,” says Mum. “I know all that.” She pauses, as if there’s something more she wants to say but isn’t sure that she should.

  “Mum, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing, Sapphy. Don’t worry. I’m just being silly. It’s only—it’s just that I don’t like the sound of that wind.” It’s completely dark by the time Roger gets back with Sadie.

  He’s walked the legs off her, he says jokingly, and now he hopes she’ll settle down. But far from settling down, Sadie leaps on me as if she hasn’t seen me for years, licks my hands, trembling with excitement, and then puts back her head and begins a vol ey of barks that are loud enough to be heard across three fields rather than one small living room. Mum puts her hands over her ears.

  “Try to calm her down, Sapphy,” says Roger.

  “I’m trying to. Sadie girl, what’s the matter? Stop it now.” I put my arms around her firmly, and she nuzzles into my shoulder, still barking so loudly that my ears hurt.

  “That’s
enough
, Sadie, or we’ll have to put you out in the yard, and you don’t like that. Mum’s not well .” Sadie stops barking and instead stares at me reproachful y. I can almost see the thoughts in her soft brown eyes.
Don’t you understand that I’m trying to tell you
something? You go off without me, and I don’t know what
you’re doing or when you’re coming back, and then you
make me stop talking. All right, I’ll do as I’m told, but only
because I’ve got no choice.
 

  “Sorry, Sadie,” I whisper into her ear. “I can’t explain to you properly now, but I
had
to go today. It was really important. I couldn’t take you with me because dogs can’t go to—well , to the place where I was. It’s no use looking like that. You can’t understand because you haven’t got a single drop of Mer blood in you. Maybe that’s lucky for you.” Sadie whines deep in her throat. She’s still uneasy, like Mum. There’s something going on that unsettles her.

  Probably it’s just the storm. Dogs are much more sensitive to weather than humans are.

  “Oh, Roger, I’ve got such a headache,” says Mum, as if she can’t help herself. Mum hardly ever complains, just as she’s hardly ever ill .

  “Let’s get you up to bed, Jennie,” Roger says. “Sapphire will make your tea, and you’d better take some aspirin.

  You’re very hot. You need to lie down.”

  I jump up. “Tea’ll be ready in a minute, Mum. You go on up with Roger.”

  Roger smiles at me. It’s a warm, approving smile, and I can’t help smiling back. I’ve got to admit that sometimes it’s good to have Roger here. He
does
think about other people, and he’s kind too. It’s not soft kindness, but it’s real.

  Anyway, it’s all right to recognize Roger’s good qualities.

  I’m certainly not going to start thinking he’s my stepdad or something, just because I’ve stopped hating him.  

  Roger decides he’s going to sit with Mum until she goes to sleep. “Your mum’s got a high fever. I’ll call the doctor in the morning if she’s no better. Keep the music down, kids.” But it’s not music that’ll keep Mum awake, I’m sure of that. It’s the wind and the angry roar of the sea. The storm is disturbing and exciting at the same time. The weather hasn’t been as wild as this since we came to St. Pirans.  

  “Barometer’s dropped again,” announces Conor from the doorway, where the barometer hangs on the wall .

  “What does it say?”

  “Storm. Going down to severe storm, I think.”

  “What comes after that?”

  “Hurricane. But there won’t be a hurricane, Saph.”

  “Listen to it.”

  We both listen. I see what Mum meant about the booming sound. The house sounds like a drum, and the wind is the drummer. Beyond the wind we can hear the shapeless roaring of the sea.

  Just then the phone rings. It’s Mal. His dad needs help, urgently, and he’s asked Mal to call his friends.

  “He’s got a share in his brother’s boat—you know, that big clinker-built one that does trips out to the seals,” Conor says, as he starts to cram his feet into his boots. “They want to bring it right up the wharf. Mal says conditions in the harbor are freaky.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “
No
, Saph. Stay here. Mum’ll get upset if you go out again on a night like this. She doesn’t need the hassle.”

  “But I can help with the boat. I’m strong.”

  “Saph. Please. Just for once, could
you
be the one who stays in the house and keeps everybody happy?” Reluctantly I agree. I don’t want to make Conor angry. But as soon as the door closes on him, I wish I’d gone too. The house doesn’t feel like a drum anymore, but like a cage, with the wind rattling its bars. A fierce draft whistles under the door, and then the weirdest thing happens. The draft lifts up the bright red rug Mum put there as a doormat. It doesn’t lift the rug right off the floor, but it gets underneath and makes the thick red material ripple up and down like incoming waves. It’s uncanny. After a few seconds the rug flops back against the boards and lies still . But just when I think I’ve imagined it all , there’s another twitch, and the funneled force of the wind under the door gets hold of the rug again and flip-flops it against the wooden boards. It’s only a little sound, compared with the racket of the storm, but it makes my skin crawl. It’s as if the wind is the cat and the rug is the mouse.

  Sadie hates it. She cowers on the other side of the room, staring at the rug.

  “I know, it’s horrible, Sadie,” I murmur, putting my arms around her. “I don’t like it any more than you do.” Sadie whines plaintively, then gets up, shakes herself all over, and pads toward the stairs, looking back at me for my reaction.

  “You know you’re not allowed upstairs, Sadie.” But Sadie’s expression is so imploring that I give way.

  “Oh, all right, just this once. As long as nobody hears, you can go up in my bedroom. But I’m not coming to bed yet, so you’l just have to wait for me.”

  I settle Sadie in my room alongside the bed. There’s so little space in my room that I have to step over her in order to get to the doorway. My porthole window is firmly shut, and I draw the curtains too, to shut out the wild night.

  “There now, is that better? Are you happier now?” Sadie thumps her tail softly on the floor. She understands that she mustn’t make a noise up here. She’s certainly a lot more relaxed now that she’s upstairs. I wonder why.

  “I’ll be back soon, Sadie. I’m going to close the door so Mum and Roger don’t see you. Hush now.” I put my finger on my lips, and Sadie stares back conspiratorial y. She knows perfectly well that we’re breaking the rules.

  I go back downstairs, put another log on the fire, and clear the washing up off the draining board. Perhaps I ought to go up to bed now. It’s early, but at least I’d be with Sadie.

  I feel too restless. I hate being shut in the house when the wind is like this. I never minded when we were at our cottage. We were so high up on the cliffs that it didn’t matter how ferocious the sea became because it could never reach us. Our cottage was made of granite, and its walls were so thick that no wind could ever blow them down.

  But this house doesn’t feel so strong, and the sea’s very close—less than fifty meters away and almost on the same level as the house. It seems farther away because the road winds around the houses, but it’s not.
Don’t be stupid, Saph.

 
This house has been standing since Victorian times. That
is more than a hundred years. They wouldn’t have built it
here if there’d been any risk.
 

  I turn the TV on and then quickly switch it off again as a storm of static hits the screen. Something’s happened to the reception.

  The rug twitches again. A buffet of wind and rain hits the windows. Suddenly I feel completely alone. The living room ought to be safe and comforting with the log fire burning, but it isn’t. Smoke blows back down the chimney, and the fire’s struggling to keep alive.

  Maybe Mum’s really bad. Maybe we should have called the doctor….

  I’ll go upstairs, creep in on tiptoe, and see how she is. I can’t believe she’s really asleep, with the wind battering the house like this.

  But she is. She’s lying flat on her back in the middle of the big bed, fast asleep. The bedside lamp is still on. Mum’s very pale, but there are red blotches on her cheeks, and she’s breathing fast. Her lips look dry and cracked. Roger is asleep too, in the basket chair. Half the newspaper is on his lap, and the other half has slid onto the floor. His mouth is open. He certainly doesn’t look as handsome as usual, but when people are asleep, you can’t help feeling as if you should look after them…just a bit. I tiptoe to the bedside lamp and switch it off.