The Deep

by Helen Dunmore

  “You must be wondering how I got down here,” understates Gloria. “Rob brought me round from Morvrinney in the Tregerthens’ Seagull.”

  “Oh. Is he—is he still here?”

  “He’s coming back in half an hour. I wanted to be—well, I wanted to be here on my own. I’ve always wanted to visit this cove.” She pauses, frowns, and then goes on more uncertainly. “This is going to sound weird. I know this cove is your place, and you probably think I shouldn’t be here. But I keep feeling I’ve got to be here. As if the cove were pulling me down to it.” She tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

  “I don’t think you should be here on your own,” says Conor, with such conviction that he sounds as if he’s the adult, not Gloria.

  I don’t think she should be here on her own either. Half an hour sounds like a short time, but it’s long enough for a shining head to appear above the water or for a figure to be suddenly there, sitting on the rocks by the cove entrance, wearing a wet suit pulled down to the waist. Or at least that’s what it will look like until you get close. And once you’re close, it’s all too late. Once I’d seen Faro and I knew that what everybody else thinks is a myth or a fairy tale is hard, cold fact, then there was no way of returning to the life I’d been living five minutes before.

  Her husband won’t guess that it’s dangerous to leave her here. He won’t sense that this cove is a gateway to another world. He won’t realize that Gloria sometimes has a look of Ingo on her face.

  “Don’t stay here on your own,” Conor says, frowning.

  Gloria rubs her hands over her eyes as if she’s trying to rub something away. “I meant to go see Granny Carne today,” she says in a puzzled voice. “I can’t think why I didn’t.”

  I can. Her Mer blood wants her to come here, to the cove, not to Granny Carne’s cottage.

  “You two were swimming a long way out,” Gloria goes on. “I thought this coast was supposed to be so dangerous.”

  “It is,” says Conor. “Saph and I know the currents.”

  “Do you always go swimming with your clothes on?” Gloria asks, laughing.

  “It’s—it’s warmer.”

  I wish her husband would hurry up and fetch her. He was stupid to leave Gloria here. What if the weather changes and he can’t bring the boat round? People from upcountry don’t understand how quickly the sea can change here. Gloria could be cut off by the tide. She could never struggle to safety up those cliffs on her crutches.

  “You really should go to see Granny Carne,” says Conor with a seriousness that makes Gloria stare at him. I can almost see the wheels of her mind working. Any minute now she’ll come out with a question that we won’t be able to dodge—

  “There’s the Seagull!” I exclaim, my voice loud with relief.

  “Where?”

  “Out where I’m pointing.”

  “I see it!” Gloria leans on her left crutch, slips her right crutch free, lifts it, and waves it over her head. “Rob! Rob!”

  She looks as if someone has switched on a light inside her and it’s shining out through her eyes. She must really love him. He seems quite dull to me, compared with Dad or even Roger, with his job in Exeter and his files of paperwork and his pale city skin. Nice, but dull.

  He’s not using the engine. He’s rowing the Seagull in, and she’s riding easily over the swell. I’ve got to admit he knows how to handle her. I hope he knows how tricky it’ll be to bring her alongside at the landing place at this state of the tide. He must, because he’s not even going to try. He’s bringing her in onto the beach, and suddenly I realize why. Gloria wouldn’t be able to use the ladder. He glances behind him, sees Gloria waving the crutch, and waggles his left oar in salute. He’s laughing. He looks a bit less dull when he laughs.

  Suddenly I’m overwhelmingly glad that she is still here, waiting for him. Ingo hasn’t taken Gloria. I’ve got to stop her from coming to the cove again. I’m going to talk to Granny Carne.

  They’ve gone. The shining sea is empty again. I wanted to stay until the Seagull was out of sight, even though Conor’s desperate for a hot shower. I wanted the cove to be empty again—and ours.

  “Come on, Saph, Mum’ll be back from work soon.”

  It must be still the same day, or Gloria would have known we were missing. Mum will think we’ve spent the day down here.

  You can’t see a blow coming from behind, but there’s a millionth of a second when you feel the air rush toward you. A gull slices the air above my head, so close that its claws comb through my hair. It swoops almost to the sand, screeching, then swings upward over the water. And then it straightens out, drops, rolls, and comes round again in a wide circle. It’s passed me. It’s behind me and then—

  “Look out, Saph!”

  The gull dive-bombs me again. I duck, throwing my arms up to protect my head, and when the gull has gone, there’s a broad scratch on my hand from which blood starts to well.

  “You okay, Saph?”

  I’m shaking. “It—it attacked me.”

  “It’s gone. Look, there it is, flying out to sea.”

  I watch in case it sweeps back on itself again, but it disappears into the distance.

  “It must have thought you had a donut,” Conor jokes. If you’re eating outside in St. Pirans, gulls dive close to scare you and make you drop your food, and then they snatch it.

  But I don’t think this gull was after food. I shake my hand disbelievingly. It hurts, and blood drips onto the sand.

  “Wash it in the sea, quick. You can put a Band-Aid on at home.”

  I don’t say anything more until we’ve climbed to the top of the cliff. But I’m thinking hard. Gulls see everything. They know what happens in the human world. They’d make good messengers. If they were on Ervys’s side, if they were able to report back to him about what we were doing and where we were going…

  Maybe the gull was telling me something. We know where you are. We can still find you even when you’re not in Ingo. Don’t think that Ervys has forgotten about you.

  I shiver. I can’t forget the cold, hard anger on Ervys’s face. It’s the kind of anger that will keep for years without ever weakening. My hand stings from the blow of the gull’s claws and the salt water.

  “Nearly home, Saph,” says Conor encouragingly, as if I’m five years younger than him instead of only two.

  “’M okay, Conor. Don’t fuss.”

  Conor puts his arm round me, and suddenly I’m glad of his help. “For someone who’s okay, you don’t look too good, Saph. We’d better get your hand sorted out before Mum sees it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THE BARBIE DIDN’T HAPPEN yesterday after all. By the time Conor and I got home, it was well after six. I thought Mum would be back from work, but she was late too, which gave us time to clean up my hand. We washed the scratch again with disinfectant. I had a crazy idea that maybe Ervys had put poison on the gull’s claws. Conor found a Band-Aid big enough to cover half my hand, and although Mum noticed it, she accepted my explanation that I’d scratched myself on some brambles.

  Mum didn’t even mention rolling out the Super Antipodean. She asked us if we’d had a good day, and after a short pause we said yes.

  Mum seemed preoccupied. She kept glancing at us as if she wanted to say something and then quickly filling the kettle or folding laundry. I cooked a big omelet and French fries for everyone. Roger came in so late that his share was leathery from being kept in the oven, but Mum didn’t get cross with him. She seemed to be not quite with us.

  When I was wiping down the surfaces, I heard something I wished I hadn’t. The door from the kitchen to the living room was open.

  “Did you get a chance to tell them, Jennie?” That was Roger.

  “No. It wasn’t the right moment. They were out all day, and Sapphy looks exhausted.”

  I clattered a pan, and they went quiet. I didn’t want to hear any more or think about what “telling us” might mean. I wasn’t in the mood to talk
to Conor about it either. Conor’s suspicions might turn out to be the same as mine.

  I was so tired that I went to bed before eight. Conor had already gone up. I didn’t dream or even move, and I didn’t wake until almost nine this morning.

  So the barbie is happening today. Mum’s coming back from work early, and Roger, with typical efficiency, had the food ordered ready for pickup from St. Pirans first thing this morning. It isn’t going to be a simple sausage and burger barbie; no, it’s going to be like restaurant food. I asked him if he wanted some help, but he said, “Relax. This is my treat.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever spent such an empty day. I got up slowly, wandered around with a mug of tea, watched the spring sunshine glittering on the horizon, and didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything. Conor was still in bed; he didn’t get up until two o’clock. I think we both felt as if everything that happened in the Deep was hitting us, now that we were safe.

  I kept seeing flashes of the Kraken changing shape and the whale’s battle. They were so real, it felt as if the whole thing was happening again. I kept having to remind myself that it was all over. The Kraken was asleep. He couldn’t do anything to us. And Ervys was in Ingo, far away. I’d have to think about him one day soon, but not now.

  The sun was warm in my sheltered spot, and Sadie flumped down on my feet, curled up, and closed her eyes. Her heaviness was comforting. I felt drowsy even though I’d slept for nearly thirteen hours. I kept thinking I ought to go and see Granny Carne. There was so much I needed to talk to her about. The rowanberries, the Kraken, Conor and Elvira, and Gloria Fortune. I had to find a way of keeping Gloria away from Ingo.

  But I couldn’t find the energy to walk across the garden, let alone up to Granny Carne’s cottage.

  I drifted into the kitchen to see how Roger was getting on. He’d already prepared kebabs, marinated steaks, and made a beautiful salad. Now, to my amazement, he was whipping up homemade lime mayonnaise.

  “Are lots of people coming?” I asked. I thought maybe he’d invited some of his diving friends.

  “No. Just us.”

  “All that for just us?”

  Roger nodded and got on with chopping herbs for the steak. “Keep Sadie out of the kitchen, Sapphy,” he said as I turned away. The steak must have cost loads, I thought.

  I had a slow shower while Sadie did her thing of lying across the bathroom doorway, as if she thought someone might come in and stab me through the shower curtain. I washed my hair and then went into the garden with Sadie to dry it in the sun. She settled herself to sleep again. I shut my eyes and thought of nothing, and suddenly it was two o’clock and Conor came out with his duvet wrapped round him and a mug of coffee.

  “You don’t need your duvet, Conor. It’s really warm out here.”

  “I need my comfort blanket. Budge up, Sades, give me room to sit down.”

  But Sadie had already moved away from him. She doesn’t like the talisman, and Conor hasn’t taken it off since we got back. Even Mum noticed it last night.

  “That’s nice, Conor. Did you buy it at the craft fair?”

  Craft fair! Sometimes I wonder how Mum thinks we spend our time.

  “Someone gave it to me,” said Conor vaguely. I could see Mum thinking, Oh! Has Conor got a girlfriend? and then deciding to be tactful and say nothing. Mum is so obvious when she’s being tactful.

  Conor’s eyes were still puffy with sleep. He finished his coffee, snuggled into the duvet, and looked as if he was going to drop off again. “I’m still aching all over,” he mumbled.

  “From—from the Deep?”

  “Yeah. Don’t let’s talk about it now, Saph.”

  We both felt the same. Don’t let’s talk about anything.

  After about another hour Conor hauled himself up and made us some cheese and pickle sandwiches.

  “Roger’s making strawberry shortcake,” he reported from the kitchen.

  “Strawberry shortcake! I didn’t know Roger could cook stuff like that. He’s always going on about Mum’s cakes as if they’re miracles.”

  “He’s doing it step by step from a recipe book. I can’t believe how much food there is. Is anyone else coming besides us?”

  “He says not.”

  “Weird.”

  I thought about mentioning the “Have you told them” conversation but decided not to. Why spoil the afternoon?

  The Super Antipodean may be a gleaming alien stainless steel monster, but I have to admit it works. Today Roger cooks juicy lamb kebabs with red pepper and tomato chunks, sizzling rib eye steaks coated with crushed peppercorns, and barbecued sardines with rosemary for Mum because they’re her favorite. Roger’s as efficient as the barbie, and everybody has a plate of food in about a quarter of the time it would take me and Conor to cook a couple of mackerel over a driftwood fire.

  The barbie isn’t as beautiful as a driftwood fire. You don’t get leaping, crackling flames that burn down to a heap of soft red ash, and you don’t get the wonderful woodsmoke taste in your food. But when there are five of you all wanting food at once, the barbie is a pretty good substitute. I’m counting Sadie as one of the five. She’s the greediest of us all. The cooking smells excite her so much that she trembles all over and whines in ecstasy, and I have to restrain her from jumping right into the food as soon as it comes off the grill and burning her nose.

  I feed her the best tidbits from my plate as well as her own portion. I’m not supposed to do this because Roger says there’s nothing worse than a dog that makes a nuisance of itself begging while people eat. I see his point, so I’ve explained to Sadie that tonight is an exception.

  Sadie’s still wary of Conor because he won’t take off the talisman. I suggested he could put it under his pillow, but he refused point-blank. It’s got to stay round his neck day and night, even though we’re a long way from the Deep now. However, I’m not going to argue with him. Any criticism of the talisman is like a criticism of Elvira. It will just make Conor more and more stubborn.

  I’m hoping it’s just a phase. It used to drive me mad when Mum said that. Now, though, I find the idea reassuring. I’ve never seen Conor so—so melted. Elvira is much too beautiful and gentle and gifted and generally perfect. A person like that could never fit into our family. And then there are all the other obstacles—such as her tail…

  Nearly all the food has gone. There’s just one slice of strawberry shortcake left, and Sadie’s got her eye on it. It’s quite chilly now. Even a warm spring day quickly changes into a cold night. In a minute I’ll offer to start clearing up. Mum and Roger have drunk a bottle of wine between them, and now they’re staring romantically into the dying glow of the Super Antipodean.

  “Shall we tell them, Jennie?” asks Roger abruptly. Conor and I snap to attention while Mum looks panicky.

  Oh, my God, I think. They’re going to tell us they’re getting married. They can’t do it! Dad isn’t dead. You can’t get married when your husband is alive and you’re not divorced or anything. Mum would be a bigamist.

  “Do you think this is the best time?” asks Mum in a thin, nervous voice. Maybe she doesn’t want to marry Roger but can’t think of a way of telling him. Don’t worry, Mum, we’ll help you.

  Roger begins, “You know I told you I was born in Australia, but we had to leave when I was a kid?”

  Conor and I mumble something. Maybe Roger thinks he needs to run through his autobiography to convince us that he deserves to marry Mum.

  “It’s a great country. A fantastic place. Beautiful scenery, friendly people, a great attitude to life.”

  Roger sounds like the Australian Tourist Board, but it’s clear that he really means it. His face glows with enthusiasm.

  “I’ve always wanted to go back. A diving job has come up on the Queensland coast. A mate of mine emailed me last week. It’s for three months.”

  Roger’s going away! It’s what I hoped and prayed for every night when Mum first met him. But now—well, I suppose I must have got used t
o him. I don’t feel the joy I would have felt even a few months ago. I glance at Mum, wondering how she’s going to cope.

  “I’ve got some savings that will pay for the fares”—Roger goes on—“and I can’t think of a better use for them. It seems to your mum and me that this is a chance that won’t come again. If we wait, Conor will be in his exam year, and he won’t be able to take time out of school.

  “There’s a house that goes with the job. It’ll be pretty basic, but we’ll give it a lick of paint and get hold of some more furniture. We won’t have a load of money, but your mum would get a bar job out there. What do you reckon? How do three months in Australia sound to you? We can add on a bit of vacation after the job’s done; we might even go down to New Zealand if we can get the money together.

  “You kids could go to an Australian school for a term if you want, but your mum and I don’t think it would do you any harm to miss a few months. I can train you up to do some diving with me, Conor, if you’re interested? And Sapphy, you’re going to love the coast and the outback and the wildlife—it’s a different world out there.”

  Conor and I just stare at him in blank silence. It’s so far from what I’ve been expecting that I can’t take it in. Australia—three months—add on a bit of vacation—bar job—New Zealand… Roger’s words whirl in my head but fail to make any sense.

  Mum’s face is turned to us, anxious and eager. Sadie senses that everybody’s distracted, snatches the last piece of strawberry shortcake, and wolfs it down.

  All at once I understand. The barbie is meant to be a celebration. Roger’s hoping we’ll jump at this chance of a lifetime.

  “When would it be?” asks Conor at last.

  “We’d leave in September.”

  There’s another long silence. I remember what the whale said. Her daughter is at the bottom of the world. She said that maybe one day I could go there and meet her daughter. But not like this. We were talking about the Crossing of Ingo, not flying thousands of miles in a jumbo jet.