The Deep (19 page)

T
HE 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 to 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.

I’ve never even been in a plane. None of us has, not even Mum. There was never enough money. I keep quiet when
kids at school talk about going to Thailand or Greece. Mum has always wanted to travel, just as she’s always wished she’d stayed on at school, listened to her teachers, and got some qualifications. But Dad never wanted to go outside Cornwall.

“Australia,”
says Conor at last, slowly and wonderingly. It’s just one word, but it’s enough. Even Elvira won’t be enough to hold Conor back. He’s still looking stunned, but once his mind gets to work on the idea, he’ll want to go.

“We’d go straight from summer here to summer in Australia,” says Mum. Her eyes shine. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, all of us going together. They have some of the best surf in the world.”

But do they have Ingo? Does Ingo open her gateways at the bottom of the world?

I feel as if there are already thousands of meters of air below me, and I’m free-falling.
Leave home.
Leave our cottage when we’ve only just got it back. Leave the cove and everything we know. Leave Faro—

Sadie whines, picking up my tension.

“Oh, my God,” I say slowly, “Sadie.”

Sadie can’t go. There’s quarantine and all sorts of rules about animals leaving one country and going to another.

Three months, or maybe even more with the vacation added on. I couldn’t do that to Sadie. She’d be so scared in quarantine with loads of other dogs, all homesick and miserable. She’d think I’d abandoned her. She’d look for
me and look for me, and at first she’d be all hopeful, and then slowly she’d despair—

“Sadie would be well looked after,” says Roger quickly. “Jack’s family would be glad to take her for three months. She won’t forget you, Sapphire.”

You’ve already asked them,
I think furiously.
You’ve already checked it out, without even telling me.

“I know it’s hard about Sadie,” says Mum, “but she’ll be here when you come back. Dogs don’t forget.”

Keep calm, Sapphire. Don’t let it all burst out. It won’t do any good; it’ll just make them angry, and then they won’t listen to anything you say. You’ve got to be like Conor and make them respect you. Sadie’s too important to risk by losing control now.

Sadie huddles close to me. I stroke her mechanically while my mind races. Mum’s looking at me nervously, waiting for me to explode. Waiting for me to get angry and shout and maybe cry, and there’ll be a storm with thunder and flashing lightning. And then clear sky again. That’s the usual pattern. Mum knows it, because it’s what she does too. I’ll shout, and then Mum will shout, and then…

I’m not going to do it. I’m going to do what
they’ve
done: make my plans and not tell anyone until I know exactly what I’m doing.