The Deep. Helen Dunmore

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СКАЧАТЬ when you panic because you’re late and it’s Monday morning, and then you remember that it’s half-term. It’s like the sun coming out. Home. All the sounds and smells of our cottage are just right. I know where all the scuffs on the furniture have come from. I know why the living-room door doesn’t shut properly (because Conor smashed into it when he was learning karate). I know which birds sing in the tree outside the kitchen door. Every object in our cottage is like part of the family.

      The Fortunes hadn’t changed much inside our cottage, but they did loads of work in the garden, getting it ready for spring planting, just as Dad used to do. I’m planting stuff every day now, all the things Dad used to plant: carrots and lettuces and tomato plants up against a sunny southern wall, and some strawberry runners that Granny Carne gave me. She gave me lots of seeds, too. Granny Carne doesn’t ever buy seed in packets, from shops. She saves it all from year to year, she says. She has seed you can’t get nowadays.

      Dating back to the sixteenth century, I expect, I wanted to say, but I kept my mouth shut. You have to show respect to Granny Carne. Besides, it makes me dizzy when I try to think of all the time Granny Carne must have seen. All those lives coming and going.

      Granny Carne went on carefully sorting seeds and putting them into brown wage envelopes marked in her strange, spiky handwriting. Finally she said, “If you can’t feed a family from a plot of land as good as you’ve got here, there’s something wrong with you.”

      She bent down and crumbled a clod of earth between her fingers. “Respect the earth and give it back what it needs, and it’ll always feed you,” she said. The birds sang loudly, as if they agreed. Granny Carne touched an apple branch. “He’ll be covered with bloom this year,” she said. “Look at the buds.”

      I hadn’t noticed how many buds there were, fat and ready to burst into flower. Or were they really there before? I wasn’t certain. I stared hard at Granny Carne’s brown fingers, which looked as if they could bring life out of a dead branch if they wanted to.

      “Yes, this branch will be bending down with fruit come September,” murmured Granny Carne, and then she left the apple tree and went over to the rowan that grows near our door.

      “Do you know why this tree’s here, my girl?”

      “No, Granny Carne,” I answered meekly.

      “Your ancestors had the good sense to plant the rowan close by their threshold, because they knew the rowan keeps away evil. The rowan’s a powerful tree, Sapphire, full of Earth magic. Never hurt the rowan, or cut it down without great cause. Let it live out its natural life in peace, and the rowan will always give you its protection.”

      I stared at the rowan with new respect. It’s not a big tree. No tree grows tall up here because the winter gales blow them sideways and the salt stunts their growth.

      “No evil shall pass this threshold,” muttered Granny Carne, with one hand on the trunk of the rowan.

      Evil? What evil does she mean? I thought, and fear jagged through me.

      “Put your hand on the bark, my girl,” Granny Carne urged me. I lifted my hand. But it felt as if a wall of solid air lay between me and the rowan. I pushed hard, but I couldn’t get through it. My hand dropped to my side.

      “I can’t touch it, Granny Carne.”

      Her fierce owl eyes swept over my face. I thought she was going to be angry with me, but then her expression changed.

      “Is it that you don’t want to, or that you can’t?”

      “My hand won’t. There’s a barrier.” I looked down at my hand nervously, and then back at Granny Carne.

      “Granny Carne, it’s not… it’s not because I’m evil, is it? You said that no evil could get past the rowan tree. Is that why I can’t touch it?”

      Granny Carne’s wrinkled face looked meditative. “No, my girl. Most likely it’s the Mer blood in you that won’t touch the strong Earth magic of the rowan. Not that the Mer have much love for any tree.”

      “Why not?”

      “Maybe because trees are rooted in the Earth. You remember this, my girl. It’s not evil that separates Earth and Ingo, it’s difference. But there are plenty who want to make evil out of difference. Be warned, Sapphire.”

      Her face was set and harsh. She stared into my eyes as if she was searching for something.

      “Be warned, my girl,” she repeated, and a shiver like the flood-memory shiver ran down my back. “Go careful, on Earth and in Ingo, when you meet those who seek to make their power out of the differences between us all.” Her voice had risen, as the wind rises before a storm. Suddenly it dropped again. “I’ll leave you to get on with your planting now,” she said, and turned her back on me.

      “Granny Carne—”

      But she was gone, striding up the lane as if she were as young as Mum, and not as old as… as old as…

      The rowan tree?

      The hills?

      Roger’s living in our cottage, too. Well, not completely – he’s got a studio flat in St Pirans as well. But he’s spending most of his time here. He sits in Dad’s chair at our kitchen table, just as I was always afraid he would.

      Roger wants us to have a boat. He says it’s crazy not to when we’ve got such a good mooring down at the cove. And Conor and I are both old enough to be sensible. The fact that our dad disappeared when he was out in the Peggy Gordon shouldn’t be allowed to stop us from ever having a boat.

      I know that this is Roger’s opinion because I happened to hear him talking to Mum when I was digging in the garden and they were talking in the kitchen. Mum didn’t agree.

      “Give me time, Roger,” she said. “I know you mean well, but I can’t bear the idea of them taking a boat out on their own. The weather changes so fast. I can’t risk losing them.”

      Roger said, “You hold on to those kids too hard, Jennie.”

      “Do you think I don’t know that? But Sapphire can be so impulsive. So wild. So like…”

      “Like her dad?”

      “Yes.”

      “You can’t change that. Sapphire’s pretty tough. Look at the way those kids coped during the flood. God knows what they went through that night. They’re good kids. You think about it, Jennie. I know where I could get them a boat. A real little beauty.”

      The trouble with Roger is that you can’t hate him for long – even though I want to hate him, for not being Dad…

      “You’re thinking about that diver again,” says Faro. I jump, and nearly fall off the rock. Faro grabs my arm.

      “I wish you wouldn’t break into my thoughts,” I say crossly.

      “You let me,” he says.

      It’s true. I can keep Faro out of my mind completely if I want to. I only have to put up a mental portcullis, like the ones that guarded the entrance to castles in the olden days.

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