The Crossing of Ingo by Helen Dunmore Read Free Book Online Page A

shoulder, the next moment her outline blurs and trembles. I see a young, strong woman with ropes of gleaming earth-coloured hair. The outline shimmers and vanishes. I see an owl with fierce, unblinking eyes. Its wings are spread, ready to fly off into the dark. The owl fades. Only its eyes remain, deep in Granny Carne’s weather-beaten face.
    The wind blows. The door bangs. Granny Carne is gone.

    At first the day went on quite normally. We went up to Jack’s, and his mum made one of her classic dinners with roast beef, Yorkshire puddings and what she calls roast-pan gravy. Jack’s dad talked endlessly about whether he would get a government grant for re-laying a stretch of Cornish hedge. Jack kept trying to change the subject. He thinks his dad is extremely boring most of the time, but I didn’t mind. Hedging is as good to talk about as anything when there’s a storm raging in your mind.
    We’re back at the cottage now, and it’s almost ten o’ clock, the time when Mum usually calls on a Sunday. But it’s not Sunday for her, it’s already Monday morning. While we are still enjoying the last hours of the weekend, Mum is in a world that’s going back to work.
    Mum’s face comes on screen. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail. She’s wearing a dark red T-shirt and she looks tanned and cheerful, but apprehensive too.
    “I’ve got some news for you guys.”
You guys.
Mum sounds more like Roger each day. She pauses. We can see her taking a deep, steadying breath. “We’ve got the chance to take a big trip north, up the coast. It’s a mate of Roger’s who runs these trips into the bush. He’s offered us a freebie if we go as chief cook and bottle washer to the paying customers.”
    “Bottle washer?” I ask.
    “Doing all the stuff tourists don’t want to do for themselves,”says Mum succinctly. “It’s for two weeks, though, and we’ll be way out of contact. We won’t have access to a phone and anyway there’s no signal up there. How would you feel about not getting calls for a while? Listen, you can be straight with me about this, Sapphy. Nothing’s fixed yet. I won’t go if you’re not happy about it—”
    “Of course you’ve got to go,” says Conor immediately. I know my brother well enough to be sure that he’s not even thinking about how brilliantly this all fits in with our plans. Mum and Roger not calling us for two whole weeks! Nothing could be more convenient. Conor goes on, “It’s the chance of a lifetime, Mum. A trip like that would cost a fortune if you had to pay for it. You have to go.”
    “You’d love it out here, Conor. Next time you two are definitely coming with us.”
    Next time?
What is going on? Mum sounds so full of life, as if Australia has turned on a switch in her which has been off for years. Since Dad went, maybe.
No, be honest, Sapphire. Mum wasn’t like this even when Dad was at home.
She’s changed. She’s stronger, bolder, more alive somehow. I’m not sure that I want her to change too much more – I don’t want Mum to become someone I don’t even recognise …
    I lean forward and open my mouth, but as I do Conor grabs hold of my wrist under the table, out of sight of the webcam. He squeezes tight, warningly. “Two weeks is nothing. We’ll be fine, won’t we, Saph?”
    “Ye-yes.”
    “Are you sure?” asks Mum eagerly. She really wants to make this trip, but she’s worried too. The deal was that she would see us and speak to us every day unless it was completely unavoidable. In a minute another switch will turn on inside Mum: the guilt switch.
    A Call with as much power over the pair of you as that, it’ll make its own path through your lives.
    It’s happening this minute through the Internet as Mum waits for our answer. The Call is making a path for us. Mum’s eyes search my face.
    “Of course we’re sure,” says Conor. “Everything’s fine here. No problem.”
    “Except that Conor needs to learn where the washing machine is,” I