The Tide Knot (25 page)

  “Yes. Wait, don’t start exploding. He might believe us, and if he does, everybody else will believe him. People respect Roger.”

  “But it’s all taking too long! How long’s it going to take to convince Roger? Quick, Conor, we’ve got to do something straightaway. Dad said the Tide Knot was loose already.”

  “Dad’s not here. Roger’s what we’ve got.” I follow Conor up the stairs, still frantically trying to convince him not to wake Roger. But I can only whisper because of Mum. It makes everything seem even more unreal, like trying to scream in a nightmare. You never can, can you?

  Roger wakes up immediately, and to my amazement he understands not only that Conor’s got something urgent to tell  him but also that we’re trying not to wake Mum. “Is she worse?” he whispers.

  “No, it’s not Mum.”  

  Roger stumbles a bit as he heaves himself out of the basket chair, and the rest of the newspaper fall s to the floor.

  But he’s impressively
there
—present, in control, and ready to take charge. I suppose he must be trained to deal with emergencies, being a dive leader.

  As soon as we’re downstairs, Conor says quickly,

  “We’ve got something very important to tell  you. It’s going to sound completely weird, and you’re probably not going to believe it, but please, please, listen till I’ve finished.” He doesn’t say a word about Dad. He only says that we know for certain that there is going to be a tidal surge, right here in St. Pirans, and it’s coming soon. The storm is only part of it. He can’t tell  Roger
how
we know, but he is sure.

  We are both sure. We have got to wake people now and warn them, so they can get up onto high ground.

  The words sound so feeble. So pathetic.
We know
there’s going to be a tidal surge.
Who would believe two kids who said a thing like that and told everybody to get out of their houses and head for high ground? They’d just laugh.

 
Oh, yeah, I’ll stay in bed if you don’t mind.
 

  But the way that Conor says it doesn’t make me want to laugh. He’s impressive, my brother. Serious, determined, his eyes blazing with conviction. Roger stares from one of us to the other. His face tightens in a frown that makes him look angry, but I don’t think he is angry. Suddenly he points at me as if he’s remembering something. “You’re the girl who always knows when the tide is turning, am I right?” Yes, Roger would remember that. I blurted it out one day, back at our old home. I let it slip that I could feel when the tide was turning, and Roger questioned me. He was interested because the tides are vital to him too as a diver.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “And what do you say to this idea of Conor’s? Can
you
feel that a tidal surge is on its way?”

  “Yes,” I say. I don’t dare go much beyond what Conor has told him or mention Dad’s name. But almost before I know that they are in my mouth, the words are out. “It’s the Tide Knot. It won’t hold any longer.”

  “The
Tide Knot
? Sapphire, what is this? Are you telling me some kind of children’s story? These are people’s lives you’re playing with.”

  In desperation, I take an even bigger risk. “Roger,” I say, keeping my eyes fixed on his face and praying that he’ll see the seriousness and the truth in me, “you know how things happen maybe once or twice in your life that you can’t ever find an explanation for? Nothing fits together because there’s a part that’s—well , it’s hidden from you. Like the time when you had your diving accident and we were there when you woke up, and you could never really work out how we swam out all that way. Because we shouldn’t have been able to do it, should we?
This is the same, Roger.
And remember that time you were out in your boat and you looked down into the water and you saw a girl who looked just like me, looking back at you. And you could never work it out.”

  Roger starts violently. “How did you know—”  

  “I can’t explain how I know. You wouldn’t believe me if I did. But it’s real. It’s real in exactly the same way as what we’re telling you now is real.”

  I can see in Roger’s face that he’s remembering everything. That time he saw me looking up at him from the sunwater, when I was in Ingo and he was in his boat, looking down into the sea. I remember his astonished upside-down face. Roger would never forget that moment or the day last summer when he nearly died. He must have thought of it many times since. The way he woke up bruised and battered and never knowing what had attacked him.

  Somewhere, deep inside him, maybe Roger did know that he had strayed into Ingo and almost been kill ed by the guardian seals. Even nightmares stay with you somewhere.

  Roger stares at me, remembering, thinking, not knowing what to trust. “Can I believe you?” he asks slowly.

  “You
have
to.
Please.
Even if you can’t find a reason for it. You
have
to believe me.”

  The moment holds and holds, like a long close-up in a film. It feels as if time has stopped. There is no human time or Ingo time anymore, only this moment when Roger has to choose whether he’s going to trust something that seems impossible or turn his back on it. His frown deepens. His eyes are sharp, hard, searching. He’s weighing it all in the balance; I can see him doing it. On one side there’s normality and reality and practicality and reason and all the other things Roger lives by. On the other there are all the things that are irrational, don’t add up, and don’t make sense.  

  At that moment the heaviest blow of wind yet thuds against the front door. The roar of the sea is suddenly magnified, as if the volume has been turned up by someone who loves its wild music. Upstairs Sadie breaks into another volley of furious, terrified barking. As if in answer, we hear other dogs too, a whole chorus of them, some in the next house, some in the next street, but all of them barking and barking against the noise of the wind, as if every dog in St. Pirans has been roused by danger.

  “Dogs always know,” says Roger slowly, like a man in a trance. “I remember Rufie—”

  He breaks off. The tension builds and builds as the barking of dogs grows to a crescendo. I can’t move or speak. Inside me the pounding of my heart is even louder than the words pounding in my head:
Make him believe us.
 

 
Make him believe us. Make him believe us.
And then Roger swings into action so fast that it takes my breath away.

  “Okay, let’s go. Sapphire, upstairs! Wake your Mum, help her get dressed, wrap her in a duvet. I’ll be back with the car as soon as I can. Conor, we’re going to hit the streets.

 
There’s an official warning of an immediate tidal surge in
the area
, that’s all you say. Don’t stop, don’t answer questions, straight on to the next house. Bang on the doors; yell it out. As soon as they’re up, get them to warn the neighbors too. Tel everybody to get onto high ground, up the hill . Anyone sick, anyone housebound, get them to get up to the top floor and wait for help. Don’t stop to argue the toss. If one gets moving, they’ll all get moving. I’ll contact the coast guard and the lifeboat service. And God help us all if you’ve got this wrong.”    

  In a few minutes Conor and Roger are out of the house. I stand on the doorstep, holding the door against the wind, and peer down the street. Shadows jump and dance. Rain is streaming down again. There’s Roger, thundering on the Trevails’ front door. After a few seconds lights come on upstairs. The Trevails are old; they are always in bed by nine o’clock. They’ll be shocked, frightened. The upstairs window opens, and then there’s Roger’s voice shouting,
“It’s an
emergency! Tidal surge! Everyone’s got to be evacuated.”
And then old Mr. Trevail’s creaking voice: “What’s that you’re saying, boy?”

  I slam the door shut. I should be helping Mum. But as I rush up the stairs, Sadie lets out such a pitiful, terrorized howl that I have to go to her. I open my bedroom door, and there she is behind it, shivering all over, her coat bristling just the way Mum said it was earlier on.

  We are right to rouse the town. If I had any doubts left, they melt when I see Sadie. She whines urgently, fixing her eyes on me. She is so desperate to warn me that she seizes a corner of my sleeve in her teeth and begins to pulls me toward the door.

  “Sadie, I know. I understand. It’s coming, isn’t it? But first of all we’ve got to help Mum.”

  Sadie presses against me like a shadow as we go into Mum’s room. Mum is still deeply asleep, hearing nothing and sensing nothing. I switch on the bedside light, but this time the click of the switch doesn’t disturb her. A burst of rain slashes across the window. The tumult of the storm isn’t quite so bad here because Mum’s room faces away from the sea. Mum always chooses a room that faces away from the sea. Just then I hear a siren, coming closer. A police car or an ambulance. Maybe the emergency services are already responding to Roger’s call .

  Very cautiously I reach out and touch Mum’s hand. I don’t want to shock her. “Mum?”

  But she only mutters and turns her head away.

  “Mum!” I say more loudly.

  At last she opens her eyes. They are very bright, but she looks confused. She doesn’t seem to realize who I am.

  “Mum, we’ve got to get up. Roger’s coming to get us soon. There’s an emergency.” I daren’t tell  Mum what it is until she’s woken up properly. She has such a terrible fear of the sea.

  “Sapphy!” Mum struggles to raise her head from the pil ow. Her voice is dry and croaky. I reach over to her bedside table, where there’s a glass of water, and hold it to her lips. She takes a tiny sip, then fall s back on the pillow as if she’s exhausted. “Such a pain in my chest, Sapphy,” she whispers.

  Mum is really ill . I can see that even though I have no idea about ill ness at all . She is very hot, and she’s breathing so fast, almost panting.

  “Mum, listen! You’re going to have to get up and get dressed. Roger thinks there’s going to be a tidal surge.” Mum’s face goes still . I know she’s heard and understood. Her hand seizes mine in a surprisingly strong grip.

  “He’s waking people up, getting them to leave their houses and go to high ground. So is Conor. Roger said for you to get dressed and wait, and he’ll be back as soon as he can.”

  With a huge effort, Mum pushes back the covers, swings her legs over the side of the bed, and tries to stand. I grab hold of her as she wobbles on her feet and then col apses back on the bed. “Sorry, Sapphy. Feel so dizzy.” I give her some more water. Sadie begins to tug at Mum’s nightdress, as if she thinks she can rescue her single-handedly, like a dog in a story.

  “Stop it, Sadie! That’s not very helpful.” Everything is going wrong. I should be out there with Conor and Dad, warning people. What about Rainbow and Patrick? Rainbow’s like Mum; she’ll be terrified of a flood.

  What if Roger and Conor haven’t remembered to go to their cottage? They are right by the water, and when the tide surges, they will be the first in its path.

  Mum opens her eyes again. “You go, Sapphy. Go now. I’ll be fine here.”

 
She’s just like Dad
, I think in exasperation. Both of them telling me to
go
, as if it doesn’t matter what happens to them. “I’ve lost one parent,” I say grimly. “I’m not going to lose two. Either you come as well , or we’re all staying here.”

  “No, Sapphy, you’ve got to go—”

  “I mean it, Mum. I’m staying here. You just need to get your strength up,” I go on as reassuringly as I can. “In a little while you’l be able to walk.”

  I rummage in Mum’s drawers to find the warmest clothes I can.

  “Sadie, please! Stop pulling me. I want to go as much as you do, but we can’t, not now.”

  With what is clearly a superhuman effort, Mum begins to struggle up again. It’s not going to work, though. I can already see that horrible faint, dizzy look coming over her again. But this time Mum has an idea. “Brandy, Sapphy. Get the brandy from downstairs.”

  Sadie and I rush downstairs. Sadie won’t leave my side for a second. I pulls open the kitchen cupboards and begin to search for the brandy. I didn’t even know we had any, but Mum keeps all the drink together, so it must be behind this weird-looking bottle of tequila somebody gave her after a holiday in Mexico—ah, yes.

  My hands are shaking so much as I slop the brandy into a glass that half of it floods over the worktop. No time to bother about that. Suddenly Sadie barks violently again, making me jump and spill even more brandy. Maybe she should have some as well , to calm her down. Can dogs drink brandy?  

 
Get a grip, Sapphire,
I tell  myself firmly. Just then, there’s a tremendous banging on the front door. For a muddled few seconds I think it’s Roger, come to shout,
“Emergency!
 

 
There’s going to be a tidal surge!”
  

  It’s Rainbow. She’s wearing her slicker but no hood, and her hair is soaked. Her face is frantic. “Quick, you’ve got to get out, Sapphire! It’s coming!”

  “What…now?”

  “The sea’s all wrong. The wind dropped, and suddenly the sea went all flat as if something was pressing down on it.

  And then it started going backward. It’s being sucked out, Sapphire. It’s horrible. Everybody’s running. I ran—”

  “Where’s Patrick?”

  “Gone with Conor.”

  “Oh, my God, Rainbow! Look…”

  Down at the end of the street, in the light of the streetlamps, something is standing. Black and glistening, a wall of water. We don’t speak; we don’t even think. We hurtle up the stairs with Sadie. A few seconds later there’s a shuddering crack as the water hits the house.

 
J
ust as we reach the top of the stairs, the lights go out. I grab Rainbow’s hand. “This way!” Sadie’s barking wildly. I can hear Mum’s voice too:

  “Sapphire!
Sapphy!
Are you all right?”

  “It’s all right, Mum. We’re here. Steady! Steady, Sadie.”