The Tide Knot Read Online Free PDF Page B

better. Her brown eyes are fixed on my face. How could I have forgotten Sadie, even for a minute?
      They don’t have dogs in Ingo.  
      Maybe they do. Maybe they could. Sadie’s not like an ordinary dog. Could she come with me through the skin of the water and dive into Ingo? I don’t know. I try to picture Sadie’s golden body swimming free, deep in Ingo, with her nostrils closed so that the water won’t enter them. But it doesn’t work; the picture I create in my mind looks like a seal swimming, not like Sadie at all .
      Sadie whines. It’s a pleading, plaintive sound from deep in her throat. She puts her front paws up in my lap until her whiskers tickle my face.
      “You’d never have got Sadie without Roger,” Conor goes on. “He really pressured Mum.”
      I know that’s true, but I don’t feel like agreeing with Conor just now. Besides, why bring up Roger? Roger may have been the one who made sure I got Sadie, but he’s also taken Mum and split my family apart.
      Sadie gazes at me reproachful y, as if begging me to admit that my version isn’t quite true. Who split your family apart, Sapphire? Was it Roger, or was it your own father, who loved you and Conor so much that he left you both without a backward look or even a note to let you know where he was going?  
      Your father, who has never seen you or spoken to you since.  
      Angry, bitter thoughts rise in my mind. I’m so used to loving Dad, but I’m beginning to realize that it’s also possible to hate him. Why did he go? What father who cared about his children would take his boat out in the middle of the night and never return? I can taste the bitterness in my mouth.
      No, I’m not going to let that wave of anger drown me. I’m going to ride it. Dad disappeared for a reason. It’s just that he hasn’t been able to explain it to us yet.  
      Suddenly an upstairs window bangs. Our house here in St. Pirans is tiny, even small er than the cottage. Downstairs there’s one large living room, with the kitchen built into one end. Upstairs is larger because the house has something called a flying freehold. This sounds more exciting than it is.
      All it means is that part of this house is built above the house next door. We have three bedrooms and a bathroom. My room is so small that a single bed only just fits into it, but I don’t mind that at all because the room also has a round porthole window that hinges at the side and swings open exactly like a real porthole on a ship.
      Mine is the only window in the house from which you can see the sea. My bedroom is part of the flying freehold. I like it because it feels so separate from the rest of the house. I can’t hear Mum and Roger talking. I’m independent. When I kneel up on my bed and stare out to sea, I can imagine I’m on a ship sailing northeast out of Polquidden, out of the bay altogether, and into deep water—
      The window bangs again, harder. The wind’s getting up.
      This is the season for storms. When storms come, salt spray will blow right over the top of the houses. I can’t wait to hear the sea roaring in the bay like a lion.
      “Better shut your window, Saph.”
      “Are you sure it’s my window that’s banging?”
      “Yeah. No one else’s bangs like that. Your porthole’s much heavier than the other windows.”
      Conor was right. The porthole has blown wide open. I kneel up on my bed and peer out. Beyond the jumble of slate roofs there’s a gap in the row of studios and cottages through which I can glimpse the sea. The wind is whipping white foam off the tops of waves. Gul s soar on the thermals, screaming to one another. We’re very close to the water here. I’m used to living up on the cliff at Senara, and it still seems strange to live at sea level.
      “I’m going down to the beach,” Conor shouts up the stairs.
      “I’ll come with you.”  
      The wind’s really blowing up now. It pushes against us as we come round the