The Crossing of Ingo by Helen Dunmore

fewminutes, and what does time mean tonight anyway? Soon we’ll be in Ingo time, and human clocks will mean nothing.
    “Got to get home – Richard …” mutters Gloria, sounding like an exhausted child rather than the strong woman I know she is.
    Slowly, step by step, we get Gloria home. She is shivering with shock and cold, but it’s not far. The air is still but I feel as if I’m pushing into a strong wind with the effort of turning my back on Ingo. Their rented cottage is only a couple of hundred metres from ours. I don’t even glance at our cottage. I don’t want to see if the gulls are on the roof, or if one of them is flying off to deliver the message to Ervys that Gloria has survived. I remember Faro’s words.
They don’t want peace, they want war, and victory.
    Gloria’s cottage is dark. “Thank God, he’s not back yet.”
    We push open the unlocked door. A wave of warmth enfolds us. Conor switches on the light, while Gloria slumps into a chair by the stove. “You need a hot shower,” I tell her.
    “In a minute.” She opens her eyes, reviving. For the first time she cracks a faint smile.
    “We’ll stay with you until Richard comes home,” says Conor.
    “No! He’ll know something’s wrong if he sees you.”
    To be here in Gloria’s cottage is torture. Faro is waiting for us. The Call is dragging at me. The time is now. But Gloria is cold, wet, weak. People die of hypothermia.
    “We’re not going until you’ve had a hot shower and got into warm clothes,” I say decisively.
    Their shower is downstairs. Gloria moves slowly but she seems stronger now she’s in her own place. I wait outside the door, listening to be sure that she’s all right. I hear the shower running, and after a few minutes Gloria comes out wrapped in a blue dressing gown. Conor brings her tea and she settles herself by the stove again, in the opposite chair because the first one she sat in is damp with sea-water.
    “I’ll be all right now.” Gloria is an adult again, competent and calm.
    “Promise me you won’t ever—” I begin, then stop. I don’t think I have any right to ask Gloria for promises. But she looks straight back as if she understands exactly what I mean.
    “Never again,” she says. “Never, ever again.”
    It’s safe to leave her now. As we close the cottage door and turn away down the track we see headlights bumping down off the main road. Richard is on his way home.
    “He’ll look after her,” says Conor.
    “Yes.”
    “They should move,” Conor goes on angrily. “He should get her right away from here.”
    I have nothing to say. I want Gloria to be safe. But denying her Mer blood isn’t going to make her safe, not for ever. There has got to be another way. Not Ervys’s way, with Mer and human battling and Ingo and Earth deadly enemies.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    T he cove is brimful of tide. No jumping down from the rocks on to clean pale sand tonight. “We’ll have to climb right out over the rocks until we’re sure we’re above deep water,” whispers Conor. I don’t know why we’re whispering, but we are, and we don’t call for Faro either. He may not be the only one of the Mer who is watching and waiting for us tonight.
    The rocks are sharp and slippery. The starlight is strong enough to guide us as we lower ourselves into gullies then climb the steep rocky sides of the cove. We need to go right out, almost to the cove’s mouth. I follow Conor, reaching for handholds, and fitting my feet into the rock’s crevices. He hasn’t switched on the torch since we left Gloria Fortune’s cottage.
    “Face the rock and let yourself go down backwards,” he whispers. “I’ll go first.” I glance down. In the starlight I can see Conor’s outline pressed against the rock. He lowers himself carefully, and then lets go and slides to the next foothold. The rock slopes at about forty degrees here. It looks dangerous. It
is
dangerous. If Conor slips too far he won’t fall in the water, he’llfall