Free Stormswept by Helen Dunmore Page B

setter.
    “Jon’s out with her,” I say under my breath. Jon Kemp has appeared over the far dunes. It must have been him, whistling for Shadow. But the dog is racing flat out, belly to the ground, in our direction.
    “He’s scented us,” says Jenna.
    I glance behind me. The water surface is flat, still and dark. Malin has disappeared. No one will see him unless they stand right over the pool. Jon whistles again. Shadow slows, looks back at Jon, and then barks loudly to let him know that he’s on a mission. Jon whistles again. Shadow halts, quivering. He’s only about a hundred metres from the rock now.
    “Keep your head down!”
    Even if he looks this way, Jon probably won’t see us. But if Shadow brings him over here—
    “Let’s just climb down the rock,” suggests Jenna.
    “No! You can’t do that! It’ll look so weird, us being up here. He’ll ask what we’re doing.”
    “It’ll look even more weird if he sees us trying to hide from him.”
    I’m watching Shadow. He knows we’re here. For a dog like Shadow, not being able to chase a scent must be like having a delicious dinner waved in front of your face, and then snatched away. His whole body trembles with the torture of it, but Jon whistles again, long and loud and impatient this time. Slowly, reluctantly, Shadow gives up and trails back in Jon’s direction. Once he turns and gazes at our rock with such obvious longing that I’m amazed Jon doesn’t notice. But then he’s used to Shadow, who hunts not only every rabbit but also every dead gull, rotting crab and washed-up jellyfish on the Island.
    They are going. Shadow is at Jon’s side now, and in a few minutes they have disappeared behind the rocks at the other end of the bay.
    “I didn’t know he brought Shadow down here,” says Jenna.
    “Well, who knows anything about Jon Kemp? He’s such a loner.”
    We turn back to the pool. Malin is at the bottom of the pool, curled up, his hair hiding his face.
    “We should leave him to rest,” says Jenna.
    Yes, because you don’t want to be here , I think. You want to go home and do other stuff, and maybe he’ll have mysteriously disappeared by the time we next come to see him .
    I have a gnawing feeling that we’re not doing enough for Malin. What if he doesn’t get better? We’re talking, but we’re not communicating. He probably doesn’t trust us, and why should he? He is trapped here. I’m still haunted by my dream. What if it happens like that in real life?
    “We’ve got to get back,” says Jenna.
    “You go. I’ll stay a bit.”
    “No, Mor, you come back too.”
    “Tell Mum I’ve gone round to Mrs Bassett’s.”
    Mrs Bassett used to be our neighbour, but now she lives at her daughter’s, because she can’t do cooking and stuff any more. Her daughter’s really nice and Mrs Bassett has the biggest room on the ground floor, but she hates not having her independence. She likes me; she always has. She likes me more than Jenna, which is pretty surprising. We have cups of tea in her room.
    “But that’s a lie,” says Jenna.
    “I’ll call in at Mrs Bassett’s later if it makes you happy. I was going to see her today anyway.”
    Jenna sighs. “Oh, all right. But why do you want to stay here anyway? He’s asleep.”
    “I won’t be long.”
    I lean over the edge of the rock, watching Jenna’s shape grow small as she jogs down the beach. When she reaches the path which goes over the dunes, she stops, turns, and looks back at me.
    She’s worried. She still doesn’t want to leave me. She’s afraid something might happen, but she doesn’t know what. I wave at her encouragingly and after a moment she turns away. She’s gone.
    I make my way round the pool to our ledge. The surface of the water is flat as milk. Under there, somewhere, Malin is sleeping. But I can’t see him from here. I lean forward, peering down—
    And almost fall in the water as it erupts in a thrash of foam. I jump backwards, lose my balance, and bang