Longest Whale Song (21 page)

I'm still worrying about it when I go to bed. Whenever I had a worry keeping me awake, Mum would always
know
, even if I had the light off and lay still as still. She'd lie down on the bed beside me, snuggling into my pillow, and whisper, ‘Come on, little worry, jump out of Ella's head.'

I would imagine my worry like a little buzzing fly. It would squeeze out of the creases in my forehead and I'd say, ‘It's out, it's out!'

Mum would run her hand over my face in the dark, pretending to chase it, and then she'd suddenly swat it. ‘There, I've flattened it! The little worry's dead and gone.' It was always so weird because it
worked
. Mum hadn't solved anything – she often didn't know what the worry even
was
– but she made it go away.

I try to sort my worry myself. ‘Come on, little worry, out you come,' I whisper, and then I try swatting at my own head. I swat too hard and bang my nose and it hurts – and it's all pointless, because the worry's still inside my head. It's not just the Tuesday swimming worry. There's the
great big cockroach-size worry about Mum, and then all the horrid stinging worries about Jack and my dad, and then the biting-ant worries about Sally and Dory and Martha. I feel like one of those silly celebrities in the Australian bush with their heads stuck in a helmet of creepy-crawlies. I keep tossing and turning, trying not to cry out.

About midnight Jack opens my bedroom door and peers in. ‘Are you OK, Ella?' he whispers.

I lie very still, breathing heavily, pretending to be asleep.

‘I'll try to get to your school a bit earlier tomorrow, I promise.'

I still don't say a word – though perhaps I really want to.

‘Oh well, night-night,' Jack says, and goes away.

I wonder if Mum is sometimes pretending with us. Maybe she can move a little, maybe she can even talk, but she's too tired or cross or scared to shift or speak. I don't know why. I don't know why I don't want to talk to Jack. I don't know
anything
. Yes, I do. I know a lot about whales. I run through all my whale facts in my mind.

I think of humpback whales swimming ten thousand miles every year to find a mate, singing their love songs. I remember the Latin name for humpback –
megaptera novaengliae
– and I whisper it
over and over, like a magic spell. At last I fall asleep . . . and then I'm swimming through the turquoise ocean, deep down in the cool water, and it's not hard, it's not scary, I don't choke and splutter, I glide and arch and swoop with a flick of my flukes. I rise up to the surface and blow, and I leap up into the sunlight and then dive down down down again, swimming steadily, acting out my love for Mum, knowing she's waiting patiently for me to find her.

I wake up before I get to her, and I try hard to go back to sleep because it's such a beautiful dream. I was so very near Mum, and my heart is going to burst if I can't find her . . . but I can hear Samson crying and Jack's footsteps going up and down the stairs, and I know that it's time to get up.

IT'S TUESDAY AND
it's swimming day – but now I wonder if it's quite so bad. I can still feel that wonderful gliding thrill of swimming through the ocean like a whale. Maybe that's the way it will be now. I'll swim all the way to the other side and
back without stopping once, and I'll be put into the top group straight away. I'll be the best swimmer in the whole class, even better than Sally. Everyone says swimming is just a knack, a matter of confidence, just like riding a bike – and once you've learned you never forget. I've learned to swim properly now and I'll never forget.

I run into the bathroom, have a quick wash and then pull on my school clothes. I find Jack in the armchair downstairs, giving Samson his bottle.

‘Morning, Jack, morning, Samson, morning, Butterscotch,' I chant.

I give Butterscotch fresh water, a bowl of nuggets, a few carrots and a dandelion salad. He squeaks appreciatively at this little feast.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?' I ask Jack, putting the kettle on.

‘Yes, please! My, you're in a cheery mood this morning, Ella. Regular little ray of sunshine. How lovely!'

I'm not sure whether he's being sarcastic or not, but I give him the benefit of the doubt and smile at him. I make us both a cup of tea and we sit Samson in his baby chair while we have our breakfast. Samson is in a good mood too, kicking his little legs and waving his arms around.

‘He's excited because he likes going to Aunty
Mavis's house,' I say. ‘I wish
I
was little enough to go there.'

‘I wish I was too,' says Jack. He finishes his tea. ‘Come on then, kids, let's get the show on the road. Have you got your school bag packed, Ella?'

‘Yep. I've even remembered my towel and swimsuit because we go to the pool today.'

‘Good girl! Are you
sure
you're Ella? You haven't locked her in a cupboard somewhere and taken her place?'

We get in the car and drop Samson off at Aunty Mavis's. She gives me a chocolate brownie to eat later, carefully wrapped up in foil. Sally loves anything chocolatey. We can share it on the coach on the way back from swimming.

I look for her as I go into the playground but I'm waylaid by Joseph.

‘Hey, Ella, thanks for telling me about that programme! It was
great
, especially when all the humpbacks made that circle and fished together.'

We start talking whale-facts. Joseph says he's found two new whale books in the library.

‘The school library? I looked, but I couldn't find anything.'

‘No, the public library. We often go there on the way home from school. It's great – heaps bigger than the school one. You should come some time.'

‘Yeah, I will.'

‘After school? With me?'

‘Well, I have to wait for my stepdad, and then we pick up my little brother from his childminder, and then we go home for tea, and
then
we go to the hospital to see my mum.'

‘Oh. Well, maybe you could come and have tea with me some day?' Joseph asks. His brown eyes are very bright, though he blinks a lot because his fringe gets in them.

I reach out and make little scissor chops with my fingers. ‘Your fringe needs cutting, just like mine.'

‘Yes, I know, but I hate it all short and bristly. My dad keeps nagging me about it though. You know what dads are like.'

Do I? I suppose my dad would fuss about hair. Then I think of Jack cuddling Samson, nuzzling his cheek against Samson's soft dandelion-fluff wisps. I can't see him ever nagging Samson to get his hair cut if he didn't want to. Does that make him a good dad or a bad one? And should I say yes, I'll go to tea with Joseph and be his friend? I
like
Joseph and we enjoy talking about the same things – but none of the other girls have boys for their friends. And anyway, I've got Sally, haven't I?

I look round for Sally. There she is, arm in arm with Dory, heads together, talking earnestly.
There's Martha too, jumping right up on the playground wall and walking along it, which is dangerous and strictly forbidden, but she doesn't care – she just wants everyone to look at her and be impressed.

Miss Anderson comes into the playground and is distinctly
un
impressed. Martha is made to come down and severely told off, but she just laughs, pretending not to care – or maybe she really
doesn't
care.

I sometimes wish I could be like Martha.

We go into school for registration and I sit in my usual place beside Sally, and she asks me how Mum is and whether little Samson is sleeping OK. She
even
asks about Butterscotch and laughs when I do a guinea-pig imitation, twitching my nose and curling my hands in the air.

I start to think everything's fine. I wait before getting on the coach to go swimming, telling Joseph that I'd love to come round to his place to see his whale books. Then I jump up the steps of the coach. Dory has bagged the best seat at the front. She pats the place next to her . . . and Sally sits down beside her! I can't believe my eyes. Sally is sitting with Dory, not with me.

I stand stock-still, staring at them. ‘Sally!' I whisper.

Sally wriggles, not quite looking me in the eye. ‘Dory saved the seat for me,' she says.

‘But you always sit next to me!'

‘Yes, but
Dory
wanted to sit with me.' Sally takes a deep breath. ‘Tell you what, you come and sit with us too.'

‘But there are three of us. The seat's only for two.'

‘It doesn't matter. We can squash up, can't we, Dory?' says Sally, smiling now she thinks she's solved the problem. ‘There, we can
all
sit together now.'

But Mr Hodgkins, the horrible strict Year Six teacher who comes swimming with us, barges up from the back of the coach.

‘What are you three silly little girls playing at? Come on, one of you get up and sit somewhere else.'

I look round for Miss Anderson, but she's busy talking to some girl who's forgotten her costume.

‘We want to sit together, all three of us, Mr Hodgkins,' says Sally. She says it very sweetly, with a smile. Sally usually gets round all the teachers because she's got this soft little girly voice and she looks so pretty with her big eyes and blonde curly hair. But Mr Hodgkins doesn't smile back at her.

‘You can't possibly sit three on a double seat. You won't be able to use your seat belts properly. Stop being so
silly
. One of you get up.' He gives me a little prod. ‘Come on, you sit further down the coach.'

‘But Sally's my best friend. I always sit with her.'

‘For heaven's sake, you're not going on a day trip. It's a ten-minute drive. Now
move
, this instant!'

So I move, though it's so not fair – and there isn't anyone I can sit with. I look for Joseph, but he's sitting with Toby, so there
certainly
isn't room for another one on their seat – and anyway, the boys all sit together and the girls do too. There's only one seat left now, and, oh horror, it's the one next to Martha. I'm not not not sitting next to Martha. I'd sooner sit next to a rabid warthog. She clearly feels the same way too, spreading herself right over the seat and glaring at me.

‘You, girl!' Mr Hodgkins bellows. ‘Sit
down
.'

I sit right on the very edge of the seat.

‘Get off! This is
my
seat,' says Martha, pushing me.

‘You shut up. I can't help it. I don't
want
to sit next to you, but I've got to.'

‘I don't know why you're bothering to come
swimming anyway, seeing as you
can't
swim, baby.'

‘I can so swim,' I retort furiously.

‘No, you can't! I've seen you puffing along with one foot on the bottom. You're absolutely hopeless. Everyone looks at you and
laughs
.'

‘No they don't! They laugh at you because you look so stupid.' I try hard to think why she might look stupid. ‘Yeah, your bum sticks out, especially when you swim, wiggle waggle, wiggle waggle.'

Bull's eye! Martha looks outraged.

‘It does
not
stick out,' she says, and she pulls up her feet and kicks at me with her sandals. ‘Get off my seat! Go on, get off!'

‘You get off it, waggle-bum,' I say, and kick her back.

Then suddenly Mr Hodgkins's head is hovering over us, and his hands are pushing all our feet back on the floor.

‘Will you two
behave
!' He glares at me in particular. ‘If I have to speak to you one more time today, I'm sending you to see Mrs Raynor the moment you get back to school.'

I sit seething but silent until we get to the pool. Sally comes to find me in the changing rooms.

‘Your face is all red, Ella,' she says. ‘Are you OK?'

‘No, I'm
not
OK. I had to sit with Martha because
you
sat with Dory,' I sniff.

‘Oh dear. I'm sorry. But I did try to get you sitting with
us
,' Sally says.

‘Will you sit with me on the way home?'

‘Well . . .'Sally pauses. ‘I wish I could, but I've just promised Dory—'

‘Oh, see if I care. I don't want to sit with you anyway,' I say, and slam into a cubicle to get changed into my swimsuit.

I tear my clothes off in a rage and finish changing much more quickly than usual. I pad past the closed cubicle in my bare feet. I hear Sally talking to Dory behind one of the doors. She's whispering but I still hear.

‘She's so
moody
now. She's just no fun at all. I know it's ever so sad about her mum – and
my
mum says I've got to be extra nice to her, and I am trying, but she gets so cross if I don't do everything she wants,' Sally whispers.