Longest Whale Song Read online

  ‘Ella, are you crying?’ Sally asks.

  I sniff.

  ‘You are. Is it because of your mum? But I thought you said she’s getting better?’

  ‘She is. Look, I have to go now, I have to feed Butterscotch,’ I say, and I slam down the phone.

  I stand there in the hall, leaning my forehead against the wall.

  ‘Ella?’ Jack comes out of the kitchen, a tea towel round his waist. ‘Supper’s nearly ready – sausages and mash. Want to lend a hand with the mashing?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What is it? Were you talking to your friend Sally?’

  ‘She’s not acting like she’s my friend. She’s going off with this other girl, I just know she is, and it’s not fair, and it’s all your fault,’ I sob.

  ‘Sorry? How come it’s my fault?’

  ‘If you hadn’t met Mum and made us move, I’d still be living practically next door to Sally and she’d still be playing with me, not with that stupid Dory.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. If Sally’s a real friend, she’ll stay friends no matter where you live. And she doesn’t sound too kind a friend if she’s hanging out with some other kid exactly when you need her most. I’d say good riddance to Sally – find another friend.’

  ‘Don’t you dare say horrid things about Sally, you don’t even know her! You don’t know anything! You’re not like a real dad, you’re nothing!’ I shout.

  Jack stares at me. ‘For God’s sake, Ella, what’s brought this on? I thought we were starting to get along at last,’ he says, sounding hurt.

  I want to hurt him more, because I’m hurting so much. ‘I don’t ever want to get along with you! I can’t stand you. I wish wish wish my mum had never met you. It’s all your fault she’s ill!’ I scream.

  I want him to shout back. I want to have a real fight. But he’s just standing there, still wearing that silly tea towel.

  ‘Don’t you think I worry about that?’ he says.

  There’s a smell of burning coming from the kitchen.

  Jack sighs. ‘The sausages,’ he says, and goes to rescue them.

  I go into the living room and kneel beside Butterscotch’s cage. I reach in and stroke him. ‘It’s not fair, he’s so mean to me,’ I mutter – though I know that I’m the mean one now.

  I think of Sally and Dory together and the tears start spurting down my cheeks.

  ‘I think guinea pigs are much much much sweeter than rabbits,’ I say. ‘I especially like your cute little ears, Butterscotch.’

  Butterscotch squeaks eagerly, but I think he’s just hoping for more dandelions. I hear Jack clattering about in the kitchen, and then the clink of dishes as he serves up. He doesn’t call me. I don’t come. I stay sitting beside Butterscotch, crying. I feel as if no one in the whole world likes me, only my mum, and she can’t tell me she loves me any more. She can’t even cuddle me or give me a kiss.

  Jack comes strolling back into the living room. ‘Well, are you going to come and eat or not?’

  ‘Not.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ he says, and marches back.

  It doesn’t really suit me. My tummy feels painfully empty. Even if the sausages are burned, they still smell so good they’re making my mouth water. But I don’t want to go into that kitchen and face Jack. I might have to say sorry to him.

  The phone rings and I run to it, suddenly sure it’s Sally again, all set to tell me she wants to come round after all, she’s dying to see Butterscotch, and she doesn’t know what she was doing wanting to play with that stupid boring old Dory.

  It’s not Sally at all, it’s Aunty Liz.

  ‘Just checking you’re in, darling, and not at the hospital. I’m coming round.’

  She rings off before I can say any more. Jack looks out into the hall. We look at each other. Neither of us says anything.

  ‘Was that for you?’ he says eventually.

  ‘It was Aunty Liz.’

  ‘Oh, her. About time,’ Jack says, chewing on a sausage. ‘I thought she’d vanished off the face of this earth – when her best friend’s in dire straits in hospital. So, what was she saying?’

  ‘She’s coming round.’

  ‘What, here? When?’

  ‘Now.’

  ‘Oh God. Look at the place! I don’t want her round here, especially now. I’ll phone her back and tell her not to bother.’

  He tries, but there’s no answer. ‘She must have set off already. Hell! Come on, get your supper or it’s going in the bin.’

  ‘I don’t want it. The sausages are burned anyway,’ I say.

  ‘Go without then,’ says Jack. ‘See if I care. But you can scurry round and clear up a bit. The place is a tip and I don’t want Liz Posh-Knickers looking down her nose at us.’

  I can’t help sniggering at the Posh-Knickers part. I leave Jack rushing round the kitchen juggling dirty saucepans while I go into the living room. Butterscotch’s cage looms large, with bits of his bedding and wilting dandelions scattered on the carpet. There are trays of dirty plates, and Jack’s manky old trainers, and some of my school books, and crumpled carrier bags all over the place – and there are piles of dirty washing trailing down the stairs: the laundry basket on the landing got tipped over and neither of us have ever stopped to pick everything up. Jack’s horrible socks and jockey shorts are there. Yuck! I’m not picking them up! I give them a kick – and Jack sees me because the kitchen door is open.

  ‘Hey! Stop it! You’re making it worse. Now listen to me.’ Jack comes stamping up the stairs, red in the face. His arms go out, and I’m scared he’s going to hit me – but he just takes hold of my shoulders. I try to wriggle free but he hangs onto me. ‘Look, we’re in this together, whether we like it or not. I can’t make you do stuff, Ella. You’re too old and I’m too tired. We’re both worn out with worrying. We’re both sick to the back teeth of each other – but do you think we could somehow put on a united front for Liz? She’s your mum’s friend.’

  ‘All right. Just don’t keep on. Especially about Mum,’ I say.

  I pull away and start gathering up all the horrid washing. I trail the full hamper downstairs to put it in the washing machine, but when I open it up there’s a horrible sour smell and a lot of soggy clothes.

  ‘Oh God, I forgot to take the last lot out,’ Jack says. ‘I’ll have to wash it all over again.’

  He switches the machine on again, sighing, and then notices the thick grease on the top of the cooker. He’s just started attacking it (with the tea towel – we can’t find any other cloths) when the doorbell goes.

  ‘She’s not here already?’ he groans.

  She is. Liz walks in briskly in her navy work suit and high heels. She has large shopping bags in either hand. She goes into the living room, sees the cage, and screams.

  ‘Oh my God, you’ve got an enormous rodent in there!’

  ‘It’s not a rodent, Aunty Liz, it’s my guinea pig, Butterscotch. Dad bought him for me. Shall I get him out so you can stroke him?’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ Liz looks at Jack. ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘He’s nothing to do with me – though I suspect I’ll be the poor fool lumbered with cleaning out his cage,’ Jack says.

  ‘My real dad gave me Butterscotch,’ I say. ‘He’s really very sweet, Aunty Liz. You can’t be frightened of a guinea pig!’

  ‘Oh yes I can!’

  ‘But that’s silly!’

  ‘Not as silly as being frightened of hospitals,’ says Jack.

  Liz winces. ‘All right. I asked for that. I agree, I’m a hopeless coward – and I feel very bad about it. How is she? Is there any improvement at all?’

  Jack shakes his head.

  ‘Yes there is. Mum practically spoke to me!’ I insist.

  Liz looks at Jack. He looks at me.

  ‘I’m not sure she did, Ella. I know she gave a little sigh, but I don’t think it really meant anything.’

  ‘It did.’

  ‘Well, maybe you’re right,’ Jack says. ‘