Longest Whale Song Read online

‘Not always. She sighs sometimes, as if she really is responding,’ I say.

  Dr Clegg glances at me. ‘I don’t really think this is the right sort of conversation to have in front of a small child,’ he says, looking at Jack reproachfully.

  ‘But Sue does sigh. I’m sure she’s aware of us sometimes, especially when the baby’s near her.’

  ‘These are involuntary responses. She might well move occasionally, even open her eyes – but these aren’t significant signs. We’ve been monitoring your wife scrupulously.’ Dr Clegg seizes Mum’s charts. ‘This refers to the Glasgow Coma Scale, a fifteen-point scale for assessing levels of consciousness. We evaluate three different behavioural responses – eye opening, verbal response and motor response. I’m afraid your wife has scored very disappointingly – and there’s no perceptible change as the days progress. At some stage we need to make a proper private appointment to discuss future plans.’

  ‘It sounds as if you’ve given up on her. Well, I’m not going to. I’m not putting her in a home!’ says Jack.

  ‘We will offer you help in coming to what will clearly be a difficult decision,’ says Dr Clegg. He nods curtly and moves on.

  Dr Wilmot looks agonized. She pats Jack’s shoulder, squeezes my hand, but walks on too. Jack and I are left with Mum. We’re both shivering, as if Mr Clegg has thrown buckets of cold water all over us.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of that horrible man, Mum. He doesn’t know anything,’ I say.

  ‘That’s right, Sue. Come on, baby, you wake up right this minute and prove him wrong,’ says Jack.

  We clutch Mum and will her to wake – but she stays silent and serene in her own faraway world. We want to stay with her for ever, but my tummy has started making silly rumbling gurgles.

  ‘Here, it’s way past lunch time, Ella – and you were sick, weren’t you, so you must be totally empty. Let’s go and get something to eat,’ says Jack.

  We go to the canteen on the ground floor, but it reeks of old chip fat and the sad pervasive smell of the hospital.

  ‘We’ll go out to eat,’ says Jack. ‘Come on, Ella, we’ll be wicked, we’ll have a pizza.’

  We go to the restaurant and I choose a Hawaiian pizza because I love pineapple. In fact Jack orders one for me with double pineapple. Sally had her birthday in this pizza place and she chose a Hawaiian too. Did she invite Dory to her party? I think she was there, but I didn’t really notice her then. Sally’s little brother Benjy came and kept pretending to be a puppy dog, begging for scraps from all our plates. He even got under the table and starting licking our legs, which was pretty disgusting. Sally’s mum told him to come out of there sharpish, and he stood up and bumped his head and made all our knives and forks clatter.

  I wonder if Samson is going to grow up to be as irritating. No, we’ll teach him to sit up properly in a chair, and if he’s interested in dogs, I’ll help him do a special project on them. Jack can teach him stuff too. I expect he’s quite a good teacher. I know they all like him at Garton Road. And Mum . . . and Mum . . . Will Mum ever be able to teach him anything?

  I chew and chew but I can’t seem to manage to get through my mouthful of pizza. I can’t even swallow the lovely sweet golden pineapple. I feel a tear spurt down my cheek and stab at it quickly with my napkin, hoping Jack won’t see.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he says quietly. ‘You don’t have to finish it.’

  ‘It’s lovely, especially the extra pineapple, it’s just—’

  ‘I know. I’m not making much headway myself.’

  ‘Jack, if Mum doesn’t get better—’

  ‘Hey, hey. We’re not giving up hope. Take no notice of that Dr Clegg. He might fancy himself like crazy but he’s not God. He doesn’t know our Sue. She’s such a fierce little fighter. I reckon she’ll pull through. Even if she can’t get completely better, I know she’ll come out of this coma. Some people are in comas for months and then recover.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I’ve got all the newspaper printouts from Joseph. But, Jack, if Mum doesn’t get better, will she have to go in a home?’

  Jack puts down his knife and fork. ‘The only home your mum is going in is ours. I’ll care for her myself if necessary.’

  ‘Oh, Jack! And I’ll care for her too. We can wash her and dress her and change her just like the nurses, can’t we?’

  ‘And I expect we’ll be able to have nurses come in every day to sort out any medical stuff. The only thing is, I’ll have to give up going to school,’ says Jack.

  ‘Ooh! Can I give up going to school too?’

  ‘No, silly, you have to go, it’s the law. But if I give up work it means we’ll be very poor – poorer than we are already. We’ll probably get some benefits but there’ll be four of us to keep.’

  ‘Five, counting Butterscotch.’

  ‘Ah, good point. Not that he costs much, funny little fellow. Perhaps we’ll all go on a diet of dandelions and guinea-pig nuggets.’

  ‘I could earn a bit of money for us. I could deliver papers or – or run errands for old ladies, or – or design homemade birthday cards.’

  ‘Thank you, Ella. Those are lovely offers – though I’m not sure girls your age are allowed to earn money. I am sure you’re going to have to miss out on a lot though – new clothes, games, treats, holidays—’

  ‘I don’t care,’ I lie. ‘Just so long as Mum’s home with us so I can go and cuddle up to her whenever I want.’

  ‘Well, that’s exactly the way I feel too,’ says Jack.

  He takes my hand and squeezes it. I cling onto him tightly and squeeze back.

  Chapter 14

  We’re fighting once more the very next day. It’s all Jack’s fault. He’s late picking me up again. I stand in the playground waiting and waiting and waiting. I have a new whale book to look at. Miss Anderson brought it into school specially for me, so at first I don’t notice just how late it’s getting. Then Miss Anderson herself comes across the playground looking worried.

  ‘Ella? I’ve been keeping an eye on you. Where’s your dad?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I see the time and start to panic. ‘Oh, Miss Anderson, what’s happened to him?’

  ‘Now, now, calm down. I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe something’s cropped up. Tell you what, he’s probably left a message with the school secretary. I’ll go and have a word. You wait here, OK?’

  She hurries off and I march up and down anxiously. Miss Anderson is back in less than a minute.

  ‘Oh dear, no message. Did he say he might be late?’

  ‘He’s always a little bit late.’

  ‘Well, this is silly. It’s not good for you, just hanging around the playground all by yourself. Why on earth doesn’t your dad fix you up to go to after-school club?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I mumble, though I do know: I’ve told Jack hundreds of times I’d sooner perforate my head with pins and eat cold sick than go to after-school club with Martha.

  ‘Well, never mind. I’ll have a word with your dad about it when he comes,’ says Miss Anderson.

  I shudder.

  ‘Oh dear, you’re shivering! Shall I put my jacket round your shoulders? We don’t want you getting a chill, especially after yesterday.’

  ‘I’m fine, Miss Anderson,’ I say, but I pretend to shiver a bit more because I love it when she fusses over me like a mum.

  She puts her hand on my shoulder and starts asking me all sorts of questions about whales, marvelling when I mostly know the answers. I’m not daft, I know she’s doing it to distract me – she’s not really impressed that I know that sperm whales can dive a whole mile deep, that blue whales weigh a hundred tons, that some baleen whales can live as long as ninety years. She does look a bit startled when I tell her about the twenty-two-hour love song of the humpback.

  ‘Twenty-two hours? Are you sure you don’t mean twenty-two minutes?’

  ‘Absolutely positive. Though mostly they just sing for ten or fifteen minutes. They dive down about fifteen metres and just hang t