Longest Whale Song Read online

  ‘We could also do a chapter on the history of whales. And whales in captivity. And all sorts of typical whale behaviour – hunting and feeding together, like we saw in that film on television.’

  Just for a moment I wonder if I mind Joseph taking over like this. It’s becoming very much a joint project now. But it will only have one illustrator. I’m very glad Joseph isn’t so great at drawing.

  We work happily until Joseph’s mum calls us for tea. She’s set it all out on the big wooden table in their kitchen: macaroni cheese, salad, fruit jelly and chocolate fudge, just as Joseph promised. Mrs Antscherl gives us great big helpings, but only serves herself a small portion of salad. But later, as we’re chatting, she absent-mindedly helps herself to the macaroni cheese left in the serving dish – and then pops several chocolate fudges into her mouth, one after another. She sees me looking.

  ‘I know, I know! I’m rubbish at sticking to my diet. It’s so unfair, Ella. Joseph and his dad eat humungously and stay as thin as pins, and I pile on the pounds just looking at fudge.’ She laughs and pops another chunk in her mouth. ‘And eating it.’

  ‘My mum’s the same,’ I say. ‘Well, she was. She can’t really eat properly now. She has a feeding tube.’

  Mrs Antscherl reaches out and gives my hand a squeeze. ‘It must be so sad and worrying for you. Joseph’s told me all about it. Your mum’s still in a coma?’

  ‘Yes, but she will get better one day,’ I say quickly.

  ‘I do hope so,’ says Mrs Antscherl.

  ‘I’d quite like to be a doctor when I grow up,’ says Joseph. ‘Or a surgeon – one who does terribly tricky and delicate operations on people’s brains to make them function properly. Or maybe I could be a research scientist and find out why some people’s brains don’t work.’

  ‘What do you want to do when you grow up, Ella?’

  ‘Mm, I don’t know. I like drawing so maybe I could be an illustrator.’

  ‘I think you should be a marine biologist,’ says Joseph.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s a person who knows about everything in all the oceans. So you could research whales. Mum, Ella and I are working on a new whale project together, seeing as her old one got partially destroyed.’

  ‘Oh dear. How did that happen?’

  ‘I had an argument with another girl at after-school club,’ I say. ‘It’s so lovely today – I don’t have to go because I’m having tea here.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you can come here on a regular basis. I’ll have a word with your dad when he comes to collect you,’ says Mrs Antscherl.

  ‘Are you serious? I wasn’t hinting or anything,’ I say (though perhaps I was, just a little bit).

  ‘I know. But it would be a big treat for Joseph to have someone to chat to, especially when I’m busy marking.’

  ‘Oh yes!’ says Joseph.

  ‘Are you a teacher, then? My mum was always doing marking. And my stepdad.’

  ‘I teach students part-time, so I have to mark great long essays.’

  ‘I bet they’re not as long as Ella’s original whale project, Mum. It was fifty-eight pages, and even I haven’t written anything that long.’

  ‘It wasn’t all writing though. There were lots of drawings,’ I say modestly.

  ‘Yes, Ella’s fabulous at drawing. She’s illustrating our new whale project – and she’s done all the pictures for our Tudor project at school. She’s especially good at drawing people in Tudor costumes.’

  ‘But I like drawing whales best,’ I say.

  ‘After tea I’d simply love to have a look at this famous project,’ says Mrs Antscherl.

  We eat until there’s nothing left, not even one square of fudge, and then we all go down to the basement together. Mrs Antscherl sits cross-legged on the floor just like a child and we show her the newly assembled project. She looks at it at length in a very satisfying manner, taking her time, commenting on each and every picture, reading quite a lot of the words. She pauses when she comes to the section on humpback whales.

  ‘Ah, whale song! It says here that one humpback was recorded singing nonstop for twenty-two hours!’

  ‘Yes, that’s my absolute favourite fact. I don’t know what it actually sounds like though, whale song. I know it’s not like our singing.’

  ‘No, it’s very strange, but very magical and soothing.’

  ‘You’ve heard it?’

  ‘Yes. In fact I used to have a CD of whale song when I did relaxation classes before Joseph was born. I’ll go and see if I can find it.’

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ I say, so thrilled my voice has gone all husky.

  ‘Don’t get too excited,’ Joseph says gently. ‘We’ve got so much stuff in our house we often lose things for years.’

  But Mrs Antscherl comes running back into the room, triumphantly waving a CD. ‘Here we are!’

  She inserts it into a little CD player on the desk. There’s a pause, and then the strangest, oddest musical sound starts, low and eerie and rhythmic, utterly unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. I listen, transfixed, trying to work out whether there’s a pattern to the singing. Birds sing the same song over and over, but whales sing differently – and yet it doesn’t sound as if it’s random notes. Sometimes there are great soulful bellows, sometimes soft murmurs, as the whale sings earnestly, with great purpose. There’s obviously a mysterious meaning to his song.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ Mrs Antscherl whispers.

  ‘It’s wonderful!’ I say.

  She looks at Joseph. ‘Do you mind if we give the CD to Ella, chum?’

  ‘I think that’s a lovely idea, Mum!’

  ‘Oh no – I couldn’t possibly – but I’d absolutely love it!’ I burble.

  Chapter 16

  I play the CD all the time at home.

  ‘For pity’s sake,’ says Jack. ‘I already have to put up with the baby crying and the guinea pig squeaking. Do I really have to listen to your pet whales burbling and burping all night long?’

  ‘Yes you do!’ I say. ‘I want to play it to Mum too. I’m sure she’ll find it so soothing. Mrs Antscherl actually used it for her relaxation class, she said, so I know Mum would find it relaxing too. She needs to blot out all those horrid hospital sounds, the squeaking trolleys and the rattling cups and the click and hum of all the machines. Can we take our CD player into the hospital?’

  ‘I suppose we can try,’ says Jack. ‘Though I’m not sure there’s anywhere to plug it in.’

  It turns out we don’t need to try to lug it to the hospital. When we go round to Liz’s on Saturday evening, she’s got more presents for us. (We’ve got presents for her too. Jack’s brought her a bottle of wine and I’ve drawn her a special card of very fashionable ladies with high heels and big handbags. Samson’s given her a present as well: a little photo of himself wearing his spouting-whale suit, looking so cute.)

  Liz has bought us more food – and a special new present for Mum. ‘You unwrap it, Ella,’ she says.

  It’s a little light rectangle in a bag.

  ‘Oh, Liz, an iPod!’ I say.

  ‘Wow! A very upmarket, state-of-the-art, expensive iPod!’ says Jack.

  ‘I thought you could plug it in for Sue – and if she is awake at all, it will help to pass the time. It must be so boring for her, just stuck lying there in that awful hospital. You don’t think it’s too crazy an idea then?’

  ‘It’s a wonderful idea, Aunty Liz! Mum will love it!’ I say.

  ‘You two can take it back home and download all Sue’s favourite tunes on it.’

  ‘We could download my whale music!’ I squeak. ‘That would soothe her. Oh please, let’s do the whale music!’

  ‘You’re a funny kid, Ella,’ says Liz, laughing at me. ‘Whale music?’

  ‘It’s so kind and thoughtful of you, Liz. You’re a great friend,’ says Jack, raising his wine glass to her. ‘Why don’t you come and visit Sue tomorrow? Then you can give her the iPod yourself.’

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