Longest Whale Song Read online

  Jack puts on the television, the sound turned up extra loud. We both stare at the screen. At least it means we don’t have to talk. I leave most of my pizza. Jack only manages half of his. He snaps open a can of beer, and then another. I sniff, because I know Mum doesn’t like him drinking too much.

  ‘Can I get you a drink, Ella?’ Jack asks. ‘I think we’ve got some Coke in the fridge. Or juice. What about juice? That’s healthier. Or there’s always milk.’

  I shake my head at all his suggestions. I tuck my feet up in my armchair, wrapping my arms round myself.

  ‘I think it’s getting on for bed time,’ Jack says after a while.

  ‘Bed time?’ he says.

  I hunch up, still ignoring him.

  ‘Ella?’ says Jack. ‘Come on, you’ve had a very long, exhausting day.’

  I get out of my chair and march out of the room without looking at him.

  ‘Night-night,’ he calls. ‘I’ll come up when you’re in bed.’

  ‘You don’t need to,’ I say quickly. ‘Goodnight.’

  Mum always comes and tucks me up. She keeps me company when I’m cleaning my teeth and washing my face. When I’m in my pyjamas, I hop into bed and she sits beside me. Sometimes she reads to me, all these old-fashioned girly books she liked when she was young: Ballet Shoes, A Little Princess and Little Women. Sometimes she’ll make up a story specially for me. She used to tell me a story about a superhero girl called Ella-Bella who can fly. I’m too old for little Ella-Bella stories now, but sometimes if I’ve got a bad cold or I’m feeling fed up, Mum will make up a brand-new Ella-Bella story for me. I would give anything to have her tell me an Ella-Bella story now.

  I go to the bathroom, then get undressed and crawl into bed. I arrange my soft toys around me. I hug Harriet the Hippo to my chest, putting my hand inside her plush jaws. Baby Teddy cuddles up on the other side, his head flopping on my shoulder. They don’t feel right. Mum always tucks them in beside me.

  I’m fidgeting about, rearranging them for the fourth time, when Jack knocks and puts his head round the door. ‘Shall I tuck you up?’ he says.

  ‘No! I said, you don’t need to.’

  ‘Ella—’

  ‘I want to go to sleep. I’m tired,’ I say.

  ‘All right, sweetheart. Night-night then,’ says Jack. ‘If you wake up in the night, you can always come and knock on my door, OK? Try – try not to worry too much.’

  I don’t get to sleep until long after I hear Jack go to bed himself. Then I wake up about four o’clock, my heart thumping, so hot my pyjamas are sticking to me. I’ve had the most terrible nightmare. Mum’s had the baby, and then she’s got desperately ill, and now she’s lying in a coma in hospital. I’m still so scared even though it’s just a dream, so I sit up and open my mouth to call for Mum . . .

  No, wait. It isn’t a dream at all. It’s really happened. Mum isn’t here. There’s just Jack. I can hear muffled sounds coming from his bedroom. He’s crying.

  I pull the covers up over my head, clutch my old toys, and cry too.

  Chapter 4

  I don’t go to school again on Tuesday. I think, just for a split second, Oh, goody-goody! Because we go swimming on Tuesday mornings, and I feel sick on the coach, and I hate all the noise in the baths, and I can’t swim very well and so I don’t get to splash in the top set with Sally. Then I feel dreadful because I’d sooner swim all day in a shark-infested pool and have Mum wide awake and completely well.

  I don’t know what clothes to put on. I don’t know whether to dress up smartly or wear my old jeans. In the end I wear my black and white spotty bridesmaid’s dress to please Mum, even though I think it looks awful, especially now, as I can’t find any clean white socks and so I wear red ones which don’t go with my shoes. I can’t fix my hair either. It needs washing and it just hangs limply, especially my fringe. I’m nearly in tears as I tug at it. I so want to look lovely for Mum. I feel if I can only look like the perfect daughter, she’ll open her eyes to take a proper proud look at me.

  Jack isn’t trying at all. He hasn’t even shaved and he’s tugged on the same shirt and jeans he had on yesterday. He looks awful, his hair sticking up, his eyes all red and bleary. I wrinkle my nose at the sight of him.

  ‘What?’ he says.

  ‘Nothing.’

  He sighs and rubs his hands over his face, then takes a deep breath. ‘OK, what shall we have for breakfast? Toast? Cereal? Bacon and eggs?’

  ‘I don’t want anything.’

  ‘You need something inside you, Ella. It’s going to be a long day. Come on, don’t be difficult. I’ll make you anything. Pancakes?’

  I stare at him as if he’s mad. ‘Let’s just go to the hospital to see Mum,’ I say.

  ‘Bowl of cereal first, at the very least,’ he says, but when he takes the carton of milk out of the fridge he peers at it doubtfully, and then sniffs it.

  ‘Oh God,’ he says, pouring it down the sink. ‘I’ll have to go shopping sometime.’

  We have toast instead, nibbling in silence. Then the phone rings just as we’re about to go. It’s the head teacher at Garton Road, Mum and Jack’s school.

  ‘Look, I told you, I can’t possibly come in, not when Sue’s so seriously ill. What? Look, I can’t help it if they’ve both got gastroenteritis. I couldn’t give a stuff if the entire staff are throwing up all over the school. I can’t come in and teach because Sue’s in a coma, hanging onto life by a thread—’ He sees me staring and says quickly, ‘I’ve got to go now.’

  Is Mum really hanging onto life by a thread? I imagine a long white thread tied round her ankle, tethering her to the bed, while she rises up and up and up . . .

  ‘I didn’t really mean that! I just needed to get my point across,’ Jack says. ‘Come on, Ella.’

  We drive to the hospital again and walk down the long corridors. I hope and hope and hope that Mum will be just a little bit better – but she’s still lying there, eyes closed. I shout, ‘Mum!’ right in her ear but she doesn’t stir.

  ‘No, no, dear, don’t, you’ll hurt Mummy,’ says a new nurse crossly.

  I shrink back, horrified.

  ‘She was just trying to rouse her. She didn’t mean any harm,’ says Jack. ‘She’s very close to her mother.’

  The new nurse sniffs. Her blonde hair is pulled very tightly into a bun, and the elasticated belt round her waist is at full stretch. She looks as if she could explode in all directions at any time.

  ‘She shouldn’t be in here then, it’s too upsetting for a little girl,’ she snaps. ‘Small children aren’t supposed to be running about these wards.’

  Yet later they bring a very, very small child to Mum: the baby. The young lady doctor with long dark hair carries him into the room.

  ‘Hello, remember me? I’m Dr Wilmot,’ she says. ‘I thought it would be good for Susan to have her baby with her for a while – and good for him too.’ She rocks him gently, stroking his little wisps of hair.

  ‘I keep forgetting he’s so tiny,’ Jack says, his face screwing up. ‘It must be awful for him. All the other babies have their mothers.’

  ‘He’s still got a mother. I think he needs a little cuddle with her right now,’ says Dr Wilmot. ‘You hold him for me for a moment.’

  She hands the baby to Jack and then bends over Mum and starts untying her nightie. I draw in my breath.

  ‘I think Mum would like to cuddle up really close with the baby,’ Dr Wilmot says to me. ‘I’m sure she used to cuddle you like this when you were tiny.’

  She takes the baby from Jack, unwraps his shawl and takes off his little nightgown too, so he’s just in his nappy. He cries a bit, waving his legs about. They’re so small, but he’s quite strong, kicking his funny little feet. It’s just the way he kicked when he was inside Mum’s tummy. He’s not really a little stranger – we’ve known him for months and months. We just couldn’t see him.

  Dr Wilmot lays him down very gently on Mum’s bare chest, his head between her breasts. He