Longest Whale Song Read online

  ‘Dr Wilmot says we can visit Mum any time, if we’re family.’

  ‘But I’m not family. Not any more.’

  ‘Yes, you are! You’re my dad. Of course you’re family.’

  Dad parks the car and we go into the main hospital entrance. He peers around, looking bewildered. ‘Perhaps we’d better go to the reception desk.’

  ‘No, I know the way.’

  I take Dad’s hand. It’s surprisingly sweaty.

  ‘It’s all right, Dad,’ I say. ‘I know some people get all freaked out in hospitals. Aunty Liz hated coming.’

  ‘Oh, Liz! I’d forgotten all about her,’ says Dad. ‘I don’t think she liked me very much.’

  ‘Well, I don’t like her much,’ I say.

  I lead Dad down all the corridors. My own hand’s starting to get sweaty now. My tummy’s churning. I start whispering, ‘Oh, Mum, oh, Mum, oh, Mum.’

  ‘What’s that you’re saying?’ Dad asks.

  ‘Nothing.’

  I say it silently instead. And then we’re in the right ward, and there’s Mum’s bed, and Dr Wilmot is bending over her, listening to her chest with a stethoscope.

  She smiles when she sees me. She’s still smiling when she looks at Dad – and then blinks in surprise. ‘Hello, Ella. And . . . ?’

  ‘This is my dad, Dr Wilmot, my real dad.’

  ‘Mike Lakeland,’ says Dad, shaking her hand. ‘I’m Ella’s father. Sue and I used to be married.’

  ‘But not any more? You’re not still Sue’s next of kin?’

  ‘Oh no, no. That’ll be her new chap, Jack. No, I’m just here because Ella wanted to see her mum.’

  ‘Of course,’ says Dr Wilmot. She takes hold of one of Mum’s hands and strokes it lightly. ‘You’ve got two visitors to see you, Sue.’

  Mum doesn’t stir. Dr Wilmot walks away, waving goodbye to me.

  ‘Mum, Mum, it’s Dad. He’s come specially to see you,’ I say, leaning down and rubbing my cheek against Mum’s. I look up at Dad. ‘Come and talk to her, Dad!’

  Dad’s looking so strange, standing stiffly, as if his smart suit is made of cardboard.

  ‘Dad?’

  He clears his throat. ‘Hello, Sue,’ he says, as if he’s meeting a stranger. ‘How are you doing?’

  Mum breathes in and out, not taking any notice at all.

  ‘Mum,’ I say, giving her shoulder a little shake. ‘Open your eyes, Mum. It’s Dad.’

  ‘Don’t, Ella! You’ll hurt her,’ says Dad.

  ‘I wouldn’t hurt Mum!’ I say. ‘Oh, Dad, please, come and talk close up to her ear – and then try giving her a kiss.’

  ‘A kiss?’ says Dad.

  ‘Like in the fairy stories,’ I say, blushing because I know it sounds silly. But I don’t care if I sound like a stupid baby, I have to try. Dad might just make Mum better – he said he would.

  ‘Mum, Mum!’

  ‘Ella, leave your mum alone. She can’t hear you.’

  ‘Yes, she can. Dr Wilmot says – all the nurses say too – patients in comas can hear you, and one day they’ll wake up. Couldn’t you just try kissing her, Dad?’

  Dad steps forward, bends awkwardly and kisses the air above Mum’s cheek. ‘There.’

  Mum doesn’t stir.

  ‘You didn’t kiss her properly. You didn’t even touch her.’

  ‘Ella. You’re being silly. Let’s leave your poor mum in peace.’

  Dad starts walking away.

  ‘But we’ve only just got here!’

  He carries on walking.

  ‘Oh, Mum, I’m sorry,’ I whisper into her ear. ‘I’ll see if I can make him come back. I love you so. You look lovely here, just like Sleeping Beauty.’ I comb her hair with my fingers. I can smell soap and some sort of mouthwash: the nurses clean her gently every day. She doesn’t look or smell scary at all, so why why why couldn’t Dad kiss her properly?

  I run after him. His face is very red.

  ‘Dad?’

  He’s struggling. ‘She was always so lively, full of fun, tossing her hair around—’

  ‘We can go back and talk to her. Perhaps you can talk about the old days when we all lived together. I think she’d like that.’

  ‘Ella, there’s no point,’ Dad says sharply.

  ‘She will wake up soon, I know she will. You said she’ll get better.’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t realize. Come on.’

  I stop suddenly, remembering. ‘Do you want to see my little brother?’

  ‘What? Oh, the baby!’

  ‘I know the way to the nursery. Come and have a look.’

  I take him along the corridors until we get to the nursery. A new nurse looks at us enquiringly.

  ‘No visitors just now, not in here,’ she says.

  ‘Oh please, can’t I just show my dad my little brother, Samson Winters?’

  ‘Baby Winters? The one whose mother’s . . . ? Oh. Well, just a peep.’

  ‘It’s all right, nurse, we’ll leave the babies sleeping,’ Dad says quickly.

  ‘Well, we can see through the window. That’s Samson there, in the corner. Oh, I think he’s crying! He’s missing Mum. We have to go to him.’

  ‘He’ll just be hungry. All babies cry, Ella.’

  ‘Did I cry?’

  ‘Lots.’

  ‘Did I look like Samson when I was little?’

  ‘All babies look the same. Small and wrinkly.’

  ‘Did you ever feed me, Dad?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Once or twice.’

  ‘Jack feeds Samson sometimes. I can too, if I want.’

  Dad sighs. ‘You don’t want to feed him now, do you? Come on, that nice nurse will look after him. Let’s go and feed ourselves.’

  We go back down the long corridors. I feel I’ve been trailing up and down them for ever.

  ‘No, Ella,’ says Dad as I try to turn down Mum’s corridor. ‘This is the way out.’

  ‘But we’re going back to Mum, aren’t we?’

  ‘No, we’re going for our meal out in the country.’

  ‘But we have to say goodbye to Mum!’

  Dad sighs again. ‘Ella, she can’t hear us.’

  ‘She can, I told you.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, will you stop arguing!’

  I don’t say another word all the way out of the hospital and into the car. After five minutes’ driving Dad says, ‘Are you sulking?’

  I shake my head, tears starting to spill out of my eyes.

  ‘Yes, you are! Come on, cheer up. You can’t expect to get your own way all the time,’ Dad says, and he reaches over and pats my knee.

  I sniff.

  ‘You’re not crying, are you?’

  ‘I just – I so hoped – I thought you’d make Mum better. You said—’ I howl.

  ‘Ella, I hadn’t realized just how ill your mum is.’

  ‘But she is still going to get better, isn’t she?’

  ‘Well – I’m sure the doctors and nurses are doing all they can.’

  Dad puts on the car radio, fiddling through the stations until he finds some pop music. ‘There! Shall we have a little sing-song?’

  The last thing in the world I want to do is sing, but I’m scared Dad is starting to dislike me. I need to try to please him, so I sing, and he sings along too. He’s got a lovely voice, he’s singing really properly. Jack just mucks around and plays air guitar and acts like a fool when he sings. I look at my dad’s profile as he drives. He’s really good-looking. No wonder Mum fell in love with him. I wonder why they had to fall out of love.

  ‘Dad, can I ask you something?’

  ‘Mm?’ he says cautiously.

  ‘Why did you and Mum split up?’

  ‘What has your mother told you?’

  ‘Mum says you both decided to go your separate ways.’

  ‘Well, that’s exactly it.’

  ‘But did you just stop loving each other?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Did you stop loving me?’