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  Dad shrugs. ‘Special guinea-pig food, I suppose. It looks a bit like muesli.’

  ‘We’ve got muesli! Mum has it for breakfast!’ I stop and swallow. ‘Shall I try giving Butterscotch some muesli, Dad?’

  ‘Well, you could give it a go.’

  Butterscotch doesn’t seem very keen on muesli, but he nibbles on a few segments of orange and laps water out of his bowl.

  ‘I’d like a drink too,’ says Dad.

  ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea. I can make a good cup of tea, Mum taught me,’ I say proudly.

  ‘OK then. Though I was actually thinking about a drink drink,’ says Dad.

  ‘Oh, you could have one of Jack’s beers. He has cans or bottles. They’re in the fridge.’

  ‘Good idea!’ says Dad.

  I fetch him a beer and find myself a can of Coke. I pour a packet of crisps into a bowl and find some salted peanuts too.

  ‘You make a very efficient little bar girl, Ella. You could get a job at the Grey Goose any day.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to leave me a tip, sir,’ I say.

  Dad laughs. I grin, so proud that I’ve made my dad laugh. We’re still chuckling together when we hear the key in the door, and Jack comes in.

  He walks into the living room. Dad takes a sip of his beer.

  ‘I see you’ve made yourself at home,’ says Jack. ‘Good.’ It doesn’t sound as if he means good at all. Then he sees Butterscotch’s hutch. ‘What the hell’s that?’

  ‘It’s my guinea pig’s hutch,’ I say. ‘Look, Jack, isn’t he sweet?’

  I hold Butterscotch up. He squeaks and does a poo right in my lap. I squeak and Butterscotch wriggles free, frightened. He makes a mad dash for the dark under the table.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ says Jack. ‘Stop squawking and come and catch him, Ella.’

  ‘But he’s done a poo on me, look!’

  ‘Just brush it off and wash your hands. It’s not the end of the world.’ Jack crawls under the table himself. ‘Come on, little fellow.’

  He makes a lucky grab at him and puts him back in his hutch. Then he goes and gets himself a beer too.

  ‘How come we have a guinea pig in the living room?’ he asks.

  ‘Ella fell in love with him,’ says Dad.

  ‘Well, I dare say, but it’s not the most sensible idea, given the circumstances. Especially if she’s going to be shuttling backwards and forwards between us.’

  ‘What?’ says Dad. ‘She’s not going to be shuttling.’

  Jack stands still. ‘Now, look, matey, I’m very glad you’re here for her – the two of you are obviously getting on like a house on fire – but I’m not going to let you just walk off with her. She needs to see her mum and her little brother, and she’s got her school here, and all her friends. I’ve been thinking – it would maybe work best if she stays here Monday to Friday and then goes to you at the weekends. How would that be?’ Jack is looking at me.

  Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes!

  But Dad is frowning. ‘Now hang on, I can’t possibly have Ella every weekend!

  It feels as if he’s punched me in the stomach. I wrap my arms round myself, head bent.

  ‘But I thought – on the phone you said . . .’ Jack’s voice tails away.

  ‘Of course I care very much about Ella and this desperately sad situation. I want you both to know I’m always here for her. I dropped everything to be with her today. I was supposed to be meeting two really important clients but I cancelled straight away—’

  ‘Oh, we wouldn’t want to interfere with your work,’ Jack says sarcastically.

  ‘Well, it happens to be an important job – and one of the reasons Ella’s child support is always paid promptly into her mother’s bank account.’

  ‘But that’s the only regular commitment you’re prepared to make – a financial one?’ Jack says.

  ‘I’m not saying that at all. I’d love to have Ella come and visit some time. Maybe we could even fix a little holiday next summer. We’ve had a lovely day together, haven’t we, Ella?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes, Dad,’ I mumble.

  ‘And I promise I’ll come and see you as often as I can, especially if . . . if the situation changes. But it just wouldn’t work on a regular basis. I mean, I’m two hours’ drive away.’ Dad lowers his voice. ‘And, well, I’m in a new relationship. It’s early days yet, coming up to our one-year anniversary, and I can’t quite see it working if there were three of us. We’re not really ready for the happy family scene.’

  I clutch myself harder.

  ‘Sue and I haven’t known each other much longer,’ says Jack pointedly.

  There’s a little silence.

  ‘Well, I’m very sorry. I know it’s tough for you. I swear I’ll bob up as frequently as I can. Anyway, I’d better be getting back now. You know how it is.’

  ‘Yes, I know how it is,’ says Jack.

  I hear Dad walking across the room. His shadow hovers over me. He reaches out and tries to brush the fringe out of my eyes. ‘Bye, darling. I’ll come and see you very soon. You take care now.’

  I swallow. I haven’t got any voice left to reply.

  Dad waits. ‘Bye-bye, Butterscotch,’ he says, poking his finger into the hutch. Butterscotch can’t manage a squeak either.

  ‘I’ll see you out, then,’ says Jack.

  I stay where I am, my fists clenched. I hear them muttering at the door. Then it closes, and Jack comes back into the living room.

  I wait for him to start criticizing my dad. I know he hates him. Maybe I hate him now. But he doesn’t say anything. He drinks his beer straight down and then goes out into the kitchen. I hear the back door open and shut.

  Has Jack walked out too? I kneel on the floor, eyes closed, wondering what on earth I’m going to do. Maybe I can live in a corner of Mum’s hospital room? Oh, Mum! You’re the only one who really wants me, and yet how on earth can you look after me now?

  I’m being silly. Jack hasn’t really gone. He’d never leave me on my own. Though he seemed really angry. Perhaps he’s mad because he was hoping to get rid of me, and now he’s lumbered. He’s already had one drink. Maybe he’s gone out to the pub to drink some more with his mates.

  He’ll be sitting back, drinking pint after pint, telling them all about his awful stepdaughter – such a sour and surly girl, a total mess, a good job her hair hides her ugly little face, what a pity she doesn’t take after her poor mum . . .

  The back door slams. I jump. So he’s back. He comes into the living room holding a big bunch of green weeds like a bouquet.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Butterscotch’s supper. Guinea pigs love dandelions – and luckily that’s about the only thing we’ve got growing in the garden. These will keep him going until I can get to the pet shop tomorrow. Want to feed him?’

  I poke a couple of dandelion leaves through the bars of Butterscotch’s hutch. Jack’s right. Guinea pigs clearly love dandelions. Butterscotch gives a delighted squeak and starts munching joyously.

  ‘I think we’d better shift his hutch outside tomorrow. It takes up half the living room,’ says Jack. ‘And it might get a bit smelly in here too.’

  ‘Jack – I didn’t mean us to have the guinea pig and his hutch. I thought . . .’

  ‘I know,’ says Jack. He pauses. ‘Your dad was upset. I think he really, really wanted you at the weekends. It’s obviously his new girlfriend who’s the spanner in the works.’

  ‘Tina,’ I say.

  ‘Is that what she’s called? Tina.’ Jack sniffs. ‘She won’t be a patch on your mum.’

  ‘I know,’ I say. I wipe my eyes and stuff more dandelions into Butterscotch’s cage. ‘Jack, I know I’ve been to see Mum already today, but—’

  ‘But you’d like to go again? So would I! Come on, then.’

  I slip my feet into my comfy old school shoes, pull on my jacket, and we set off for the hospital together.

  Chapter 8

  I can’t get up the next morning