Longest Whale Song (14 page)

When Samson and I are settled, Jack gives me the bottle.

‘How do I do it, Jack?' I ask, a bit panicked now. I don't want to pour it down his throat and choke him.

‘He'll do it for himself, you'll see. Just gently put the teat against his lips and he'll start sucking. Hold the bottle up nicely so he won't be taking in too much air – but halfway through he'll still need to be sat up and burped.'

‘Goodness,' I say, giggling.

I nudge the teat against Samson's lips and his mouth clamps on it eagerly. He starts sucking for all he's worth, an expression of intense concentration on his face. His blue eyes look up at me. I feel a weird squeezing pain in my tummy. I think I'm starting to love him, when I didn't think I'd even
like
him very much.

‘There now, little Samson,' I whisper.

‘Ah!' says Jack. ‘Oh, Ella, if only your mum could see the two of you together.'

That does it. He starts crying. I start crying. Samson loses his grip on the bottle and he starts crying too.

‘Goodness, we'll be flooding the nursery at this rate,' Jack says, scrabbling through his pockets for a hankie. He mops at my eyes and wipes his own. I nudge the teat back into Samson's mouth and he gives a little snuffle and starts sucking again.

‘There now,' says Jack.

‘Is he ready for burping yet?'

‘Give him another few minutes.'

So I wait – and then gently detach the bottle from his lips and sit him up.

‘Rub his back quite firmly – there's a knack to it – though I'm not quite sure what it
is
.'

Samson makes a happy little noise.

‘Oh!
You've
got the knack, Ella, obviously,' says Jack.

I carry on feeding him. One of the nurses comes in and smiles at Samson and me.

‘You make a good little mother,' she says, and I feel so proud.

Jack lets me carry Samson all the way to Mum's room. He starts to feel surprisingly heavy but I hold him proudly, carefully supporting his noddy little head.

‘Sue, darling, look, here's Ella and little Sam. She's just given him his bottle. They look a picture together,' Jack says to Mum. He strokes her face. ‘Don't you want to wake up and see them, sweetheart?'

Mum doesn't move. Jack helps me lay Samson on her chest, and I squeeze onto the edge of the bed, my head on Mum's pillow.

‘I fed Samson, Mum, and he burped specially for me. Jack says I've got the knack.'

‘She certainly has,' says Jack. ‘We're going to manage all right, Sue. Ella and I will look after Sam in the evenings and at weekends, and Aunty Mavis will be in charge while we're both at school. We'll be fine. You mustn't worry about a thing.'

Mum still looks a bit worried. There are little frown lines between her eyebrows. I rub them gently, trying to smooth them away.

‘We can only manage for a little while, Mum,' I say firmly. ‘Just until you get better. You really need to wake up as soon as you possibly can. Touch Samson – can you feel his little hands? He's trying to hold onto you. He needs you so.'

Mum gives a little sigh.

‘She heard me!' I gasp. ‘Oh, Jack, she really heard me!'

‘I hope so, Ella. But maybe – maybe she was just breathing out.'

‘She
heard
– and she sighed, because she so wants to look after Samson herself,' I insist. ‘Isn't that right, Mum? Sigh again, go on, to show Jack.'

Mum's very quiet now. She clearly can't be
bothered to convince Jack. But
I
know. And Samson does too.

I want to take him home with us right now but Jack says he's got to be checked over by the paediatrician first. So we kiss Mum goodbye and take Samson back to the nursery. He's as good as gold until we put him in his cot, and then he starts squirming and spluttering, revving up for a good cry.

‘See, he doesn't want us to go,' I say. I hang over the cot and kiss his hot little forehead. ‘Don't cry, little Samson, we're coming back tomorrow.'

‘Hey! Leave that baby alone!' a new nurse cries, running over to us. ‘Whatever are you doing?'

‘He's my brother!' I say. ‘I'm not hurting him, I'm just giving him a kiss.'

‘Breathing all your germs right in his face! And why are you here unsupervised? We only allow mothers into the nursery.'

‘Are you an agency nurse? I think you'll find there's a detailed explanation in our baby's notes. His mother's very ill in Portland Ward,' says Jack.

‘But she's getting just a tiny bit better,' I say.

THE PHONE RINGS
while Jack is making the supper. I run to answer it, my heart pounding. Perhaps it's the hospital: ‘Come at once, your mother's woken up and aching to see her baby, it's a total miracle!'

No, it's only Mrs Edwards, Sally's mother.

‘How are you, Ella? Sally says you haven't been in school and I was very worried in case – in case your mum's taken a turn for the worse.' She's whispering the last bit in a holy voice.

‘She's taken a turn for the better,' I say firmly.

‘Really! Oh, thank God! So is she talking now? Can she sit up? Walk at all?'

I'm silent for a moment, wishing.

‘Ella?'

‘She's not quite walking and talking
yet
– but I'm sure it will be any day now,' I say. ‘Can I talk to Sally?'

‘Yes, of course, dear.'

I hear a lot of whispering and then Sally comes to the phone.

‘Hi, Ella! So your mum's getting better?' she says.

‘Well. Sort of. It's kind of gradual.'

‘So are you coming back to school next week?'

‘Yes, I'm sorry, I've mostly been at the hospital. Have I missed much?'

‘Well, Miss Anderson's got us all started on a Tudor project, working in pairs.'

‘Oh, Sally, I'm
so
sorry. So have you had to work all by yourself?'

‘No, it's OK, Miss Anderson said I could be in a threesome with Dory and Martha.'

‘Oh, you poor
thing
– how
awful
to be stuck with Martha. She's so mean and bossy.'

‘Yes, she is a bit – but Dory's OK. She's very nice, actually. She only lives round the corner, in the bungalows – remember those little ones we always called “the Doll's Houses''?'

‘Of
course
I remember. Look, I only moved away a few months ago.'

‘It seems
ages
. Anyway, I was round at Dory's and she's got two rabbits and the lady one's going to have babies and Dory says I can have one!'

‘You went totea with Dory!'

‘No, no, I just nipped in on our way home from school. Her mum's got this catalogue – she was showing it to my mum, yawn yawn – so Dory took me out to her back garden and I saw her rabbits. They are sooo fluffy and lovely, and they've got the cutest long floppy ears.'

‘I've got a guinea pig,' I interrupt.

‘No you haven't!'

‘I have so, my dad bought it for me. Not Jack, my real dad. He came and took me out to this dead-posh pub and then we went round to a farm and—'

‘Pubs aren't dead posh.'

‘
This
one is. And
anyway
, my guinea pig's a lovely golden brown and he's got a little pink
twitchy nose and I've called him Butterscotch. Isn't that a good name?'

‘I don't really like Butterscotch, it always makes me feel a bit sick.'

‘No, but the
name
is perfect, because he's butterscotch-brown, see.'

‘Has he got cute floppy ears?'

‘Of course he hasn't, he's a guinea pig, not a rabbit. He's got little tufty ears.'

‘I think I like rabbits best,' says Sally.

I feel so irritated with her I'm nearly crying. I swallow hard. ‘Why not come round now and see Butterscotch?' I say, trying not to let my voice go wobbly.

‘I can't – it's much too late and I've had my tea and that.'

‘Well, what about tomorrow?'

‘Mm? I think we're going round to my gran's.'

I swallow. She's making excuses. She's
Sally
, we've been best friends for years, we
always
see each other. When I lived just round the corner, we played together after school nearly every day. All right, it's more difficult now because she has to get her mum to drive her round, or I have to get
my
mum to . . . How can I forget, even for a moment?

‘Ella, are you crying?' Sally asks.

I sniff.

‘You
are
. Is it because of your mum? But I thought you said she's getting better?'

‘She
is
. Look, I have to go now, I have to feed Butterscotch,' I say, and I slam down the phone.

I stand there in the hall, leaning my forehead against the wall.

‘Ella?' Jack comes out of the kitchen, a tea towel round his waist. ‘Supper's nearly ready – sausages and mash. Want to lend a hand with the mashing?'

‘No.'

‘What is it? Were you talking to your friend Sally?'

‘She's not acting like she's my friend. She's going off with this other girl, I just know she is, and it's not
fair
, and it's all
your
fault,' I sob.

‘Sorry? How come it's
my
fault?'

‘If you hadn't met Mum and made us move, I'd still be living practically next door to Sally and she'd still be playing with me, not with that stupid Dory.'

‘That's ridiculous. If Sally's a
real
friend, she'll stay friends no matter where you live. And she doesn't sound too kind a friend if she's hanging out with some other kid exactly when you need her most. I'd say good riddance to Sally – find
another
friend.'

‘Don't you
dare
say horrid things about Sally,
you don't even know her! You don't know
anything
! You're not like a real dad, you're
nothing
!' I shout.

Jack stares at me. ‘For God's sake, Ella, what's brought this on? I thought we were starting to get along at last,' he says, sounding hurt.

I want to hurt him
more
, because I'm hurting so much. ‘I don't
ever
want to get along with you! I can't stand you. I wish wish wish my mum had never met you. It's all
your
fault she's ill!' I scream.

I want him to shout back. I want to have a real fight. But he's just standing there, still wearing that silly tea towel.

‘Don't you think I worry about that?' he says.

There's a smell of burning coming from the kitchen.

Jack sighs. ‘The sausages,' he says, and goes to rescue them.

I go into the living room and kneel beside Butterscotch's cage. I reach in and stroke him. ‘It's not fair, he's so mean to me,' I mutter – though I know that I'm the mean one now.

I think of Sally and Dory together and the tears start spurting down my cheeks.

‘I think guinea pigs are much much much sweeter than rabbits,' I say. ‘I especially like your cute little ears, Butterscotch.'

Butterscotch squeaks eagerly, but I think he's
just hoping for more dandelions. I hear Jack clattering about in the kitchen, and then the clink of dishes as he serves up. He doesn't call me. I don't come. I stay sitting beside Butterscotch, crying. I feel as if no one in the whole world likes me, only my mum, and she can't tell me she loves me any more. She can't even cuddle me or give me a kiss.

Jack comes strolling back into the living room. ‘Well, are you going to come and eat or not?'

‘Not.'

‘Suit yourself,' he says, and marches back.

It doesn't really suit me. My tummy feels painfully empty. Even if the sausages are burned, they still smell so good they're making my mouth water. But I don't want to go into that kitchen and face Jack. I might have to say sorry to him.

The phone rings and I run to it, suddenly sure it's Sally again, all set to tell me she wants to come round after all, she's dying to see Butterscotch, and she doesn't know what she was doing wanting to play with that stupid boring old Dory.

It's not Sally at all, it's Aunty Liz.

‘Just checking you're in, darling, and not at the hospital. I'm coming round.'

She rings off before I can say any more. Jack looks out into the hall. We look at each other. Neither of us says anything.

‘Was that for you?' he says eventually.

‘It was Aunty Liz.'

‘Oh, her. About time,' Jack says, chewing on a sausage. ‘I thought she'd vanished off the face of this earth – when her best friend's in dire straits in hospital. So, what was she saying?'

‘She's coming round.'

‘What, here? When?'

‘Now.'

‘Oh God. Look at the place! I don't want her round here, especially now. I'll phone her back and tell her not to bother.'