White Dolphin (6 page)

I lift her to her feet. ‘Come on. Let’s see if we can find that white dolphin.’

Her face lights up a little and she smiles. ‘Really?’

I nod. I can’t take her to the secret cove. The cliffs are too steep to climb and we won’t get back home in time for Aunt Bev.

‘Let’s go down to the beach,’ I say. ‘Maybe we’ll see it there.’

I take Daisy’s hand and we walk along the beach to the rock pools on the far side. I look out into the sea, but there’s no sign of any dolphins in the bay.

‘Let’s go to the Blue Pool,’ I say. ‘Let’s see what we can find.’

The tide is still low enough for us to pick our way along the slabs of rock and patches of pale sand towards the headland. The rock pools here are deep and hidden. Some are two metre narrow crevices holding mini underwater worlds. But there is one rock pool bigger than the rest. It’s a mini universe.

The Blue Pool is a tidal pool, flanked on three sides by massive slabs of slate. Some fifty years ago, a concrete ledge was built across to keep the water in. It’s now a huge deep rock pool, big enough to swim in. The walls inside are lined with anemones and kelp, and sometimes fish become trapped between the tides.

At high tide, the sea reaches just over the ledge and then the Blue Pool looks like one of the posh swimming pools I’ve seen in magazines, that go on and on and look like they’re part of the sea. It can be packed with people here in high summer. But today, it’s just Daisy and me.

I take my shoes and socks off and roll my trousers up. I sit down and dip my feet in the cold seawater. I stare down through the sunbright surface hoping to see a jellyfish or maybe a large fish trapped inside. ‘What can you see, Daisy?’

‘The Bird Lady,’ she says in a hushed whisper.

‘What?’ I say. I look up. Daisy’s pointing along the rocky shore. I didn’t see her before. She was hidden in the shadows. But now I see an old lady sitting by the boulders at the water’s edge, her long grey hair and black shawl lifted by the breeze. I watch her tear chunks from a loaf of bread and throw them up into the sky. The gulls wheel and dive to catch them, and squabble on the rocks for fallen crumbs.

‘It’s Miss Penluna,’ I say. ‘I thought she’d moved away.’

‘She’s a witch,’ says Daisy.

‘Daisy!’ I laugh, because if Miss Penluna had a broomstick I’d think she was one too.

Daisy frowns at me and folds her arms. ‘She
is
a witch. Tommy Ansty said when the cows on his dad’s farm got big warts, the vet couldn’t cure them, but the Bird Lady did. She put a spell on them. Tommy said the warts dropped off the next day.’

‘Well, watch out,’ I say. ‘She’s coming this way. She might put a spell on you too.’

Daisy tries to pull me up. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

‘Don’t be silly, Daisy,’ I say. ‘There’s no such thing as witches.’ Despite my words, I press myself in to the rock shadows as she passes. Daisy clings on to me and we watch her shuffle past and climb the steps, worn smooth by people’s feet over the years, up to the path along the headland. Her long shawl trails a wet line across the rocks where it’s dragged in rock pools on the way. She’s almost made it to the top, when we see her fall. She stumbles forward. Her stick clatters to the ground and slithers down the rocks. All we see is the top of her shawl above the long grasses.

She doesn’t move.

I look at Daisy, and Daisy looks at me.

‘We’d better check if she’s OK,’ I say.

Daisy nods and follows me across the rocks. By the time we reach Miss Penluna, she is sitting up and rubbing both her knees. A small bloodstain has soaked through the ribbing on her woollen tights.

I pick up her stick. ‘Are you OK?’

Miss Penluna looks up and smiles. ‘I think so, thank you, dear.’

I hold out my hand. She takes mine in hers and I help her to her feet. Her arm feels thin and bony beneath her shawl. She’s so light it’s as if she’s made out of nothing at all. Her bird-like eyes dart across my face.

‘You’re Kay Wood’s child, aren’t you?’

The question takes me by surprise. No one talks about Mum any more.

I nod.

Daisy clutches my hand tight in hers.

‘She used to bring me birds,’ Miss Penluna says. She cups her hands as if she’s holding one. ‘Funny little black and white birds, like penguins. Lost, they were. They couldn’t find their rabbit holes in the storm.’

I hear Daisy stifle a giggle. She holds her hand across her mouth and I see the corner of her eyes crinkle in a smile.

But Miss Penluna hasn’t noticed. She leans into us, eyes wide, and whispers. ‘I kept them in my drainpipes for the night.’

Daisy is shuddering beside me now, and I cough to hide her helpless giggles. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’ I say.

Miss Penluna nods and pulls her shawl straight around her shoulders. She takes her stick from me. ‘I’ll be just fine now, thank you.’

She’s about to walk away but she turns and faces me, her head cocked to one side.

‘How is your mother?’ she asks. ‘I haven’t seen her since I’ve been away.’

I shrug my shoulders. It’s such a simple question but I don’t know the answer any more. ‘I don’t know where she is,’ I say.

Miss Penluna’s eyes search my face and I feel careless somehow, like a small child who’s lost a precious toy. I thought everyone in this town must have heard about Mum. It was front page news last year. Four members of the whale and dolphin charity she worked for just disappeared in the Solomon Islands, including her. They were helping local people to stop dolphins from being caught for sealife theme parks around the world. One theme park in Dubai wanted twenty dolphins and another park in the Caribbean wanted some too. Mum wanted to find out who was behind it all. She said someone was making a load of money.
Blood money
she called it.

Miss Penluna prods me in the chest with her stick. ‘I’ll ask the angels to look for her,’ she says. ‘Maybe they can help.’

I nod and glance at Daisy. ‘Thank you.’ I can’t think of anything else to say.

I watch her climb the last few steps and amble slowly along the coast path back to town.

Daisy turns to me wide eyed. ‘Maybe she can find your mum.’

‘Don’t be silly, Daisy,’ I say. ‘It’s rubbish all that stuff. She’s bonkers. You saw that for yourself.’

A gap opens in the clouds and Miss Penluna is lit up in a golden shaft of light, as if it’s shining right down from the heavens. I try to push the thought out of my head. It’s a stupid thought, I know. But I can’t help wondering. I can’t help thinking that maybe Daisy could be right.

Maybe Miss Penluna can really talk to angels after all.

T
he smell of bacon threads up the stairs and into the room I share with Daisy. She’s still asleep, her golden curls spread out across the pillow. I pull my dressing gown on and climb downstairs to the kitchen. Uncle Tom is sitting at the table. He’s in his oilskin trousers and his fishing boots are by the back door. I guess he’s going back out to sea today. Aunt Bev is standing at the cooker, frying bacon. She rests her other hand on her belly. Her stomach is huge now. The baby is due in six weeks’ time.

‘Is Daisy up yet?’ she says. She waggles the spatula at me. ‘I’m taking her to Plymouth with me for the day. I don’t want to miss the bus.’

‘I’ll go and see,’ I say.

I go back up to the bedroom and wake Daisy. She follows me dreamily down the stairs, half asleep, clutching Teddy-cat to her chest. Dad is in the kitchen now too, pouring himself a coffee.

‘You look smart,’ I say.

Dad looks up. His hair is brushed and he’s wearing his only suit. On Saturday mornings he’s usually tinkering about with
Moana
at the harbour dressed in his old jumper and jeans.

Dad frowns. He nods his head at a light blue folder on the table. ‘I’m seeing the man who wants to buy
Moana
,’ he says.

‘Don’t sign anything till you’ve let me check the small print,’ says Uncle Tom. ‘You want a good price for her.’

I sit down and glare at Dad. Daisy sits down next to me and plops Teddy-cat on the table.

‘Can you move that,’ Aunt Bev says. ‘Can’t you see breakfast’s ready.’

Daisy pulls Teddy-cat on her lap and Dad puts his folder on the chair beside him.

Uncle Tom takes Daisy’s plate of bacon and fried eggs and starts cutting up the bacon for her. ‘Good party last night, Daisy?’

Daisy nods her head and looks at me. ‘Me and Kara saw the Bird Lady,’ she says.

Uncle Tom frowns. ‘The Bird Lady?’

I nod. ‘Miss Penluna.’

‘Miss Penluna?’ Aunt Bev snorts. She drops another piece of bacon in the pan. ‘That mad old witch? I’m surprised they let her out.’

‘Out of where?’ I say.

Uncle Tom coughs and glares at Aunt Bev. ‘She’s not been well,’ he says.

Daisy leans across the table and whispers, ‘She says she can talk to angels.’

‘See what I mean?’ says Aunt Bev. The bacon spits and fizzles as she turns the heat up. ‘She’s not changed. Did you know Muriel from the post office once went to see her?’

Uncle Tom shakes his head and takes a glug of coffee.

Aunt Bev lowers her voice. ‘Muriel wanted to speak to her husband, Ernie, across the other side.’

‘The other side of where?’ asks Daisy.

‘Of the grave,’ says Aunt Bev.

I glance at Daisy. Her eyes are wide, wide open.

Aunt Bev looks around to check she’s got all our attention. ‘Miss Penluna told Muriel she had to bring something of Ernie’s to show the angels,’ she whispers. ‘Well, Muriel took his pension book along. And do you know what that mad old witch said Ernie’s message was?’

Uncle Tom shakes his head.

The clock on the wall ticks through the silence.

Aunt Bev folds her arms across her stomach for greater effect. ‘She said Ernie wanted to tell Muriel to stop sticking her big nose in everybody’s business.’

Dad splutters in his coffee.

Uncle Tom hides behind his copy of the
Fishing News
, but I hear him mutter, ‘Maybe Miss Penluna’s not so mad after all.’

‘That’s not even funny,’ snaps Aunt Bev. ‘You should have seen the state of Miss Penluna’s house when they took her away. Filthy it was. Muriel said there was bird muck everywhere. There were six crows in her living room, for goodness’ sake. I’m surprised they didn’t burn the house down after she’d gone.’

Daisy giggles. ‘She told us she kept penguins in her drainpipes. She said they couldn’t find their rabbit holes in the storm.’

Aunt Bev shoves a bit of bacon in her mouth. ‘See what I mean? Completely mad.’

I wash up the dishes while Aunt Bev gets Daisy ready for their trip to Plymouth. They bustle out of the door with bags and coats, and I wave to Daisy as Uncle Tom drives them away to the bus stop on the top road out of town.

I sit down next to Dad in deep still silence. It’s our space now, for a little while at least.

‘Fancy Miss Penluna remembering that,’ says Dad.

‘What?’ I say.

‘About the birds,’ he says. ‘Mum
did
once take birds to her. Manx shearwater, they were. Little black and white birds that nest in rabbit holes on islands out at sea. And they did look a bit like penguins. Mum found a couple of fledglings that were exhausted after storms had blown them inland.’ Dad takes a sip of coffee and chuckles. ‘Miss Penluna kept them in old pieces of drainpipe for the night before she let them go the next day.’

I smile. ‘Maybe Uncle Tom’s right,’ I say. ‘Maybe Miss Penluna’s not as mad as everybody thinks after all.’

Dad glances at the clock, lifts the folder from his lap and puts it on the table. He sighs and runs his hands along the folder’s tatty edge. ‘I’ll have to go soon.’

I know what’s inside the folder. I’ve seen it countless times before. Dad’s shown me the photos of
Moana
when Mum and Dad found her rotting in a creek, photos of her being rebuilt, and the drawings and sketches of her design and a small square patch of sail cloth.

Dad takes one photo out. ‘I thought we’d keep this one,’ he says.

I look at it and trace my finger across the top edge. It’s the day we launched
Moana
, the first time she had sailed for more than a hundred years. She’s supported in a winch frame, about to be lowered into the water. Mum had said our boat needed a new name for a new life. She said it had to be a name to connect us all. So she’d chosen
Moana
, a name from her homeland of New Zealand. In Maori, it means Ocean.

I tuck the photo in the folder. ‘Keep it in there,’ I say. I get up and stare out of the kitchen window and catch a glimpse of sea between the houses. I remember Mum once saying that if we looked after
Moana
, she’d look after us. I can’t help feeling that we’ve let her down.

‘I’m coming with you, Dad,’ I say. ‘We can’t just sell her to anybody. We owe her that at least.’

Dad nods. ‘I’ll wait for you outside.’

I get changed into my T-shirt and jeans and pull on my pale blue jumper. It’s the only one without a hole. I walk with Dad across the town and up the steep hill to the row of new houses high along the cliff top.