Longest Whale Song

  I couldn’t sleep properly anyway, because we’d watched this horribly scary DVD about people in a haunted house. I told her I’d watched it heaps of times already and she believed me. I wanted to show off to Sally that I’d seen a real 18 movie – but I so wished I hadn’t when I went to bed on Liz’s sofa. Every time I closed my eyes I felt I was in that haunted house and the ghosts were about to get me.

  Liz slept ever so late on Sunday morning. I didn’t like to switch on the television in case it woke her up. I’d brought a Tracy Beaker book with me, but I only had twenty pages to go and I finished it too quickly. Tracy wouldn’t stand for her mum getting married. I had a good look through the big fat paperbacks on Liz’s bookshelf, but they all seemed to be about stupid women wanting to meet men. I didn’t want to read about that. So I just lay there on the sofa for hours, missing Mum.

  I cuddle up closer to her now, on the bed.

  ‘We never got to go to the Aquarium and the Natural History Museum and the London Eye in the holidays, Mum. Can we go today?’

  ‘There’s not time now, love.’

  ‘Next Saturday then?’

  ‘I’m too tired for a long day out in London at the moment, sweetheart. I promise we’ll go in a few weeks, when I’ve had the baby.’

  ‘But then you’ll have to push the baby buggy, and it’ll keep crying, and needing to be fed and changed and all that stuff.’

  ‘No, no, we’ll leave the baby with its daddy for the day,’ says Mum.

  ‘Oh! OK then! So Jack’s going to look after the baby too?’

  ‘Of course he is. Even though he hasn’t got a clue about babies. He doesn’t even know which end the nappy goes on!’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘He’ll find out soon enough. He’s very keen. He bought a giant Lego set the other day. I’m sure he thinks the baby’s going to be sitting up and making plastic planes and cars by the time it’s six months old.’

  ‘Jack is so silly,’ I say happily. I’m starting to hope the baby will be a little boy. Then he can play with Jack all the time while Mum and I do stuff together.

  I reach out and gently pat Mum’s huge tummy. ‘Hello, baby. Are you a boy or a girl?’ I ask it.

  I can feel it kicking as if it’s trying to answer me.

  ‘I might be a boy. I might be a girl. You’ll just have to wait and see,’ Mum says, in a teeny baby voice.

  I laugh and Mum laughs, and her tummy wobbles as if the baby is clutching its sides and laughing too.

  ‘Did I kick like that when I was in your tummy, Mum?’ I ask.

  ‘You kicked, but not like this baby. It seems so big and strong. Maybe we’ll have to call him Samson if he’s a boy,’ Mum says. Her voice is a bit gaspy and she clutches her huge tummy.

  ‘Oh, Mum, is it really kicking you so hard that it hurts?’ I ask.

  ‘No, it’s not the kicking. My tummy just felt funny.’

  ‘What kind of funny?’

  ‘I’m not sure. It’s OK again now. Let’s cuddle up and have a little nap, eh?’

  She can’t curl around me because the big bump of the baby gets in the way. I curl around her instead.

  ‘You’re like a big mother whale,’ I say, patting her.

  ‘Thanks a bunch,’ says Mum.

  We settle down and I very nearly go to sleep, but then I notice Mum is breathing in that slow, funny way again.

  ‘You’re practising your breathing, Mum!’ I say.

  ‘I’m doing it for real, sweetheart. I think the baby’s started to come,’ says Mum.

  I sit bolt upright, terrified. ‘Oh, Mum! What shall I do? How will we get you to hospital? Jack’s not here to drive you!’

  ‘It’s OK, don’t panic! We don’t have to do anything for ages and ages. You took a whole day to be born. I’m sure this baby will be the same. We’ll have a cup of tea and then we’ll sort out our suitcases. Mine’s already packed with a new nightie and a set of baby clothes. We’ll just have to get yours sorted, with your pyjamas and washing things and a book to read.’

  ‘I’ll need heaps of books. It’s ever so boring at Aunty Liz’s.’

  ‘Well, it’s very good of her to offer to have you. She’s not really into children.’

  I’m not sure I am either. I don’t ever want to have a baby. Mum keeps saying she’s fine, but every now and then she clutches her tummy, and she’s started to close her eyes and groan.

  For the first time ever, I’m glad when Jack gets home.

  ‘Oh, Jack,’ Mum says. She puts her arms round him and hugs him hard.

  ‘Hello, my Super-Sue. This is a lovely welcome,’ he says, kissing her.

  He waggles his fingers at me. ‘Have you two girls been having fun?’ he asks.

  ‘The baby’s coming!’ I say.

  ‘What? Really? You should have phoned me,’ he says. ‘Oh my goodness, sit down, Sue. Or should you lie down? Or shall I take you straight to the hospital?’ He’s in a right state, as if he’s terrified too.

  ‘Stop flapping, Jack, I’m fine! Ella and I are all packed. I’ve phoned Liz and told her we’ll drop Ella off on the way to the hospital. But we don’t need to go for ages yet.’ Mum breaks off, clutching her tummy and gasping.

  Jack puts his arm round her, staring at her anxiously. She does her breathing, in and out, in and out.

  When she straightens up at last, she goes, ‘Phew!’ and pulls a funny face.

  ‘We’re going to the hospital right now,’ says Jack firmly. ‘Come on, Ella!’

  Chapter 2

  It takes me ages to get to sleep at Liz’s. I keep thinking of poor Mum in pain in the hospital, breathing in and out, in and out, in and out. I breathe along with her, keeping her company long distance.

  I get up to go to the loo, and Liz calls out from her bedroom. ‘Are you all right, Ella?’

  ‘Yes. Maybe. No,’ I say, and start to cry.

  Liz gets up and comes to find me. She stands awkwardly in front of me. ‘Oh dear. Are you crying?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Silly question. And silly answer,’ she says, and she puts her arms round me.

  I howl all over Liz’s silk pyjamas while she pats my back and strokes my hair.

  ‘I want Mum,’ I wail.

  ‘I know. But she’s otherwise engaged right now.’

  ‘She will be all right, won’t she, Liz?’

  ‘Of course. Come on, Ella, she’s not ill, she’s simply having a baby. Millions and millions and millions of women have babies all over the world all the time.’

  ‘Yes, but sometimes they get ill too. Sometimes they die,’ I sob.

  ‘Stop it now. Your mum will be absolutely fine. She’s maybe even had the baby already.’

  ‘No – Jack said he’d phone us.’

  ‘But he wouldn’t phone in the middle of the night, sweetie. Which it is. Now, let’s find you some tissues, because you’re using my PJs like a giant hankie.’

  I mop myself up while Liz puts the kettle on.

  ‘We’ll have a cup of camomile tea. That will make us both sleepy,’ she says.

  Camomile tea is disgusting. I don’t like to say anything because Liz is trying to be really kind to me – but she sees my face.

  ‘Would you sooner have real tea? What do children like to drink? I know, hot chocolate!’

  I don’t really want hot chocolate either, but she makes it specially. I lick all the frothy cream off the top. Liz sips her camomile.

  ‘Didn’t Peter Rabbit drink camomile tea?’ she asks. ‘I’ve got the new baby a lovely little white sleepsuit with Peter Rabbit embroidered on the chest. There’s a big fluffy white blanket to match. Shall I show you?’

  She unwraps them. I hold the little white suit in my arms. It’s as if I’m holding a very tiny floppy baby already. I start rocking it without really thinking.

  ‘There! You’ll be a lovely big sister,’ says Liz.

  ‘No, I won’t,’ I say. I drop the sleepsuit. ‘I don’t want anything to do with this baby. I do
n’t like babies.’

  ‘Well, I’m with you there, chum,’ says Liz.

  ‘I don’t like Jack either,’ I dare say.

  ‘Mm. He’s OK, I suppose. He’s jolly and kind, and quite sweet in his own way.’

  ‘No, he’s not. He’s stupid. And lazy. And he goes out drinking with his mates and comes home late. And he watches daft telly. And he eats smelly curries, and he smells too. I don’t know what my mum sees in him,’ I say.

  ‘I’m not sure I do either. Though she obviously adores him. But he’s definitely not my type,’ says Liz.

  ‘Who is your type, Liz?’

  She stretches. ‘Oh, someone tall and hunky and romantic and sophisticated and a little bit dangerous. James Bond will do for me. Only he’s taking his time turning up in his fancy car and whisking me off to the Seychelles. Or Barbados. Or Mauritius. Or wherever he takes his lady friends on holiday. Definitely not camping in Wales.’

  ‘We went camping in Wales at half-term last year.’

  ‘Exactly,’ says Liz, rolling her eyes. Then she shakes her head. ‘I shouldn’t be talking like this. Jack’s your stepdad. He loves your mum dearly. And he loves you too, Ella.’

  ‘No, he doesn’t! He doesn’t love me one bit. He just has to put up with me because I come as a package with Mum. He’d much sooner I didn’t exist. And ditto me him.’

  ‘Well, he does exist, sweetheart, and I’m sure he’s trying to be a good dad to you – and now he’ll be a good dad to the baby too.’

  Liz leans over and pats me on the shoulder. ‘Finished your hot chocolate? Come on, then, let’s get you tucked up on the sofa again. And then, when you wake up in the morning, I’m sure the phone will be ringing and we’ll find out all about the baby.’

  I do exactly as I’m told – but when I wake up in the morning, the phone isn’t ringing. I wonder if Liz is going to sleep half the morning the way she did before – but she gets up surprisingly early. She fixes us both breakfast and then we sit around, staring at the phone.

  ‘Mum must have had the baby by now,’ I say.

  ‘Not necessarily. Sometimes it can take twenty-four hours. Even forty-eight,’ says Liz, shuddering.

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have told you that. Oh dear, I’m hopeless with little children.’

  ‘I’m not little,’ I say, though I’m starting to feel very little now. I so want Mum to be all right and give me a big cuddle.

  I struggle with Liz’s very splashy shower. I forget to put the dolphin curtain inside the bath and everywhere gets very wet. I’m scared Liz will tell me off but she doesn’t even seem to notice.

  Then my hair won’t go right. I’m trying to grow out my fringe. Mum has a way of fluffing it up with a brush and getting it to look OK – but I don’t know how to do the fluffing bit. My fringe hangs limply way past my eyebrows so I can hardly see.

  I get dressed in my clean clothes and find my skirt’s been crumpled up in a corner of my case and is all over creases. I wonder about asking Liz to iron it for me but decide it doesn’t really matter.

  Then we sit around again all morning. We watch a bit of television, and then Liz suggests I choose a DVD. She’s got heaps of DVDs but they’re mostly TV series like Sex and the City. I try one of these, but Liz jumps up and says maybe it’s not suitable. We watch endless episodes of Friends instead. I wonder if my hair will ever go like Rachel’s once the fringe has properly grown out. I usually like Friends, but now I can’t seem to get into each story.

  I ask Liz for some paper and I start drawing a picture of Mum and me. I draw me OK, but when I try to draw Mum pregnant, she looks all lopsided and silly. I scribble all over her quickly.

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame! It was a lovely picture! You’re very good at drawing, Ella. How about drawing me?’

  I have a go. Liz doesn’t look so keen this time.

  ‘Oh God, am I really that fat? You haven’t drawn me pregnant, have you? That’s it – it’s time I took my diet seriously.’

  She’s bought us fish fingers for lunch. ‘I know children love fish fingers,’ she says proudly.

  I did use to like them when I was little, but I’ve gone off them now. We have proper Sunday dinners at home. Mum cooks a chicken, and we have crispy roast potatoes and green beans and broccoli, and I eat it all up, even the broccoli.

  Liz gives me five fish fingers and some baked beans and oven chips. She fixes herself one fish finger and a green salad. I try to eat all my meal to be polite, but I’m not feeling very hungry. Liz ends up eating most of mine.

  ‘Maybe I’ll try phoning Jack,’ she says when she’s washed the dishes.

  His mobile’s turned off.

  ‘Then perhaps I’ll try phoning the hospital,’ she says.

  ‘Yes, do. I tell you, Jack’s probably forgotten to phone. He’ll be off drinking the baby’s health in the pub with all his mates,’ I say.

  ‘Ella, you sound like a very bitter little old wife,’ says Liz. ‘He won’t have forgotten.’

  She phones the hospital. It takes her ages and ages to get through to the ward – and then they won’t tell her anything because she’s not Mum’s next of kin.

  ‘I’m her next of kin. I’ll talk to them,’ I say, but they won’t talk to me either, because I’m a child.

  ‘They’ve told me to phone your mum’s husband, and I’m trying to, but he’s not answering,’ says Liz. ‘Oh, well. We’ll just have to wait.’

  So we wait and wait and wait some more. Liz keeps yawning and stretching and cracking her knuckles.

  ‘I usually go round the shops on Sundays. I wish we could go now – it would do us both good.’

  ‘What, shopping?’

  ‘Take our minds off things. But I’m not sure Jack’s got my mobile number. Oh, I do so wish he’d just phone now.’

  We stare at the cream phone on the small table in the corner of her living room. Liz picks up the receiver, just to check it’s working. Then we wait some more.

  Much later on we have tea: small sausages and spaghetti – toddler food. Then we watch television. Every time I go to the loo in Liz’s shiny bathroom I sit with my head in my hands and have a little private sob because I’m starting to feel so scared.

  It’s getting almost to my bed time again. I’m sitting counting up to a thousand in my head, telling myself that if I can only get through each number in sequence without getting mixed up and making mistakes, then Mum will be all right. I get to three hundred and something when the doorbell rings. Liz and I jump and stare at the phone, both of us muddled. No, it’s definitely the doorbell.

  Liz runs to the door. Jack’s standing there. His hair is sticking up in a silly way. His face is white and sweaty and he smells of his horrible beer.

  ‘Jack! You were supposed to phone!’ says Liz. She sniffs pointedly. ‘Have you been off drinking while we’ve been chewing our fingernails? How is she? Is the baby here?’ Her voice is getting high-pitched.

  ‘I’ve had just one drink,’ says Jack. He walks round Liz towards me. He’s moving very carefully, as if he’s on a tightrope.

  ‘Jack? Is the baby all right?’ Liz asks.

  ‘The baby’s fine,’ says Jack. ‘A little boy, six and a half pounds.’

  He reaches out and takes my hand. He’s horribly hot and clammy. I can’t say a word. I want to run away. I know there’s something terribly wrong.

  ‘Ella, love . . .’ Jack says. He sits down beside me on the sofa, so heavily that he nearly squashes me. He clears his throat. ‘Ella,’ he says again, ‘I’m afraid your mum’s not very well.’

  The ceiling drops on me. The walls crush my sides. I can’t speak. I can’t even breathe.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Liz says. ‘What happened? What went wrong? Oh, Jack, tell us!’

  Jack swallows. He looks like he’s making a big effort. He’s looking at me. ‘Mum got very tired having the baby. She’s gone to sleep now, a very deep sleep, and she maybe won’t wake up for quite a while,’ he says, and h
is voice suddenly wobbles. He’s trying very hard to control his face, but it’s wobbling too, his lips trembling, his chin crumpling, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

  I hear She’s gone to sleep, and tears start slipping down my face. I think I know what Jack means.

  ‘You mean she’s dead?’ Liz gasps.

  ‘No, no. She had this condition, eclampsia. I’d never even heard of it. Apparently it’s very rare. Anyway, everything started going wrong, and then she lost consciousness – and now she’s in a coma,’ Jack whispers – though I hear every word.

  ‘Oh no, how terrible,’ Liz says. She starts sobbing, sounding oddly like a little girl.

  ‘Stop it, Liz. Not in front of Ella,’ says Jack. He tries to give me a reassuring nod. ‘The doctors say Mum might get better soon.’

  Might get better!

  I open my mouth, licking my lips, trying hard to make my voice work. ‘I want to see her,’ I say.

  ‘Yes, of course you do. I’ll take you to see Mum tomorrow – and your new baby brother,’ says Jack.

  ‘I want to see Mum now,’ I say.

  ‘No, darling, it’s much too late. They won’t let you in the ward now,’ says Liz.

  But Jack is still looking at me. ‘All right, I’ll take you now,’ he says.

  ‘You can’t, Jack, it’s way past visiting time – and it’ll upset her terribly.’

  ‘Of course it will. But she needs to see her mum right this minute,’ says Jack. ‘Come on, Ella, I’ll drive you there.’

  ‘Are you all right to drive?’ Liz asks.

  ‘I’ve had one drink, that’s all.’

  ‘No, I meant you’re so upset yourself.’

  ‘I’ll be very careful. Do you want to come too?’

  Liz hesitates. ‘I’ll wait here,’ she says.

  So I go in the car with Jack. I forget to put on my coat. It’s not really cold in the car but I start shivering violently.

  ‘Hang on,’ says Jack. He stops the car, gets out and goes to search in the boot. He brings back a tartan rug. We three sat on it a few months ago when we had a picnic in the park. Jack wraps it round me and then carries on driving.