Longest Whale Song (28 page)

It's very late when we get home from Liz's, but Jack lets me play my whale CD very softly while he feeds Samson again and I get ready for bed. It's the same CD, the same whales, but they sound different now, faraway and so sad, their song a mournful lament. I cry as I listen. Perhaps it will be too sad for Mum? I worry about it until Jack knocks on my door and puts his head round.

‘Samson's gone out like a light,' he whispers. ‘Are you and your whales settling down too?'

‘Yes,' I say from under the duvet.

‘Ella.' He comes nearer. ‘Oh, Ella.' He sits down on the side of the bed. I nestle against him and he strokes my hair. ‘It's sometimes good to cry,' he whispers.

‘I'm worrying that the whale music is too sad for Mum,' I say. ‘I don't want to make
her
cry.'

‘Perhaps it will good for her too,' says Jack. ‘I'll put it on her iPod in the morning and we'll see how she reacts. You try to go to sleep now. Night-night.'

‘Night, Jack,' I say.

He kisses the bit of my head peeping out from under the duvet. I don't move – but I make a kissing noise back at him.

After breakfast on Sunday he sits at his computer with the iPod, frowning and muttering – Jack's not very good at technology – but thank goodness he works out how to download the whale song at last.

‘Shall we put some of Mum's other favourites on too? Do you think she'd like some Take That? Or what about the
Mamma Mia
songs? She always loved singing along to them.'

‘It'll be a bit muddly if it's all jumbled up together. Shall we try just the whales first and see if she likes them?'

We go to the hospital first thing after lunch. It's crowded out with visitors carrying bunches of flowers and baskets of fruit, bottles of squash and chocolates, magazines and books. It's always so hard knowing we can't bring Mum anything to eat or drink, not even anything to look at – but this time we have the iPod of whale music with us.

Mum is lying quietly on her back. Her hair is looking pretty, very shiny, spread out across her pillow. One of the nurses must have washed it this morning.

‘How's my lovely girl today?' Jack whispers, kissing Mum's cheek. ‘Ella's got a special surprise for you.'

I take the iPod, lay it beside Mum on the pillow, press the button and insert the earphones very gently into her ears. She gives a little start at my touch – and then sighs.

‘Oh, Jack! Did you see, did you hear?' I gabble.

‘Yes! Yes, she moved. Just a little bit, but she moved – and she sighed too.'

‘She likes my whale song, she really likes it! We'll play it for her every day, and we'll ask Niamh and all the nicer nurses to play it for her too when they're on duty. Mum can have her own love song playing in her head all the time,' I say.

So we plug it in for her every time we visit – and every single time she starts and sighs. When we next see Dr Wilmot, Jack excitedly shows her the way Mum reacts.

‘Look at her! You saw that, didn't you? You tell that Dr Clegg!'

‘Yes, I do think Sue moved a little,' Dr Wilmot says gently.

‘Aren't you going to write it down on her chart?'

‘Perhaps – perhaps it was just a little involuntary reaction to the headphones?' Dr Wilmot suggests.

‘No, it wasn't! It was deliberate. And she sighed too. She does that every time. Isn't that proof that she's becoming aware of things?' says Jack.

‘She likes listening to the whales, I know she does,' I say.

Dr Wilmot nods and smiles, but we can see she doesn't believe us. When she's finished checking up on Mum and goes away down the ward, Jack and I sit on either side of the bed, holding Mum's hands, whispering our own love songs to her.

The next day we come in the evening, bringing Samson in his carrycot. Mum lies quietly, her eyes shut, her mouth slightly open, very very still. The iPod is on her bedside locker, its wire dangling.

‘I wish they'd leave it plugged in,' I say. ‘I want Mum to be listening all the time we're not here. I wonder if she's listened for twenty-two hours yet: Mum, listen.' I sit very close to her, my mouth by her ear. ‘Did I ever tell you the longest recorded whale love song lasted twenty-two hours?'

‘I think you have told her, Ella. You've certainly told everyone else,' says Jack. ‘You and your whales!'

‘Jack's always teasing me, Mum. But I shall ignore him,' I say loftily. ‘Have you had a good day? Joseph and Toby and I handed in our Tudor food project today, and Miss Anderson said it looked incredible. Her exact words. Sally and Dory and Martha aren't anywhere near finished their costume project, and none of them can draw for
toffee, so their project doesn't look very good at all. Sally asked if I could maybe draw them some of the court costumes, and so I started drawing a lady-in-waiting, putting in lots of little embroidered details, and Sally and Dory were saying how good it was, but then Martha nudged me hard and I got scribble all over the lady-in-waiting's sleeves. Typical Martha. But I just sighed at her. She can't seem to help being spiteful sometimes.

‘Then Joseph's mum came and collected us from school, and Joseph and I made fudge together, which was such fun and it tastes brilliant. I wish you could have a tiny little taste yourself. I'd rub some against your lips but I'm scared it might choke you. I ate lots, and so did Joseph and Joseph's mum – but I kept some back and put it in a little paper bag and tied it with a ribbon, and then, when Jack came back to collect me, I gave it to Aunty Mavis. She's always giving me lovely treats to eat so I thought it would be nice to give her something in return. She had apiece of fudge, and gave a tiny bit to Lily and Meggie, and they thought it was lovely too. Aunty Mavis even asked me for the recipe!

‘So it's been a good day so far for me, Mum. How about you making it a very very very special day? I'll plug in your whale music and you move a little
bit more, sigh really deeply, and then we'll know you're listening. Will you do that for me, Mum?' I say it every time.

‘Show them, Sue. Wake up properly and show them, sweetheart. We know you're still our Sue, and we love you so. I need you, Ella needs you, and our little Sam especially needs his mum,' Jack whispers. He says this every time.

Samson murmurs in his cot, as if he's talking to Mum too.

I start my whales singing and put the earphones into Mum's ears. She moves. She jerks her head. She sighs – not softly. A real irritable sigh – the sigh she used to make if I'd done something silly, when she'd put her hands on her hips and roll her eyes.

‘No more moany whales!' she mumbles.

We stare at her. Jack clutches my hand.

‘Oh, Mum!' I whisper, my throat dry. ‘Oh, Mum, you spoke!'

She speaks. She opens her beautiful blue eyes and looks at us. I put my face close, my nose touching Mum's. I cry, and a tear runs down Mum's cheek too. Jack kisses her, and her lips pucker as she tries to kiss him back. Samson lies in the crook of her arm and her fingers move to stroke him.

‘I'm so very happy for you,' says Dr Wilmot, and she cries too.

Mum's coming back to us, slowly but surely, nearer to normal every day.

Everyone cries a river of joyful tears, while the whales go on singing their mysterious love songs down in the deep blue ocean.

Jacqueline Wilson is an extremely well-known and hugely popular author who served as Children's Laureate from 2005-7. She has been awarded a number of prestigious awards, including the British Children's Book of the Year and the Guardian Children's Fiction Award (for
The Illustrated Mum
), the Smarties Prize and the Children's Book Award (for
Double Act
, for which she was also highly commended for the Carnegie Medal). In 2002 Jacqueline was given an OBE for services to literacy in schools and in 2008 she was appointed a Dame. She has sold over thirty-five million books and was the author most borrowed from British libraries in the last decade.

Published in Corgi Pups, for beginner readers:

THE DINOSAUR'S PACKED LUNCH

THE MONSTER STORY-TELLER

Published in Young Corgi, for newly confident readers:

LIZZIE ZIPMOUTH

SLEEPOVERS

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BAD GIRLS

THE BED AND BREAKFAST STAR

BEST FRIENDS

BURIED ALIVE!

CANDYFLOSS

THE CAT MUMMY

CLEAN BREAK

CLIFFHANGER

COOKIE

THE DARE GAME

THE DIAMOND GIRLS

DOUBLE ACT

DOUBLE ACT (PLAY EDITION)

GLUBBSLYME

HETTY FEATHER

THE ILLUSTRATED MUM

JACKY DAYDREAM

LILY ALONE

LITTLE DARLINGS

THE LOTTIE PROJECT

MIDNIGHT

THE MUM-MINDER

MY SECRET DIARY

MY SISTER JODIE

SECRETS

STARRING TRACY BEAKER

THE STORY OF TRACY BEAKER

THE SUITCASE KID

VICKY ANGEL

THE WORRY WEBSITE

Collections:

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THE STORY OF TRACY BEAKER
and

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BAD GIRLS
and
DOUBLE ACT

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includes
THE SUITCASE KID
and
THE LOTTIE PROJECT

Available from Doubleday/Corgi Books, for older readers:

DUSTBIN BABY

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GIRLS OUT LATE

GIRLS IN TEARS

LOLA ROSE

LOVE LESSONS

Join the official Jacqueline Wilson fan club at

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Turn over for an exclusive extract from

Jacqueline Wilson's wonderful new novel,

SAPPHIRE BATTERSEA

out now!

MY NAME IS
Sapphire Battersea. Doesn't that sound beautiful? I write it over and over again on the covers of this private notebook. I stitch a secret S.B. inside the neck of my uniform. I stir a swirly S.B. into the soup when I am helping the cook. I scrub a soapy S.B. when I am cleaning the floor. I whisper my own name in bed at night in the freezing dormitory, and my breath rises and forms the letters in the dark.

I am Sapphire Battersea, but nobody calls me by my real name, not even my dear mother. Mama chose to call me Sapphire because my eyes were so blue when I was born. But even she calls me Hetty now.

‘I'm
not
Hetty. It's such a stupid name. It's just a hateful foundling label. I
hate
the way
they change all our names, making them up randomly. They don't sound like real names. Hetty Feather! It's ridiculous.'

‘You could have had worse,' said Mama. ‘Just think, you could have been Grizel Grump.'

Poor Grizel is a girl in little Eliza's year at the Foundling Hospital. Everyone calls her Gristle, and consequently she is always a grump, like her name.

‘Sapphire is so elegant, so romantic. It's a perfect name for a writer,' I said, signing it in the air with a flourish.

‘Let us hope you become one, then,' said Mama, a little tartly.

‘You wait and see. I will publish my memoirs and make our fortune. Miss Smith will help me. My story will be turned into a proper book with gold lettering and a fancy picture on the front, just like all her own Sarah Smith stories published by the Religious Tract.'

‘I'm not sure
your
stories would be suitable for a religious press, Hetty,' said Mama, laughing.

‘
Sapphire!
Why won't you call me by my true name – the one you chose for me?”

‘I suppose Hetty has become a habit, dearie,' said Mama, tweaking my red plait.