Longest Whale Song (25 page)

‘Is that right, Martha? Did Ella hit you with her book?'

‘
I
don't tell tales,' says Martha.

‘Yes, well, that's the right attitude. But, Martha, even if someone hits you—'

‘Bonk on the head!' says the little boy.

‘Yes, that's enough Simon. You mind your own business,' says Mrs Matthews. ‘Even if someone hits you, you do
not
hit them back. Ella's got a really nasty scratch on her poor cheek. Honestly,
what a pair of sillies you are! Ella, it's very dangerous to hit someone on the head—'

‘
Bonk!
' says Simon.

‘
Simon!
Go away! It's not only dangerous, Ella, it's very silly, because look what you've done, your book's all torn and spoiled now. I hope that's not a homework project.'

‘I wish it was, but it's my whale book!' I sob.

‘Yeah, that's all you do – wail, wail, wail!' says Martha. ‘You make me sick.'

‘Now stop that. I'm very disappointed in both of you. I will not tolerate this behaviour. You two sit on these two chairs in front of me where I can keep my eye on you.'

‘Please can I gather up the pages of my whale book first?' I ask.

At least she lets me do that. I sob harder when I see just how much Martha has ruined. But it's not just my whale book. I feel as if she's torn and defiled my mum. I hear her ugly words over and over again. It's as if she's pelted my mum with all those rotten vegetables – and I can't bear it.

‘Now now,' says Mrs Matthews irritably. ‘Do stop crying, Ella. You've just got a scratch. Here's Miss Herbert coming with the medical box. We'll pop some antiseptic on and then you'll be as right as rain.'

Miss Herbert dabs at me and mops Martha's nose. Then we sit on our chairs. The other children all stare at us. Martha crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue at them. I just sniffle and stroke my poor torn book. After a long while some of the mums start to arrive to collect their kids.

Martha starts fidgeting now, her eyes going flicker flicker, watching the door. ‘Can I go and sit at a table now, miss?' she asks as Miss Herbert rushes past.

Miss Herbert looks at Mrs Matthews.

‘What's that? No, Martha, you're to sit there, in disgrace.'

‘But my mum will be here soon,' says Martha.

‘Exactly,' says Mrs Matthews.

Martha bites her lip. She looks as if she might start crying too.

Oh, if only
my
mum could come. I wouldn't care if she told me off. She'd probably fuss about me fighting but she'd want to know
why
. Then, when she'd stopped being cross, she'd put her arms round me tight and give me a hug and make it all better.

Martha's mum comes tap-tapping across the parquet floor, holding hands with her small sister. They are both little and fair and pretty, not a bit like Martha, who is big and dark and plain.
Martha's mum isn't much taller than Martha herself, even though she's wearing really high heels. She doesn't look like a
scary
mum – but Martha flinches as she comes marching up.

‘What are you sitting there for, Martha?' she says.

‘Ah, Mrs Michaels, I'm afraid there's been a little argument between these two girls. In fact it turned into fisticuffs and we had to separate them.'

Mrs Michaels sucks in her lips so that they're one straight line. My heart starts hammering inside my chest. She's starting to look just as mean as her daughter now. What's she going to do to me when she finds out I hit Martha on the head and punched her on the nose?

She doesn't say
anything
to me. She's just looking at Martha. ‘I'm just about sick of you and your behaviour, Martha,' she hisses.

‘Has Martha been naughty again, Mummy?' the little sister says smugly.

‘Yes, she has! Fighting!' Mrs Michaels takes hold of Martha's arm and pulls her off her chair. ‘Just you wait till I tell your dad! He'll give you such a whack!'

‘He's
not
my dad,' Martha mumbles. She doesn't just look sulky. She looks scared. I suddenly understand Martha much better. I still hate her – but I can't help feeling a little bit sorry for her too.

I'm also much more sorry for me, sitting here nursing my ruined book. I'm not scared of
my
stepdad, but my tummy goes tight when I think of him coming to collect me.

Here he is, dashing in, peering around anxiously. Then he spots me. He waves and comes rushing up. ‘Hi, Ella. What are you doing sitting here all by yourself?' he asks.

‘Well might you ask,' says Mrs Matthews, bustling up. She's practically frothing at the mouth she's so eager to tell tales on me. ‘There was a very nasty dispute between Ella and one of the other girls.'

‘Don't tell me. Martha?' says Jack.

‘Yes, Martha!' says Mrs Matthews, surprised. ‘I didn't realize this was an ongoing thing. I'd hoped the two would play together nicely, but oh dear, no!'

‘Well, I've never met Martha, but I'd quite like to have a word with her,' says Jack. ‘I don't think she's been very kind to Ella recently. I know Ella's been a bit worried about her, haven't you, sweetheart?' He goes to give me a little chuck under my chin, and then stops.

‘What's that mark on your face? Did Martha do that?' He looks at Mrs Matthews angrily. ‘I thought you were supposed to be keeping an eye on her?'

‘Miss Herbert and I can't be everywhere at once,' she says coldly.

‘I appreciate that, but it's worrying when one little girl suddenly starts attacking another one. Poor Ella here is obviously frightened of this Martha, and with good reason. That's a really nasty-looking scratch.'

‘I think you'll find it was Ella who started the fight. She hit Martha hard on the head with her folder, and then they both started scrapping, and Ella punched Martha on the nose and made it bleed.'

‘Ella!' says Jack.

‘I appreciate Ella's going through a bad time with her mother so ill – Miss Anderson explained all about it – but I can't have all this fighting.'

‘Oh dear, I'm very sorry. Ella, apologize to Mrs Matthews at once,' says Jack. His voice sounds very strange and strained. Perhaps he's getting really angry now.

I mumble that I'm sorry to Mrs Matthews.

‘That's all right, dear. Just don't let it happen again.'

‘Come along, Ella,' says Jack, giving my arm a little tug. He's very red in the face. ‘Outside.'

Oh dear, what's he going to
do
? Is he going to shout? Is he going to think up some awful punishment? Is he going to whack me?

We get outside into the playground. Jack's face is practically purple. He starts spluttering – and then he's totally whooping with laughter. I stare at him in astonishment.

‘Oh dear! I'm sorry! I'm not laughing at you, Ella, it's just – oh, Lordy, you
really
punched Martha on the nose? You mustn't
ever
punch anyone. What on earth made you turn into a mini Mike Tyson?'

‘She said horrid things about Mum. She said she was a vegetable.'

‘Oh God. Did she really say that? Well, maybe I'm glad you punched her – though don't do it again.'

‘And she ripped up my whale book,' I say.

‘Oh no! You've spent such ages on it. How
horrible
of her. Dear goodness,
I
feel like going and punching her now. Let's start up a We-Can't-Stand-Martha club, eh?'

‘Good idea, Jack. And Mum can join too.'

‘And little Sam.'

‘And Butterscotch.'

‘Yep, all our family. Well, let's pick up Sam, feed both our little boys, and go and see Mum.'

WHEN WE GET
back home from the hospital, there are three messages beeping on the telephone.

‘Oh God, what's all this?' says Jack.

The first message is from my dad. I listen, my heart thumping, wondering if he's going to invite
me for the weekend after all. No, it's not an invite.

‘
Hi, Ella, this is your dad. I hope you're doing OK, sweetheart. I want you to know I'm thinking about you all the time. I'm going to come and see you again really soon. I'm a bit tied up at the weekends just now.
'

‘With Tina,' I mutter.

‘
But hopefully there'll be a window of opportunity asap.
'

‘
What?
' says Jack. He calls Dad a very rude word. He says it under his breath but I hear. I don't really mind. I actually agree with him.

‘
Meanwhile, take care. I hope little
. . .
Butterball is doing fine. Bye-bye, darling.
'

‘Butter
scotch
. He can't even remember his name right. And he didn't ask after Mum!'

‘Still, he's obviously concerned about you, Ella. It was good of him to phone,' says Jack, though I can tell he doesn't mean it.

He presses the button for the next message. It's Liz.

‘
Hey, you two. I'm doing another big shop tomorrow. What do you fancy for a treat? Any special requests, food – or drink-wise? And my love life is a bit rubbish at the moment, so do you two want to come over on Saturday evening for a few drinks and a pizza? Whoops, I've forgotten the baby. Bring
him too, naturally. Though I expect he's a bit young for a can of Coke and a hunk of garlic bread. How's he doing, poor little scrap? And how's my Sue? How are
you
coping, Jack? And Ella, remember if you need any girly advice or a chat about men or make-up, I'm your woman.
'

I burst out laughing. ‘I'm not into men and make-up yet!'

‘I know. I think she's joking. She's a good friend after all, old Liz,' says Jack.

The third message is for me. It's Joseph!

‘
Hello, Ella, I hope you're all right. I expect you're at the hospital seeing your mum. Anyway,
my
mum says can we meet you from school tomorrow and take you home to my place for tea? I can show you all my whale stuff, and then we can have tea, and then your dad could come and collect you about seven, if that's OK. Do say yes, it would be such fun.
'

‘I can say yes, can't I?' I ask Jack.

‘Of course. He sounds very nice – and dead keen. Maybe you'd better have that men and make-up chat with Liz after all,' he says.

‘Joseph isn't like a boyfriend, silly.'

‘Who are you calling silly?' says Jack, but he's deliberately pulling a silly face. ‘Now, let me get on with my marking.'

‘Jack, if I go to tea with Joseph, I don't have to go to after-school club, do I?'

‘No, I suppose not. They'd probably ban you anyway.'

‘So I don't ever have to go again?' I say delightedly.

‘No, hang on, you've
got
to go. We'll just have to grovel to Mrs Matthews. And listen, Ella, keep away from Martha, do you hear me? No more fighting.'

‘It was you who told me to stand up to her.'

‘Yes, well, maybe that was a stupid suggestion. I'm glad it worked once, but I can't have you kicking off like that again. The school is worried enough about you as it is. You just keep your head down and behave. Ignore Martha. If she opens that big mouth of hers and starts sounding off, pretend you've got little flaps over your ears so you can't hear a word. Block her out. OK?'

‘OK.'

‘Right then. Marking time. And why don't you see what you can salvage of your whale project? You can use my special sellotape if some of the pages are ripped.'

I sit down, take all the pages out of my file, and do my best to smooth them out and fix them. ‘It's just going to look total rubbish now,' I say sorrowfully.

‘Well, you can always redo the worst pages.'

‘That blooming Martha. I'd like to rip
her
in half,' I mutter.

I think about her. I think about her stepfather.

‘Jack, are grown-ups allowed to hit children nowadays?'

‘No – though it's very tempting at times.' He sees me staring. ‘I'm
joking
.'

‘
Do
some grown-ups hit kids, though?'

‘Yes, of course they do. Though it's very wrong.'

‘What's a whack? Is it like a smack?'

‘I don't know. Maybe.'

‘You wouldn't ever give me a whack, would you, Jack?'

‘What? No, of course not.'

‘I'm glad
you're
my stepdad,' I mutter, sticking another torn page with sellotape.

Now Jack's staring at me. ‘That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me,' he said.

I think about giving him a hug, but that might be going a bit too far.

‘Shall I phone Joseph back then, and say it's a definite yes for tomorrow?'

‘Yep, and I'll have a word with his mum.'

Samson starts wailing fretfully while Jack's on the phone to Mrs Antscherl. I pick him up and change his nappy and then get him ready for bed,
putting him in his little spouting whale sleepsuit.