The Missing One (34 page)

Her eyes were puffy but OK now, but the mosquito bite on her ankle that she'd been scratching at all day felt weirdly stiff. She peered down at her foot. Through the greenish water, the ankle looked huge and distorted. She lay back, gingerly, and shut her eyes again. If she slipped off the plank her butt would hit red-hot iron. The wood smoke from the fire beneath the bath filtered up around her – at least it would fend off gnats. She hoped the mosquito bite wasn't infected. That had happened to her once on a trip to Big Sur with Graham and she'd had to go to a doctor for an antihistamine shot. But she could not think about Gray. It
was best not to. Her childhood had at least given her that skill: she knew how to draw down the blind in her mind and move on. She was expert at it.

She had no idea what getting to a doctor involved up here, but it was unlikely to be straightforward. She'd ask Jonas for more of his friend's remedy to put on the ankle and hope for the best.

She really was exhausted. Her muscles felt like melting wax. All day, they'd scanned the horizon, motoring from one possible sighting to the next. Jonas and Dean had tried to train her how to look for blows or fins.

‘Your eye naturally fixes on immovable objects.' Jonas stood next to her, looking through his binoculars as she looked through hers. ‘See? Your eye wants to fix on things – it wants to jumps from one object to the next – that rock, there, the harbour seals over there, that sail – the white triangle – see – right there.' She followed his gaze, and her eyes did, indeed, take great leaps. ‘What you need to do,' he explained, ‘is retrain your brain and eye. You have to look at the spaces, because that's where the whales are. They appear in the spaces between the things our brains tell us to look at.'

*

The sun had vanished now into the sea behind the island, and stars were appearing, first one or two, then handfuls, as the darkness closed in on the camp.

‘Elena?' Dean's voice cut into her half-sleep. ‘Food's ready.'

‘OK. You guys go ahead.' She wasn't even hungry any more.

Her whole body felt loose. She watched the sky thicken to silver-studded velvet above her. She could hear the rumble of Dean and Jonas talking, but not the words.

She thought about the orcas they'd seen in the first week, before this lull, and it struck her that the whales were in control. They decided when they'd reveal themselves, and when they would vanish. The first day, out on the Zodiac, they'd found a pod early on – a floatplane pilot had called in a sighting and they'd been given the location, close by, over the radio. They were motoring along, scanning the horizon, when the orcas appeared from nowhere, slicing through the water, maybe thirty feet from the stern. Jonas cut the engine and for a second there was silence and she felt that same first moment of awe – almost terror – at the sheer size and grace of these slow beasts. She counted seven, eight fins.

Three of the orcas started showing off. They zoomed through the water then leaped out, in synchrony, with a twist of their bodies in mid-air. Elena tried to take photos, but she never seemed to press the shutter fast enough to capture the fins and the markings on their shining black-and-white bodies. Sea spray flew off their flanks as they leaped. But Jonas and Dean were an expert team – Jonas photographed the left side of the fins, while Dean, with binoculars and the laminated catalogue, scanned for distinguishing marks in the couple of seconds that the body of the whale was visible. They identified the matriarch, and two of her sons and three juveniles – the whales responsible for the biggest leaps and splashes. Each one
had a name, as well as its own Pod ID – a letter followed by a number.

And then, after just ten minutes, they vanished. All the whales submerged in unison and that was that. Jonas and Dean hunched over the catalogue, scribbling notes about what they'd seen, but Elena sat in silence. Her limbs felt jittery, her heart banged in her chest, and her head buzzed. She stared at the ocean, willing them to come back, wondering where they'd gone, and why. How had they communicated this change of plan? Had they heard a call from far across the sea? Or had the matriarch instructed them to stop goofing around, and move on? She needed to listen.

Then, bobbing on an ocean full of wild orcas, she suddenly missed the Sea Park whales. Being here felt almost like a betrayal. Bella had been taken from these waters. The mapping guys had established that pods travelled hundreds of miles up and down the coast. Bella's family was out there. She could have just been watching Bella's brothers and sisters, or cousins, nephews, nieces, uncles, aunts. Maybe one of the older females was Bella's mother.

She wondered if whales hold memories like humans. If so, there was a whale out there somewhere that would remember the day her baby daughter was ripped away in bloodshed and panic.

The men had finished up their notes. They patiently talked her through the findings – the nicks and propeller cuts, that slightly twisted tip on the big male's dorsal – and the importance of getting a clear picture of the saddle patch. She listened carefully.

She'd get better at this, she wasn't worried. But she needed to know what was going on beneath the surface too. She needed to record the sounds these whales were making as they leaped and spy-hopped and tail-lobbed. That, in fact, was all she wanted to do.

She'd explained her dolphin work to the guys on the journey north; they had listened, and nodded and asked good questions, but she could tell that for them it was a distraction from the real, conservation job of cataloguing the orca population.

She needed to bring the hydrophone. She'd prove to them that she could do both. Once she became good at identifying the whales and photographing them, she could do it with headphones on. And, then, with the hydrophone dropped into the water she could begin the enormous task of mapping wild orca behaviours to vocalizations. It might take a lifetime to decode killer whale language, but she had a lifetime to give.

If she could amass enough preliminary evidence to make a grant proposal, then there was a future in this work. She didn't have the patience to spend the summer watching and learning from the men. She could do both. She needed to start listening – right now.

The smell of woodsmoke and roasting salmon mingled with the forest scents. The night symphony was starting up and the waves had passed the sunset lull and banged rhythmically on the rocks below. In the forest behind her a wolverine barked relentlessly, and, further away, answering barks bounced back across the mountain slope. An owl's lonely hoot cut the rumble of the men's voices.

Then out of nowhere, a huge ‘
kwoooof
' echoed up from the bay. It bounced off the trees and the mountains and the rocks and expanded to fill the sky.

Dean – or maybe Jonas – whooped.

‘Hey!' Jonas called up. ‘You hear that blow?'

She smiled, but she didn't open her eyes. Another ‘
kwooof
' echoed again, and she felt the sound vibrate through her blood and bones, up and down her spine, right through her heart, into to the place that had been locked shut since she was eight years old.

Lying in the claw-foot tub on a little mound above the Pacific Ocean, Elena knew that this was where she belonged. It seemed incredible that she'd made it here – blindly following her instinct north, like the salmon swimming home. Whether it was chance, serendipity, luck, kismet, karma or grace didn't really matter. This was where she belonged. She'd found her spot on earth and she'd never leave.

A rap on the door jerks me awake.

‘Hey, Kali. You want me to take the baby into town? I have to run a few errands. He can come along for the ride while you get some rest.'

Susannah is standing in the doorway. I am still half in the dream where Doug is shaking me and saying,
You're not listening to me
.

I rub my face and glance at Finn – fast asleep on his back – and then at my phone – 7.55 a.m. We are all out of whack. After the scene last night, I can't even think about handing her my child. Finn stirs and opens his eyes. I do need her internet connection, though.

‘Can we both come?' I croak.

‘But you don't need to get up. Go back to sleep. I'll take the baby – give you a break. Where's his diaper bag?'

‘Oh no!' Suddenly I am wide awake. ‘That's OK, really. I'd actually like to see the town.' I stroke Finn's sleepy face. ‘We'll both get up.'

She is silent.

I blink a few times. Finn sits up. ‘Just give us a minute to get ready.'

‘Take your time,' she growls.

*

We drive through steady rain and mist. Susannah's Subaru stinks of dog and mud. I have to clear damp papers, empty Vitaminwater bottles and spilling packs of nuts and soy bean snacks off the seat so I can fix Finn's car seat in. The dogs are in the back, behind a metal barrier, panting in unison. We bounce down the single track, and onto the wider road that leads back into town. The wipers squeak and the mist makes any view impossible.

Susannah hums. There are tiny, glistening droplets on her silvery hair. It's not clear whether she has forgotten about our row, or whether this is her attempt to make peace. She looks somehow decisive, with her chin up, as if she's made up her mind about something important.

I dig my face into the collar of the parka. Finn, packed into his red suit, is chewing on a bit of bagel with one hand, his sippy cup in the other. He looks pink-cheeked and bouncy, happy for the novelty of a drive.

This is my third day on the island and as yet we have encountered no other humans. I have seen almost nothing of British Columbia but the inside of Susannah's house. Driving away from Isabella Point I see how odd this has been. The two of us have been brought together because of one person that neither of us – quite obviously – really knows. No wonder things got out of hand.

My head aches and I'm hungry and I realize I've forgotten Finn's nappy bag. Obviously, I'm not going to tell Susannah this. I'll have to buy some more in town. ‘How do you get through a whole winter of this weather?' I say. ‘Doesn't it make you claustrophobic?'

‘It's not always like this. Sometimes it snows and it's magical. Winter can be the most beautiful season up here. Sea fog is always a possibility and it's called the Rain Coast for a reason, but you'd be used to that, huh? It rains all the time in England, right?'

‘Not like this. At least, you occasionally get an actual view of the world through the rain.'

We don't talk after this. She is pale. She has to be nursing quite a hangover. I should apologize for all the shouting, but my frustrations with her seem to have solidified. I wonder if her critique of me as a mother comes from something in her own childhood. I wonder what sort of a mother Susannah was. Is.

But it's true that I don't have the rights to my mother's past. And Susannah has been generous in many ways, taking me in, looking after Finn, offering to let me rest.

‘So,' I say. ‘I'm going to head off later today. I've stayed much longer than I'd planned.'

‘I thought you didn't have a plan.'

‘Well, OK, if I had
planned
to stay, I'd have stayed one night at most so I've already overstayed.'

‘You're free to go whenever you want, Kali.'

I look at her. ‘Yes,' I say, ‘I know that.'

‘So. Vancouver.'

I look away, out the window. My face is reflected back at me. My hair is sticking up. I smooth it down. ‘Actually,' I say, ‘I thought I'd go north, and try to find my mother's floathouse.' I say it casually. I don't mean it of course. I just want to see her reaction. It would be truly insane to take Finn any further into this wilderness. And I have no idea what the house is like – or where it is – or even if it's still there at all.

She stares straight ahead, chin up. Her jaw is tight. I can see the sinews under the skin. It's no good. I just can't read her.

‘What? You think that's irresponsible of me?'

She still says nothing. I think – but I'm not sure – that she's angry. Maybe she's angry with herself, for letting it slip that there is a floathouse. What's not clear is why my plans should bother her so much. I am onto something.

‘So do you?' I say.

‘Do I what?'

‘Think I'm a bad mother to consider taking Finn off to find the floathouse?'

She doesn't answer. We are driving downhill into the tiny fishing port. Clearly, I am not going to goad her into telling me anything. Susannah is not the type to be goaded.

We drive past a street of pretty, low-slung wooden buildings and brightly painted storefronts. We pass the Rock Salt Bakery. It has a shocking pink door and window frames, and an enormous model cupcake sign, with a cherry on top. There is a clothes shop next door to the bakery, and an old-fashioned toy store. It all looks more civilized than I'd imagined when I drove up here in the fog. We stop to let a
bearded man cross the road and he waves at us from under his raincoat hood. Susannah lifts a hand, but doesn't smile. Other than that, the place is deserted.

‘It's very quiet here,' I say. ‘Extremely quiet.'

‘Yeah, not much happens November to March, except weather. Most people shut up and go. But spring and summer get real busy. I shouldn't complain, it's good business. But really I prefer silence.'

She sounds calm, but I can tell that things are boiling under the surface. I can almost hear her brain fizzing and popping. It is clear what's going on here: it's the floathouse. She uses it herself. She probably appropriated it when my mother left and it's her house now. I imagine a weekend cabin, far away from the summer bustle of the gallery. She thinks of it as hers and she's threatened, now that I know about it, because I might reclaim it.