Song of the Dolphin Boy

by Elizabeth Laird

  ‘Yes, I know, Mum. In fact, that’s where we’re meeting. At the lighthouse.’ Amir was poised at the door like an athlete on the starting line, his long legs itching to run up to the lighthouse. ‘Can I go now? The others will be waiting for me.’

  ‘All right,’ said Mrs Faridah, ‘but come back in time to clear up your bedroom, you hear? And don’t get your shoes wet. Salt water is very bad for shoes. Maybe I’ll come over to the professor’s later to see how you’re getting on.’

  ‘No need, Mum!’

  Amir was already running fast down the road.

  ‘Dad,’ Jas was saying, as she and her father munched their way through their toast. ‘Can dolphins get hurt if they eat balloons?’

  ‘That’s a very good question,’ replied Professor Jamieson enthusiastically. ‘The rate of decomposition of the Mylar balloon is considerably longer than that of the latex. Both pose significant risks to marine life. The ingestion of balloons – and thousands are washed up on the beaches every year—’

  ‘Yes,’ interrupted Jas, ‘but I just want to know what happens if a dolphin eats a balloon.’

  Her father’s eyes focused on her.

  ‘I’m sorry, my dear. For a moment I thought I was talking to my students. Well, the balloon can block the dolphin’s gut.’

  ‘Will it die?’

  ‘It may do.’

  ‘But not always?’ said Jas, thinking with horror of the dolphins who had already eaten the balloons before Finn had a chance to stop them.

  ‘Not always. But if they eat a lot of junk – balloons, plastic bags, drinks bottles, plastic rubbish of any kind – their stomachs fill up with it. It’s a very serious problem, Jas. The ocean’s being clogged up with all sorts of plastic rubbish. Somehow or other, when people throw things away, a lot of it seems to end up in the sea. And it’s not only dolphins who suffer, you know. Whales, porpoises, turtles, fulmars . . .’

  ‘And then? What happens to them if their stomachs are full of plastic?’

  ‘Well, my dear, I’m afraid to say that they starve. I’ve got a paper on it here somewhere. Let me see – under this pile . . . No, perhaps over there . . . Wasn’t that a knock at the door? . . . Oh, hello, Charlie. You’re early this morning. Amir, too! And there’s a girl with a little boy running up behind you.’

  A few minutes later, all five children were in the lantern room, breathlessly waiting for Finn, whose dad had cooked him a big breakfast, with bacon and eggs and toast.

  ‘You know what, son?’ said Mr McFee, pouring himself a cup of strong brown tea. ‘It’s an amazing relief knowing that I don’t have to keep Sylvie’s secret from you any longer. I’ve been that afraid. I feel like a new man today. We’ll be all right now, won’t we?’

  ‘Yes, Dad, of course we will,’ said Finn.

  ‘Have the last piece of toast,’ said Mr McFee, dropping it on to Finn’s plate.

  ‘I can’t. I’m full,’ groaned Finn. ‘It was a great breakfast, Dad.’ He pushed his chair back. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked his father anxiously.

  ‘To see my friends.’

  ‘What friends? You haven’t got any friends.’

  ‘I’m not going back to sea today, Dad. It’s OK,’ said Finn. ‘I’m meeting up with the others from my class at the lighthouse.’

  ‘Where the barmy professor lives? You be careful, son. A scientist gets hold of you, and there’ll be experiments and examinations and nosy parkers and journalists from all over. Let’s keep all this to ourselves, eh? Our secret.’

  ‘Sure we will, Dad,’ said Finn, thinking guiltily about how he’d already told the other children. ‘I’ll be back before the football starts on the telly. I promise.’

  ‘Here he is at last!’ said Charlie as Finn’s head popped up through the floor of the lantern room.

  ‘We’ve told Kyla and Dougie. We had to,’ said Jas. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘It’s OK, but don’t tell anyone else, please,’ said Finn, whose father’s warnings about scientists and nosy journalists had shaken him.

  ‘We couldn’t if we tried,’ said Amir. ‘Not if we don’t want everyone to think we’re crazy. I mean, all that selkie stuff. You had to be kidding us, weren’t you, Finn?’

  Finn felt his stomach drop.

  It’s hopeless, he thought. They don’t believe me. They’ll just think I’m weirder than ever.

  Jas broke the silence.

  ‘Sit down, Fin Look, there’s a cushion for you. We want to know everything. I mean, how did you learn to swim like that? And all the leaping you did with that dolphin? You seemed to understand each other.’

  ‘I didn’t learn,’ said Finn awkwardly. ‘I found I could just do it. And I don’t understand it any more than you do. I felt a kind of . . . well . . . a change, as soon as I fell into the sea. When I got home, I made my dad talk to me. He’d never told me about my mother. She died when I was only two. I don’t remember her at all. But I knew, as soon as he told me she was a dolphin selkie, a dolphin woman, that it made total sense. I understood everything then: why I could swim; why I felt sort of different from the rest of you.’

  ‘I just can’t get my head round it,’ said Amir. ‘It’s not . . . It’s not scientific.’

  ‘No, it’s not. I know,’ said Finn unhappily, not knowing what to say next. He looked round at the children’s puzzled faces, and his eyes settled on Charlie, who was sitting a little apart from the others, leaning against the glass wall of the lantern room. The sun was right behind him, and Finn couldn’t easily read the expression on his face. He knew what it would show though. Scorn and rejection.

  But to his amazement, Charlie nodded.

  ‘Not everything’s scientific,’ he said. ‘I know what you mean, Amir. I thought that yesterday. But we were round at my grandda’s last night. He was a fisherman all his life, so I asked him about selkies, and he knew all about them. He made sure my dad wasn’t listening, then he said, “Believe me, Charlie, there’s more in those old stories than you’d think. Lots of fishermen used to believe in selkies. Some still do, maybe. And who’s to say they’re not right, eh?” He’s great, my grandda is. If he says something’s true, I’ll believe it.’

  Finn felt almost weak with gratitude. He’d expected Charlie to be the hardest one of all.

  ‘It sounds like a fairy story,’ said Kyla happily. ‘I love fairy stories. Especially when they have a happy ending.’

  ‘My mum knows loads of stories like the selkie one from Pakistan,’ said Amir. ‘Magic ones, with jinns and that. My granny believes in them too. But I don’t know. I mean, magic! It’s not . . . not . . .’

  ‘Scientific,’ repeated Finn, finishing the sentence for him. ‘I know. I’m having trouble believing in it too.’

  ‘What happened to your mum, Finn?’ said Jas gently.

  She knows what it’s like, thought Finn gratefully. Her mum died too.

  Aloud he said, ‘She was at sea. As a dolphin. She got caught in a fisherman’s net. She died.’

  ‘My dad told me about that,’ said Charlie. ‘He’s accidentally killed dolphins a couple of times.’ His eyes rounded with horror. ‘Hey, I hope he didn’t . . . I hope one of them wasn’t . . .’

  ‘It wasn’t your dad,’ said Finn. ‘I know it wasn’t.’

  ‘How do you know she got caught in a net?’ asked Kyla. ‘I mean, you wouldn’t know if it was her or just an ordinary one, would you? Your mum might still be out there in the sea.’

  ‘My dad told me it was her,’ said Finn shortly. ‘He knew. He found her.’

  He didn’t say any more.

  ‘My dad thinks your dad did away with your mum,’ Dougie chipped in with relish.

  ‘Shut up, Dougie!’ the others chorused, turning shocked faces towards him.

  Kyla, who was greedy for more sensational revelations, turned to Jas.

  ‘Was your mum really an African princess?’ she asked.

  ‘Sort of. She was Ethiopia
n. There was royalty out there once. My mum was a cousin or something,’ said Jas, looking solemn. ‘My dad says so, anyway. He always called her his princess.’

  Charlie pursed his lips, weighing up the evidence.

  ‘That doesn’t mean anything. My dad calls my mum a clucky old hen.’

  ‘Got feathers on her bum then, has she?’ sniggered Dougie.

  There was a short silence. Jas broke it.

  ‘Do you want to be in the Lighthouse Crew, Dougie?’

  Dougie nodded anxiously.

  ‘Then get this. We don’t ever, ever, say anything bad about people’s mums. Ever.’

  ‘Sorry,’ mumbled Dougie.

  Thank you, Jas, thought Finn.

  ‘What I want to know,’ said Amir, ‘is how you did that leaping.’

  Finn squirmed uncomfortably.

  ‘I can’t explain it. When I’m in the sea, I’m different. I can see and hear things, and there’s this sort of . . . power.’

  ‘You are lucky,’ said Kyla. ‘I’m scared of the sea. I mean, when you think of all the things that could go wrong—’

  ‘As well as the leaping,’ Amir interrupted, ignoring Kyla, ‘you seemed to understand what the dolphins were doing. Thinking, almost. Can you speak dolphin language?’

  ‘I don’t think they have a language. Not really,’ said Finn. ‘Not like us. They whistle and make clicking sounds. There was one – the one I met first – I can recognize his whistle. It’s somehow different from the others.’

  ‘I saw a programme about that. About animal communication,’ said Amir enthusiastically. ‘Did you know that parrots—’

  ‘Do you mean the dolphin’s whistle is like a sort of signature tune?’ interrupted Jas.

  ‘Yes! That’s it exactly.’

  Dougie had been sitting in red-faced silence. Now he blurted out, ‘I’m really sorry I didn’t invite you to my party, Finn. And I’m really sorry about the balloons, too. Mum didn’t know it was a bad thing to do.’

  ‘Nor did any of us,’ Jas said kindly. ‘It wasn’t your fault, Dougie.’

  ‘She got the idea off the local paper,’ said Dougie. ‘That new supermarket that’s opening on Monday in Rothiemuir . . .’

  ‘The one that’s trying to put the village shop out of business,’ said Kyla bitterly, ‘and our mum out of work.’

  ‘Yes, well, the grand opening’s on Monday. On the Bank Holiday. And they’re going to do a mass balloon release to advertise it. Five thousand red balloons! It’s going to look amazing.’

  A jolt of pure horror shot through Finn.

  ‘Amazing? What do you mean, Dougie? It’s horrible! Awful!’ He was trembling with anger. ‘Think how many dolphins five thousand balloons could kill!’

  ‘And turtles,’ said Jas. ‘And whales, like my dad said.’

  ‘And sea birds,’ said Charlie. ‘Dad finds dead ones sometimes. Because of the plastic bags and stuff.’

  The children sat and stared at each other.

  ‘We’ve got to stop them!’ said Jas. ‘But how?’

  Chapter Ten

  There was a long silence as everyone tried to think what to do.

  ‘If we could get hold of some explosives,’ Charlie said at last, ‘we could blow up the supermarket building, then they wouldn’t be able to have the opening ceremony at all.’

  ‘Yes, and spend the rest of our lives in jail,’ said Jas witheringly.

  ‘How could we get any explosives?’ said Amir. ‘And anyway, wouldn’t that be terrorism?’

  ‘Miners use them down mines,’ said Charlie doubtfully.

  No one thought this was worth answering.

  ‘Couldn’t we just go and talk to them and tell them what would happen?’ burst out Finn. ‘Nobody wants to kill things, surely?’

  ‘They wouldn’t listen,’ said Kyla bitterly. ‘They don’t listen to anyone. Mum’s written loads of letters about how all the little shops will go out of business, but they don’t care.’

  ‘Yes, but killing dolphins . . .’ said Finn.

  ‘Anyway, they wouldn’t believe us telling them how bad balloons in the sea are,’ said Jas. ‘Can you imagine them even bothering to talk to a bunch of kids?’

  ‘I think we should get lots of dog poo and throw it at them,’ said Dougie, who had stopped being awestruck by being in the Lighthouse Crew, and was his old self again.

  ‘Dou-gieee,’ chorused the others.

  ‘This isn’t a game, Dougie,’ said Finn hotly.

  ‘I’m only saying,’ said Dougie, aggrieved.

  ‘We’ll have to start a campaign,’ said Jas.

  ‘There isn’t time!’ said Finn. ‘Dougie said the ceremony’s on Monday, and it’s Saturday now! That’s the day after tomorrow!’

  The children sat in silence, thinking furiously. They were concentrating so hard, they didn’t hear the footsteps coming up the ladder, and started with surprise when the trapdoor went up and Professor Jamieson’s head appeared.

  ‘Which of you is Dougie?’ he said.

  ‘That’s me,’ said Dougie, looking anxious.

  ‘Your mother’s called to make sure you got here safely,’ said the professor. ‘She said you’d come to get some statistics from me?’

  There was an embarrassed silence.

  ‘I don’t – exactly – know what stateristics is,’ Dougie said at last.

  ‘It’s facts,’ said Amir. ‘Information.’

  ‘We’re doing a project,’ said Charlie.

  ‘On dolphins,’ said Finn.

  ‘No,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s on rock pools.’

  ‘You don’t seem very sure,’ said Professor Jamieson.

  ‘The thing is, Dad,’ said Jas, ‘it’s not exactly a project. More a . . . a protest meeting.’ She saw the surprised look on the faces of the others, and said, ‘Think about it. We haven’t got time to do a project and sort out the balloon thing as well. We’d better just tell him. He might be useful.’

  ‘Thank you, Jas,’ her father said mildly. ‘I’m always happy to help.’

  ‘It’s that awful new supermarket in Rothiemuir!’ Kyla burst out. ‘The one that’s opening on Monday and that’s going to put us out of business. They’re going to release five thousand balloons!’

  ‘It’s wicked!’ said Finn hoarsely. ‘It’s murder!’

  Professor Jamieson looked grave.

  ‘It is indeed appalling,’ he said. ‘I quite see that you need a protest meeting.’

  ‘We’re going to stop them,’ said Dougie proudly.

  ‘I see. May I ask how?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ said Jas. ‘We’re still thinking.’

  ‘Well, do you know, the simplest way is often the best,’ said Professor Jamieson. ‘Why don’t I just phone them up and ask them to reconsider? We can go downstairs and I’ll do it now, if you like.’

  ‘They won’t listen,’ said Kyla. ‘They never do.’

  ‘Not to us,’ said Jas, ‘but there’s a chance they might listen to my dad.’

  Jas was used to her father’s study, but the others looked round in awe. The big room was crammed with books and documents. The walls were covered with charts, maps and pictures, and a couple of impressive computers stood on the professor’s desk.

  Finn could hardly stand still, but the others were looking round curiously. Charlie was nodding knowledgeably at a map of the bay showing the movement of currents. Kyla was admiring a picture of a seal pup on the cover of a book. Amir’s fingers were clearly itching to have a go on one of the big computers. Only Dougie had been distracted – by a scab he was picking on his knee.

  ‘Um – you don’t happen to have a phone number for the supermarket, do you?’ said the professor, rootling among the papers on his desk as if he might magically find it there.

  Amir pulled out his phone and scrolled down it for a few moments.

  ‘Found it,’ he said, holding it out to show him.

  ‘Excellent piece of research,’ said the professor. ‘Have you consi
dered a career in marine biology? I could—’

  ‘Dad!’ said Jas.

  ‘Sorry,’ said the professor. ‘Now give me that number. Let’s see what we can do.’

  Finn held his breath as the professor, who had finally been put through to the manager of the new supermarket, politely explained that releasing 5,000 balloons would cause death and destruction to a large number of birds and animals. But it was clear that the conversation was not going well. As the voice on the other end of the line got louder and angrier, Finn balled his fists so tightly that his nails started digging into the palms of his hands. In the end, the professor was obliged to hold the phone away from his ear to avoid being deafened.

  He replaced the receiver on the cradle and turned to face the children. Jas was shocked. She had never seen her father look so angry.

  ‘Disgraceful!’ said the professor. ‘Stupid and irresponsible! And all because of some football player who’s supposed to be at the opening.’

  ‘A footballer?’ said Charlie eagerly. ‘Who?’

  ‘Never heard of him,’ said the professor crossly. ‘Tom someone. Heston. Hetherton.’

  ‘Not Tom Henderson?’ breathed Charlie, exchanging looks with Amir.

  ‘Henderson. Yes. The press will be there – newspapers, radio . . . This Henderson’s supposed to be pressing the button to release the balloons. Of all the stupid – and it’s the first time I’ve been called a crackpot, too. I shall make a strong complaint to the local council. Surely they must be able to put a stop to—’

  ‘It’s the weekend, Dad. It’s Saturday. The offices will be closed,’ Jas said unhappily. ‘There’s no time before the ceremony on Monday.’

  ‘Then I shall send a strongly worded complaint to the environmental department,’ said the professor. ‘We must make sure it doesn’t happen again. Now I’m sorry, children. I don’t see what else I can do, and I have some urgent emails to attend to.’

  ‘But we can’t just . . . You c-can’t just . . .’ stammered Finn.

  Jas made a face at him. Her father’s attention had moved away. He was already thinking about something else.