by Sarah Webb
“I’d love to hear more about your work, Aidan,” Mattie says. “Margo told me about your dolphin dictionary, and it sounds fascinating. I can’t wait to read it. I see dolphins most days on my sea safaris and I think you’re right – they definitely have their own special ways of communicating. We’re just not smart enough to work out what they’re saying yet.”
“I wish everyone thought the same, Mattie,” Dad says. “Some of the European marine scientists think we’re way off the mark, and that there’s no evidence dolphins name things the way we do. One Dutch scientist even told Margo she should be researching more worthy things, like ocean pollution or dolphin diseases.”
“I bet Margo told him what for,” Mattie says.
Dad smiles. “She told him pollution studies were for scientists with no imagination or heart.”
“Ouch.” Mattie winces. “Good for her. And tell me about your involvement. You’re building a database of all the research, is that right?”
“Yes, she’d collect dolphin data from all over the world and I would cross reference it and try to find patterns or algorithms. Then I’d log it into what we called the D-Com, short for Dolphin Communication Computer.” Dad and Mattie talk more about his work as we eat and I tune out a little. I don’t know all that much about what Dad does. It’s the geeky side of things, and even when Mom was around, Dad and I never really talked about it. I’m not that interested in computer stuff. Mom’s research – the “on the water” stuff – is way more interesting. Was. Past tense. I keep forgetting.
Cal is checking his cell under the table. I wish I could do the same.
After dinner, I feel a huge wave of exhaustion and I can’t stop yawning.
“You must be wrecked, pet,” Mattie says. “Long day for you.”
I nod and yawn again. I can barely keep my eyes open. “Thanks for dinner. It was delicious.” It really was. I don’t know what they put in Irish butter, but it made the potato taste so good, despite the lumps.
“Glad you enjoyed it,” Mattie says. “Now off you go to bed. You’ll be too tired for it tonight, but there’s a telly in the living room if you and your dad want to watch something together another night.”
“Thanks,” I say. Me and Dad haven’t watched a movie together for months. We’ve kind of got out of the habit, and we don’t exactly have similar taste. As well as comedies, he likes what Mom called crash-bang movies – all car chases and fights and no proper talking. Mom and I used to love watching shows set in the past, like Pride and Prejudice and Downton Abbey, and old movies about friendship and love, like Beaches and Sleepless in Seattle. But the three of us did watch some things together, natural history stuff like The Blue Planet and Pixar movies like Finding Nemo.
“And thanks for giving me your room,” I add, remembering. “It’s beautiful. I appreciate it.”
She smiles back at me, her eyes twinkling. “You’re welcome, Rory. It’s very special having you here. It means a lot to me.”
“And to us, Mattie,” Dad says. “To both of us.”
Back in my room, I’m glad to be on my own again. Mattie never stopped talking the whole way through dinner – asking me and Dad questions about school and work. But Dad’s naturally quiet, Cal said nothing and I barely said a word either, so maybe she was just trying to fill the gaps. That was a real Mom thing to do too. She hated awkward silences. She was always the life of the party.
The French doors are still open and I can hear seabirds calling and the distant swish-swish of waves breaking against the shore below the cottage. I breathe in the sea air. It makes me feel calmer.
There’s a knock at the door, and before I have a chance to answer, Dad walks in.
“You all right, kiddo?” he asks. “You seemed a bit quiet at dinner.”
“I’m just tired, Dad.” I want to tell him how unsettled and out of sorts I feel, but I don’t know how to explain it, and I’m not sure he’d understand.
“I wanted to give you this.” He hands me a large black notebook. I know exactly what it is – one of Mom’s dolphin journals. There used to be dozens of them in Mom’s office at home, thrown in a box under her desk and stacked untidily on the shelves. She’d been keeping them since she was my age. Always the same notebook: black leather with plain white paper.
When Mom died, Dad and Magda sorted through her stuff and gave all her clothes, apart from a few special outfits like her wedding dress, to a thrift store. Dad cleared out her office, but he kept all her papers and notebooks. He put them in the attic for storage.
“The journal’s very special,” Dad says. “She wrote it on the island, when she was your age. I thought you might like to read it while you’re here.”
“Wow, thanks, Dad.” Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I take it out of his hands and stare down at it, running my fingers over the waxy black cover. I’m a little overcome. It’s like holding a piece of her in my hands.
“I’m glad we’re on Little Bird, Rory. This place was very special to your mom.” He takes a deep breath and blows it out, making his fringe rise a little. He opens his mouth as if to add something, then stops, looks out the French doors and says, “You’ve got an awesome view of the sea.”
“I know and, don’t worry, I’ll make Mattie a card to show her how much I appreciate it,” I say. “And I’ll get her some chocolates or something.”
Dad smacks his forehead. “Darn it,” he says under his breath.
“What?” I ask him.
“I’m an idiot. We should have bought Mattie a gift from Stony Brook. I forgot. Your mom always looked after that kind of thing.”
He looks so upset that I say, “It’s fine, Dad, we can get her something here at the store.”
He nods. “Good idea. Thanks, Rory. And I’m sorry about earlier. I overreacted when you were late back. I’m glad you went swimming with Cal. I just want to keep you safe, that’s all.”
“I know, Dad. You keep telling me. I get it, honestly.” I give a big yawn.
He yawns too. Mom always said yawns were contagious. “Okey-dokey,” he says. “Time for us both to get some shut-eye, kiddo. Sleep tight.”
“Bugs bite,” I say back automatically. It’s what I always said to Mom.
“Bugs bite,” Dad says softly.
When he’s gone, I flop down on the bed and open Mom’s notebook on the first page. Her familiar, looping, spidery handwriting stares back at me. She always wrote in pencil. As I run my fingers over the soft imprint the words have made on the paper, my heart gives a little squeeze. I’d been expecting to see notes and sketches about dolphins, but instead there’s this:
1 July
My Dolphin Diary by Margo Finn, age 12 1/2
Location: Little Bird, West Cork
Subject: Bottlenose dolphin
Size of subject: Smallish – I think he’s male and pretty young. The island fishermen say he’s 2 or 3. They know a lot about whales and dolphins as they see them all the time when they’re working on their boats.
Subject’s identifying marks: White crescent shape on back near blowhole.
General observations: This dolphin lives alone in the waters around the harbour. Most dolphins like swimming in boats’ bow waves, but he tends to keep away from boats unless he knows them. Maybe he doesn’t like the noise. I think dolphins have pretty good hearing and they have echolocation, which is using sound to help you find or identify objects. Dolphins make a click and then listen to its echo to work out how far away objects are – and their size and shape. They use echolocation to navigate, to hunt fish and to check if there are any predators near by like sharks. It’s a bit like the sonar that bats use, apparently, but more complicated. I read about it in the dolphin and whale book Grandad Finn gave me.
The fishermen call him Click because he makes lots of whistles and clicks.
When I sat watching him today, he looked straight at me. I think he was watching me back! I plan to study him every day and see what I can find out about him and then write i
t down in this notebook. My Dolphin Diary.
See you later,
Margo XXX
14 July
So I’ve been studying Click every day and he’s pretty smart. Mattie said people swim with him sometimes and I asked Grandad if I could too and he said OK as long as I was careful, stayed near the beach and got out of the water if Click made any funny noises or anything. He said wild dolphins can be territorial and if they clack their jaws at you, it’s a sign of aggression. He said he’d come and watch just in case.
Today I swam with Click for the first time and it was AMAZING! He seemed to really like playing with me, and even Grandad Finn agreed he was friendly and clever. He’s so fast and he tumbles in the water like an acrobat. Luckily I’m a pretty good swimmer so I could kind of keep up with him. We had so much fun!
19 July
I’ve been swimming with Click all week. I think he’s been enjoying it too because he’s been making this same whistle at me before I get in the water and also when we are swimming. I’m convinced it means “play”. I’ve decided to write down all the different whistles and noises and movements he makes and put the meanings beside them. It’ll be my very own Dictionary of Dolphin Noises. You never know, maybe one day I’ll be a famous marine biologist and publish a book about it!
OK, so meaning number one coming up…
Play: When Click wants to play, he jumps out of the water, plays hide-and-seek with me and makes one long continuous whistle which rises towards the end.
Stay tuned for more meanings once I’ve figured them out…
Mom was so smart and so dedicated to studying dolphins, even at my age. She was truly one of a kind! And I love the idea that Click inspired her dolphin dictionary. Reading her journal reminds me how excited and passionate she always was, and how much fun we had together. I miss her so much. My tears drop down onto the journal, making the ink blur. I dab the paper dry carefully with my sleeve, shut the book and then curl up on the bed.
“Happy Fourth of July, kiddo,” Dad says, looking up from his dive computer, when I come outside the next day. He’s standing beside the Land Rover surrounded by tanks and diving kit. His thick black wetsuit is draped over the roof bars of the jeep, looking like a seal skin. The smaller wetsuit is hanging beside it. They’re both extra thick – 12mm – and are made especially for cold water. Dad always checks the equipment carefully before we dive for the first time in a new place.
“What would you like to do this afternoon?” he asks.
I shrug. “I’m not sure. Guess you’re going diving?”
“Just getting organized for a dive tomorrow, in fact.” Trust Dad. We’ve only been here one day and he’s already itching to get back to work. Mom was just as bad, maybe worse. She would have had us out on the water yesterday. “I’m collecting data on bottlenose echolocation for one of my colleagues. It shouldn’t be too hard to find research subjects. Mattie says there are several pods in these waters at the moment and a resident lone male.”
“So you’re not working on Mom’s dolphin dictionary?”
Dad goes quiet for a moment. He stares back down at his dive computer. “Not right now.”
“Why not?” I ask.
Publishing the dolphin dictionary as soon as possible is vital. Mom wanted to share her findings with the whole world, because she believed that if everyone knew how amazing and intelligent dolphins are, they might think harder about protecting their natural environment − the sea. She also thought it would help to ban the kind of fishing nets that kill sea mammals. Dolphins were her life. I know that for a fact and Dad does too.
“I just need some time, OK? In fact, your mom and I were kind of on to a breakthrough just before…” He trails off. I see the pain and sadness behind his eyes. He misses Mom so much, I know that. But I can’t seem to find the words to talk to him about it, to tell him how much I miss her too.
“Anyway,” he says, “we’d been playing with the D-com” – the computer Dad had built to record all Mom’s findings – “to see if we could use it underwater to mimic the dolphins’ whistles. It’s been slow going, but I think we were getting somewhere.”
I stare at him in stunned silence. “Are you serious? You mean we’d be able to use it to talk back to dolphins when we’re underwater?”
He nods. “In a very limited way, using very limited vocabulary. It may take years to figure out how, but, yes, I think we can do it. Your mom thought so too.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before, Dad?” I ask. “Why the big secret?”
He shrugs. “It’s at such an early stage. We didn’t want to disappoint you. Like I said, the progress has been pretty slow to date.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. You can’t give up on this, Dad.”
“And I won’t, but I need to get this echolocation stuff done. And I just need a break. A bit of distance from the D-com, to think about things. Can you understand that?”
“I guess.”
He gives me a gentle smile. “Thanks, Rory. Until then, this echolocation project is keeping me busy. In fact, I was hoping you’d come out with me tomorrow, be my dive buddy. Just like old times, hey, kiddo?”
Not like old times at all. Mom was my dive buddy, not Dad. Yes, sometimes the three of us dived together, but it’s never been just me and Dad, ever. But I can see how much he wants me to go so I say, “OK. I’ll dive with you.”
“Great. And what are you doing now? How about we go for a tour in the jeep and see a bit of the island? It’s small, so it won’t take us long.”
“Sure.” Then I think of something and add, “I don’t suppose you’d let me drive a bit or give me a lesson? Mom started teaching me in the fall, but we had to stop because of the ice. And then, well, you know…”
Dad looks shocked. “Really? I know Margo wanted you to learn to drive young, like she did, but she never said anything to me about giving you lessons.” My great-grandfather taught Mom and Mattie to drive in a field behind their house when they were thirteen.
I smile. “Because she knew you wouldn’t be keen on the idea, Captain Careful.” It’s what Mom used to call him when he was being over-cautious.
“Hey, less of the Captain Careful, thank you very much.” He sucks his teeth and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Rory. I don’t think it’s such a good idea. We’ll talk about it again when you’re a bit older, OK?”
“Fine,” I say. I’m disappointed, but I’m not exactly surprised.
“Ready to tour the island?” he asks.
“Sure. If this thing can make it! How old is it?” I kick the wheel of the jeep with the toe of my Converse. Our jeep back home isn’t exactly new, but it’s not rusty like this one.
Dad laughs. “Ancient. But her engine has been remodelled.”
“Her?”
“Cars and boats are always female. ’Cos they’re trouble, like all you girls.”
“Hey!” It’s such an un-Dad thing to say that it makes me laugh. He’s usually so serious. Mom was the joker in our family.
He grins. “Only kidding. Give me a second to clear up and then we’ll get going. Can you run inside and tell Mattie that we’re going out for a while?”
I find Mattie sitting at the kitchen table, reading something on her laptop. She looks up and smiles at me. “Hi, Rory. I’m just checking the bookings for today. Did your dad tell you about my sea-safari business?”
“A little. What kind of boat do you use?”
“It’s a motor boat with a small cabin.”
“Do you go out every day?”
“Depends on the weather and if I have enough people interested. It’s mainly a summer job; not many tourists around in the winter. I work on the ferry too. You’re most welcome to join me on a sea safari any time you like, but I’d bet you’ve seen more marine life than I could ever show you.”
“Thanks.” I’m not sure I’d enjoy going out on the sea safari, but I don’t want to be rude. Mom had mixed feelings about what she called “
tourist boats”. Me too. They’re good at teaching people about wildlife, but they also pollute the environment. “Anyway, I came in to say that Dad and I are going for a drive. We won’t be long.”
“Great. I’m working this afternoon, so I’ll meet you down at the cafe at five − if I don’t see you before.”
“The cafe?”
“Alanna’s having a Fourth of July barbecue. I promised her we’d be there. Your dad thinks it’s a great idea. Cal and his friends will be there too, so it won’t be just us oldies. You don’t look all that enthusiastic, Rory.”
I shrug. “I’m not sure I want to go.” I don’t feel like telling her that: a, her son and his friends don’t like me and, b, I don’t fancy celebrating Fourth of July without Mom.
Two deep creases appear above Mattie’s nose. Mom used to get the exact same double frown when she was annoyed with me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to be rude, Mattie. It’s just—” I take a deep breath. “I don’t feel much like celebrating anything right now.” It’s the best I can do to explain.
Her expression softens. “I understand. But give the barbecue a try. It might be fun.”
Fun? Is she serious? A fake, Irish Fourth of July party without Mom?
“Alanna’s a good cook,” she adds. “And your dad’s promised to help her with the grilling.”
“OK, I’ll think about it.”
“That’s the spirit.” She moves towards me − I think she wants to give me a hug − but I back away. I’m not ready for hugs from Mattie, not yet. It would remind me too much of hugging Mom.
“Dad’s waiting for me,” I say quickly. “See you later.”
Outside, Dad’s busy packing the diving masks and swim fins into a silver case ready for his diving trip tomorrow. He lifts the last of the equipment boxes into the trunk, slams it shut and then gets into the driver’s seat. I climb in beside him and buckle up.
“Ready to go?” he asks.