by Sarah Lean
My mouth is open and it feels like a jigsaw is collecting, assembling and making a picture before my eyes. I recognise Grandad’s boat. Is that my grandad and grandma in it?
Both of the photos are signed Eva Bennett. The one of me is dated a few days ago. The other August 18th 1942.
I look for Jodie. I hold the camera in the air. “I found the whale!” I laugh and wave the photographs.
I tell her I have to show Grandad, that I’m catching the ferry back and going to East Harbour Care Home on the bus. I thought she’d be glad to be alone with Adam again. His name doesn’t make her go all dopey. Her lips aren’t glossy, her eyes are not sparkling.
“Don’t you like Adam any more?”
“He’s more interested in himself, I think.” She shrugs and sighs, but she doesn’t seem upset. “He gave all the girls a special piece of driftwood.”
That’s why she’s been so moody. She loved Adam, but he didn’t love her. “It wasn’t love then, not really.”
Jodie laughs. “You sound like Grandad. Just go,” she says. “I’ll cover for you.”
On the bus I read what I think is Miss Bennett’s goodbye letter.
Dearest Hannah,
I know you wanted to find out more about Fern, and so after our marvellous trip in my boat I found the photograph which you should now have.
The night decoy bombs on Furze Island were exploded, I wasn’t the only one who stayed out of the air-raid shelter on the mainland.
I saw the deer take to the water to escape the fire. Confused by the smoke, they swam out of the harbour. My boat was still on the island and there was nothing I could do. I watched and waited all night for the smoke to clear.
Just before dawn, when the bombing had stopped, I saw a small boat coming from over the quiet side of the harbour, heading towards Hambourne slipway. This is the photograph I took of the children in that boat who had rowed out to sea and brought Fern back with them.
They asked me if I would take care of her, made me promise not to tell anyone what they had done. They knew they were in trouble for staying out of the air-raid shelter, and didn’t want their parents to worry. And I kept my promise. I named the deer Fern after my grandmother, whom I’d loved very much.
Fern stayed with me on the mainland until the war was over and I could move back into my family home on the island. She was all I had left.
I thought those children might have come back with terrible memories like me from that awful night, fearful of the things that they had seen and would never forget. But that wasn’t the case. They were rather secretive and would only say that it wasn’t them that saved the deer.
Yours,
Eva Bennett
I collect all the little pieces together in my mind, all the memories from different people and my own. I don’t think for a minute that I’ve got it wrong this time. I know Grandad. My grandma and grandad stayed out of the air-raid shelter, filling their ears with the sound of the bombers, filling their hearts by trying to rescue the deer. They must have followed the deer out to sea and brought Fern back with them. I know it’s exactly what he would have done.
I imagine Grandad and Grandma going back to the island every year, to remember that night again and again. August 18th.
And since Grandma died, Grandad had been back to see the deer for himself, to remember her.
A strong memory scoops me up. Sitting on Grandad’s lap after eating too much chocolate, asking him if he married Grandma when she was a little girl. Something great put us together … and it will never be undone.
I watch my film of the whale on the small screen. And I wonder what really bound two children together in the middle of a war, in the dark, far out at sea all by themselves.
I feel Grandad is with me. He’s in my memory, my heart, in all the places so small we can’t see them, but so big they are what make us who we are. I laugh out loud and the lady in front of me on the bus turns round to look at me.
“My grandad took me on a journey and I found a whale,” I say.
“Where have you been?” she says.
“Not far,” I smile. “Some journeys are really close to home.”
I see the whale on the tiny screen. I see him rise, the oar being lifted out of the water. I think of the mistakes I’ve made when I didn’t look, didn’t see properly, like thinking a sandbar was a whale. Is it too big and extraordinary to think what I’m thinking? Could Fern have thought the whale was an island too?
37.
GRANDAD ISN’T IN HIS ROOM.
“He’s outside in the garden,” Mark says, leaning against the doorpost. “He hasn’t wanted to come inside all day, as if he’s waiting for someone. Go and see what he’s made for you.”
There’s a smell of newly cut wood. A tall bird table is outside, just what we need to keep the birds safe from Smokey.
Grandad is in a wheelchair; he’s looking out to sea, but strangely I have nothing to say. I was going to show Grandad the film, but now I’m here I don’t need to. It’s as if seeing the whale has changed something in me. The whale was so peaceful, so gentle and so huge, and I can’t think of anything bigger than what I feel now. And besides, when I follow Grandad’s eyes and see what he’s looking at, I know there’s only one thing left to do.
I look back at Mark. “Go on, go,” he says. “I won’t say a word.”
I push Grandad in the wheelchair across the road and down a path from the cliff top to a ledge just above the coastline. I put the brake on the wheelchair and think about turning the video camera on, but I don’t. I want to make another vivid memory of my own.
I stand beside Grandad and hold his hand. He squeezes mine back.
“Grandad, it’s August the eighteenth.”
“Yes … I remember,” he says.
“And I’ll always remember for you too. And for Grandma.”
I crouch beside him. I can hardly say what I want to say out loud, it’s far too extraordinary. “Grandad? Who saved the deer?”
Grandad’s ancient smile gathers in his cheeks and I see what made him who he is. “The whale,” he whispers.
The thing about a journey is not that you find something so exciting, so marvellous that you can’t wait to tell everyone. The end of the journey is when none of it matters. All I know is I love my grandad. As he is now. I’ve been on my own journey to find the greatest power on earth. And I did and I know what it is now. Love. Not something from the past, but what I have now. That’s the important thing that keeps us going, no matter what happens. It’s what makes us think bigger.
My heart feels as big as a whale’s. So big that everything else seems small and insignificant.
The whale is here, close to shore. We are waving; we want him to see us up here. I think he looks up towards us. He turns and dives; his wishbone tail hovers for a moment before it gently falls into the sea.
“Do you think he came back to see you, Grandad?” I say.
“I think he came to see you.” Grandad says. I laugh and he laughs, because just for a minute he’s right here with me. And that’s enough.
“Look how you’ve grown,” Grandad says.
I think of our sunflowers. I feel giant like them.
As if Grandad has called the whale back again, he rises out of the sea in front of us. I know the gentle wrinkles around his eye. He ducks under. We wait.
The whale breaks the surface again and the sea crashes open wide. And I can’t help catching my breath when the long curve of his great grey back erupts like a mountain out of the sea. He leaps high and it’s suddenly silent and peaceful. For me too. I feel his cool shadow sheltering me. The air smells of sea salt. I can taste the brine. The whale reaches to the sky and my mouth is open wide in wonder at the giant in front of us. And then the sea bursts as he smashes deep into the water.
He’s just like my grandad.
Acknowledgments
I think stories come from stories, and there are people who have contributed their personal experiences to this
one, whether directly or indirectly. I’m indebted to my octogenarian friend and neighbour Brenda Carr, Richard Bonham Christie, Sam Swinnerton, and it was my good fortune to know another octogenarian, Ted Alsop, whose stories will be missed. Thank you to the ‘village’ of people at HarperCollins for making another dream come true, especially my editor, Rachel Denwood, who understands the better story. Everlasting thanks for the continued support of family, friends and my agent, Julia Churchill.
About the Author
SARAH LEAN grew up in Wells, Somerset but now lives in Dorset with her husband, son and dog. She has worked as a page-planner for a newspaper, a stencil-maker and a gardener, amongst various other things. She gained a first-class English degree and became a primary school teacher before returning to complete an MA in Creative and Critical Writing with University of Winchester. The Forever Whale is Sarah’s third novel for children.
For news, competitions and special downloadable animal wallpapers to share with your friends, go to: www.sarahlean.co.uk
Books by Sarah Lean
A Dog Called Homeless
Winner of the Hazelgrove Book Award and the prestigious Schneider Family Middle School Book Award in the US. Shortlisted for the Sheffield Children’s Book Award and longlisted for the Branford Boase Award.
A Horse for Angel
The Forever Whale
Jack Pepper
Hero
My name is Cally Louise Fisher and I haven’t spoken for thirty-one days. Talking doesn’t always make things happen, however much you want it to.
Cally saw her mum, bright and real and alive. But no one believes her, so Cally stopped talking. Now a mysterious grey wolfhound has started following her everywhere. Perhaps he knows that Cally was telling the truth …
Click on the cover to read more.
Sometimes when things are broken you can’t fix them on your own – no matter how hard you try.
When Nell is sent to stay with distant family, she packs a suitcase full of secrets. A chance encounter with a wild horse draws Nell to Angel – a mysterious, troubled girl who is hiding secrets of her own. Both girls must learn to trust each other, if they are to save a hundred horses …
Click on the cover to read more.
Someone special will never be forgotten …
When Ruby and Sid see a poster about a missing dog, they can’t believe it. It reminds them of an adventure they had, and a little dog they once met. Could it be the same Jack Pepper?
Click on the cover to read more.
A little dog with the heart of a lion …
Leo dreams about being a hero. In his imagination he is a fearsome gladiator, but he wants to be a hero in real life.
When the boys at school dare Leo to do something he knows is wrong, he lets everybody down. How can he make things right again?
A little dog called Jack Pepper is missing and it will take a true hero to find him and bring him home …
Copyright
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2013
HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,
77-85 Fulham Palace Road, Hammersmith, London, W6 8JB.
The HarperCollins website address is: www.harpercollins.co.uk
Copyright © Sarah Lean 2013
Illustrations © Gary Blythe 2013
Cover photographs @ Workshop Stock/Getty Images (girl); Hyde John/Getty Images (whale); Tim Hurst/Getty Images (seascape)
Sarah Lean asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the work.
Gary Blythe asserts the moral right to be identified as the illustrator of the work.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007512225
Ebook Edition © July 2013 ISBN: 9780007512218
Version: 2014-06-21
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