Silver Bay(4)
Author: Jojo Moyes

‘Look at that great idiot. Funny how he can hold a straight course now,’ Lance spat. Greg was portside of us, but seemed to be gaining.

‘He can’t bear the thought of us getting there before him.’ Yoshi grabbed a waterproof and threw it at me. ‘There! Just in case we go out front. It’s going to get pretty wet.’

‘I don’t bloody believe it.’ Lance had spied another boat on the horizon. He must have forgotten I was there, to be swearing. ‘There’s Mitchell! I bet you he’s been sitting on the radio all afternoon and now he swans up, probably with a cabinful of passengers. I’m going to swing for that bloke one of these days.’

They were always moaning about Mitchell Dray. He never bothered to look for the dolphins, like the others: he would just wait until he overheard a sighting on the ship-to-ship radio and go where everyone else was headed.

‘Am I really going to see a whale?’ I asked. Beneath our feet, the hull smacked noisily against the waves, forcing me to hang on to the side. Through the open window, I could hear the excited shouts of the tourists, the laughter of those who had been hit by rogue waves.

‘Fingers crossed.’ Yoshi’s eyes were trained on the horizon.

A real whale. I had only once seen a whale, with my aunt Kathleen. Usually I wasn’t allowed this far out to sea.

‘There . . . There! No, it’s just spray.’ Yoshi had lifted the binoculars. ‘Can’t you change course? There’s too much glare.’

‘Not if you want me to get there first.’ Lance swung the boat to starboard, trying to alter the angle of the sun on the waves.

‘We should radio ashore. Find out exactly where the chopper saw it.’

‘No point,’ said Lance. ‘It could have travelled two miles by now. And Mitchell will be listening in. I’m not giving that bugger any more information. He’s been stealing passengers from us all summer.’

‘Just watch for the blow.’

‘Yeah. And the little flag that says, “Whale.”’

‘Just trying to help, Lance.’

‘There!’ I could just make out the shape, like a distant black pebble dipping below the water. ‘North-north-east. Heading behind Break Nose Island. Just dived.’ I thought I might be sick with excitement. I heard Lance start counting behind me. ‘One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . whale!’ An unmistakable plume of water rose joyously above the horizon. Yoshi let out a squeal. Lance glanced towards Greg, who, from his course, hadn’t seen it. ‘We got her!’ Lance hissed. All whales were ‘her’ to Lance, just as all kids were ‘squirt’.

Whale. I took the word into my mouth, rolled it around and savoured it. My eyes did not leave the water. Moby One shifted course, the huge catamaran slapping hard as it bounded over each wave. Behind the island I imagined the whale breaching, displaying its white belly to the world in an unseen display of buoyancy. ‘Whale,’ I whispered.

‘We’re going to be first,’ muttered Yoshi, excitedly. ‘Just for once we’re going to get there first.’

I watched Lance swing the wheel, counting under his breath to mark the number of times the whale blew. More than thirty seconds apart and it was likely to dive deep. Then we would have lost it. Closer together meant it had already dived, and we would have a chance to follow.

‘Seven . . . eight . . . She’s up. Yessss.’ Lance hit the wheel with his palm, then grabbed the PA system. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, if you look over to your right, you might make out the whale, which is headed behind that piece of land there.’

‘Greg’s realised where we’re headed.’ Yoshi grinned. ‘He’ll never catch us now. His engine isn’t powerful enough.’

‘Moby One to Blue Horizon. Mitchell,’ Lance yelled into his radio, ‘you want to see this baby you’re going to have to get off my coat tails.’

Mitchell’s voice came over the radio: ‘Blue Horizon to Moby One. I’m just here to make sure there’s someone to pick up Greg’s overboards.’

‘Oh, nothing to do with the big fish?’ Lance responded tersely.

‘Blue Horizon to Moby One. Big old sea, Lance. Plenty of room for everyone.’

I gripped the wooden rim of the chart table so tightly that my knuckles turned white as I watched the scrubby headland grow. I wondered whether the whale would slow there, allow us to come closer. Perhaps it would lift its head and eye us. Perhaps it would swim up to the side of the boat and reveal its calf.

‘Two minutes,’ said Lance. ‘We’ll be round the head in about two minutes. Hopefully get up close.’

‘Come on, girlie. Give us a good show.’ Yoshi was talking to herself, binoculars still raised.

Whale, I told it silently, wait for us, whale. I wondered whether it would notice me. Whether it could sense that I, of all the people on the boat, had a special empathy with sea creatures. I was pretty sure I did.

‘I don’t – bloody – believe – it.’ Lance had taken off his peaked cap, and was scowling out of the window.

‘What?’ Yoshi leant towards him.

‘Look.’

I followed their gaze. As Moby One came round the headland, all of us fell silent. A short distance from the scrub-covered landmass, half a mile out to sea in aquamarine waters, the stationary Ishmael sat, its newly painted sides glinting under the midday sun.

At the helm stood my mother, leaning over the rail, her hair whipping round her face under the bleached cap she insisted on wearing out to sea. She had her weight on one leg and Milly, our dog, lay apparently asleep across the wheel. She looked as if she had been there, waiting for this whale, for years.

‘How the bloody hell did she do that?’ Lance caught Yoshi’s warning glare and shrugged an apology at me. ‘Nothing personal, but – Jeez . . .’

‘She’s always there first.’ Yoshi’s response was half amused, half resigned. ‘Every year I’ve been here. She’s always first.’

‘Beaten by a bloody Pom. It’s as bad as the cricket.’ Lance lit a cigarette, then tossed away the match in disgust.

I stepped out on to the deck.

At that moment the whale emerged. As we gasped, it lobtailed, sending a huge spray of water towards Ishmael. The tourists on Moby One’s top deck cheered. It was enormous, close enough that we could see the barnacled growths along its body, the corrugated white belly; near enough that I could look briefly into its eye. But ridiculously swift – something of that bulk had no right to be so agile.