Читать книгу Storms - Chris Vick, Chris Vick - Страница 21

HANNAH HAMMERED AT the front door till it opened.

‘Hannah, darling. Is everything all right?’

She threw herself at Dad, soaking his dressing gown.

‘What’s he done?’ said Dad.

‘Noth-nothing to do with Jake. There’s …’ Hannah forced the words through her sobs. ‘There’s whales. Killer whales. On the shore.’

‘What?’ Dad held her shoulders, looking into her eyes. ‘What do you mean, whales? Why are you crying? Calm down.’

‘They’re stranded. Dead mostly. But there’s a young one, alive.’ She pictured its black, marble eye. She heard its cry, like it was real. Calling to her, above the wind and rain.

‘Come and sit down. I’ll make you a cup of tea. We’ll phone the coastguard.’

Hannah pushed his hands off her. She went to the hall and called Steve Hopkins. She got his answerphone.

‘Mr Hopkins. It’s Hannah Lancaster …’ She took a deep breath, trying to calm the trembling, to put steel in her voice. ‘It’s eight fifteen. There are several stranded whales, orcas, at Whitesands beach. Some dead, at least two alive. One’s a juvenile female … I think. Call me. No … get here, please. I’ll text you some pics.’ She left her number, then used the phone again, punching the buttons with her finger. She got Jake’s voicemail too.

‘Jake. Call me!’

Why wasn’t Mr Hopkins answering? Why wasn’t Jake? Why was Dad doing nothing, apart from offering tea? It was like swimming through treacle.

‘I need him and he’s surfing,’ she sighed heavily, leaning against the wall.

‘Well,’ said Dad. ‘It’s not the first time, is it?’

Hannah didn’t bite. Now wasn’t the time.

She phoned again, punching the buttons with her finger. Got an answer message, again.

‘Call me, Jake. I need you.’