Song of the Dolphin Boy

by Elizabeth Laird

  Mr McFee’s arm froze in mid-air.

  ‘What are you talking about? There’s nothing different about you. You’re my son, aren’t you? What do you mean, you could swim and hear things and met a . . . a . . . ? You’re telling stories, you wee liar.’

  ‘I swam, Dad. Far and fast and deep.’ Finn’s words were boiling out of him. ‘It felt amazing in the water. I could see and hear in a different way, and there was a sort of change as soon as I was out of my depth. I only had to move my arms and legs and then I was swimming and I could stay for ages under the water without breathing. And the sounds! I could hear the most amazing things. And I met a dolphin. He was – I think he became my friend. I know it sounds incredible, but I could almost understand him! Dad, you’ve got to believe me.’

  Mr McFee groaned, felt for his armchair and slumped down into it with a thump. It creaked alarmingly. He dropped his head into his hands.

  ‘I knew this would happen one day,’ he wailed. ‘I knew you’d find out, and go off into the sea, and leave me just like she did.’

  ‘Find out what? Who’s “she”?’ Finn’s skin was prickling all over. ‘What are you saying, Dad? You mean my – my mother?’

  ‘Aye, son. Your mother. You didn’t think I’d believe you? Well, you’ll have a hard time believing me when I tell you the truth of it. You’d better sit down. And there’s no need to look at me like that – like a scared wee rabbit. You’ve asked for the truth, and I’m going to tell it to you.’ He pointed a shaking finger at one of the rickety chairs pulled up to the table, and Finn sat down on the edge of it, his eyes fixed nervously on his father’s face.

  For a long time, Mr McFee didn’t speak. Then he levered himself up out of his chair.

  ‘I need a cup of tea,’ he grunted. ‘You look like you do too. Wait here.’

  He went into the tiny, cluttered kitchen, and Finn, who was sitting screwed up in desperate impatience, heard the running water and the clatter of mugs.

  After what seemed like an age, his father came back, handed Finn a steaming mug and sat down.

  ‘Right, son. Here it comes. The truth. I told you, you’ll have a hard time believing it.’ He stopped, and cleared his throat. ‘She – your mother – was a selkie. Oh aye, you might well stare. She came from the sea. Most selkies are seal people, but there are dolphin people too. My Sylvie was one of them.’

  Finn was shuddering with excitement. He was listening with all his attention, but what his father was telling him was so incredible that he could hardly take it in. He didn’t dare to move in case his dad stopped talking, but Mr McFee wasn’t looking at him. He was staring unseeingly at the dirt-encrusted window.

  ‘Folks thought those old stories were just fairy tales told by grannies,’ he went on. ‘I did and all, until she walked out of the sea one night and stood there, begging me to go on singing, looking so beautiful—’

  A light flashed in Finn’s head.

  ‘But that’s in the poem! It’s like the poem!’ he interrupted. He thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled sheet of homework. It was still wet. Carefully, trying not to tear it, he opened it out. The writing was blurred, but he could still just read it. His eye ran down it, frantically trying to absorb the meaning.

  ‘She bore a child, a little boy,’ he read wonderingly. ‘And her heart was filled with love.’ His throat suddenly felt tight. ‘That’s me, isn’t it, Dad? Is that right? Did she love me like the poem says?’

  ‘Oh aye, she loved you, right enough,’ said Mr McFee, but Finn had bent his head back to the poem and didn’t notice the tears that were trickling down his father’s cheeks.

  ‘O I am a woman on the land,’ he read. ‘And a dolphin in the sea. That’s like me, too! That’s how I felt. Only I didn’t become a dolphin; I was still a boy. I could just – sort of – feel like one.’ He was reading on, his hands trembling with excitement as they clutched the paper. ‘A miraculous child, a magical child, Is the son that is born to me.’

  He stopped and looked down at his father. Understanding flooded through him.

  ‘You thought I was one too, didn’t you?’ he said. ‘You thought I was a – a dolphin person? But I didn’t become a dolphin. I think I might be a sort of half one, or something.’

  Mr McFee took a deep, shuddering breath.

  ‘Aye, I was afraid you were a selkie too. I’ve always dreaded it. I know that old poem. We had to learn it at school when I was a lad. I knew you were a – well, a magical boy, like it says. A different kind of boy, anyway. I thought if you went into the sea, you’d become like her, and swim away and leave me here on my own. Thought I could protect you, keep you safe on land.’

  He put out his hand and grasped Finn’s. For once, Finn didn’t feel the urge to pull his away.

  ‘You were an odd-looking wee thing. Beautiful, mind you, but your hands . . . “Why, look – they’re almost like flippers,” the midwife said. You grew into a normal-looking baby almost at once, but I suppose your mother knew something was different. I suppose I did too; I just didn’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘Why did she leave us? Leave me?’ asked Finn, his voice coming out in a tight thread.

  ‘She didn’t mean to, son. Like I said, she loved you more than anything. She’d hover over you, sing to you, dance you around and make you laugh. But she’d get the urge to go out to sea every now and then, when her people came into the shore and called to her. She always came back, a bit quiet for a day or two afterwards, but happy enough.’

  ‘But then . . . ?’ prompted Finn.

  His father heaved a shuddering sigh.

  ‘You know what they all say about me? That I killed her? Well, they were right. Not in the way they think, but the boat I was working on killed her. One night she put you to bed in the normal way, and I was still out fishing. She must have heard her people calling and gone out to them. We were all so busy with the catch, we didn’t see the dolphins. One of the lads caught her in his net. I tried and tried, but I couldn’t free her.’

  ‘It might not have been her!’ Finn said eagerly. ‘How can you be sure? She might still be out there. I could go and find her, Dad. I could bring her back.’

  Mr McFee shook his head.

  ‘It was her all right. When I’d got her out of the water at last, and she was lying on the deck in that horrible net, and the lads were busy in the stern bringing in the fish, she turned back into my Sylvie again. My lovely . . . Then her eyes began to cloud over. “Love Finn,” she whispered. And she . . . When it was over, she turned back into a dolphin again, slowly. It was dark, a dark night, but I felt the change as I held her in my arms. No one else saw. I couldn’t tell them. How could I? How could I ever tell anyone? Who would have believed me? The secret’s burned me away inside ever since.’

  ‘What did you do with – with her then?’ Finn managed to say.

  ‘I slid her body gently back into the sea and let her go. Then we brought the boat back into harbour, and I ran home, and there you were, sleeping in your cot as if nothing had happened. I never went out to sea again. I left the boat and the job and all the rest of it. They call me a murderer, and I never answer back because they’re right in a sort of way. It was our nets that killed her, and I was a part of all that. It was because of us fishermen that she died.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me before, Dad?’ whispered Finn.

  ‘I couldn’t. I was too scared you’d blame me for killing your mother. And I was scared you’d swim off out there and leave me.’

  ‘I wanted to, just for a moment,’ said Finn honestly. ‘It felt so free and lovely in the water, and when I met the dolphin I could tell that he liked me. Ordinary kids don’t like me. They never have. I suppose they can tell that I’m strange.’

  ‘Folks don’t like me much either,’ replied his dad, ‘but we’ve got each other, eh, son?’

  His eyes were fixed on Finn with painful intensity, but Finn didn’t notice. He had gone to the door and was looking out over the st
retch of rough grass between the cottage and the cliff, which dropped away out of sight, down to the small rocky cove below. He felt a glow of happiness, a new kind of strength that he’d never known before.

  It’s as if I’ve found the half of me that was missing, he thought. And now I know who I am. I’m not a selkie, but it was like being halfway there. A sea boy. Yes, that’s it. I’m a sea boy. A huge grin spread over his face. Maybe it’ll be different now that I know. Perhaps I can be a normal land boy too.

  He watched, without seeing, as a pair of swallows swooped and dived over the lane, catching insects in their tiny beaks.

  ‘I need to go back into the sea,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to find out if – if it’s real or not. I’ve got to know.’ And I want to find my dolphin friend again, he thought. Because if he’s there, and he still likes me, I won’t ever feel lonely again.

  Mr McFee started to protest, but then slowly, reluctantly, he nodded.

  ‘You’re not a wee boy any more, Finn, and I don’t suppose I could stop you, even if I tried.’

  Finn impulsively tugged at his arm.

  ‘Come down the cliff path to the beach with me, Dad. If I know you’re standing there, waiting for me on the shore, it’ll feel more right, somehow.’

  Mr McFee shuddered.

  ‘Maybe, Finn. Maybe not. I’m not sure that I could bear to watch you, to be honest. Give me a bit of time, eh? Tomorrow maybe, when I’ve had the chance to get used to all this. It’s too late this evening, anyway. The sun’s going down fast.’

  He got up out of his chair, put his hands on Finn’s shoulders and looked into his son’s face for a long moment.

  ‘I’ve been a rotten dad to you,’ he said at last. ‘This thing – this secret – it’s been eating me up inside. Holding me down, stopping me from doing everything I should have done. I ought to have told you about your mother years ago, but I thought that if you never found out, you’d stay safe.’ He stopped and dropped his hands, then he smiled, and Finn, watching his face, thought he saw for the first time a glimpse of the man his father must once have been.

  He squared his shoulders and pushed the ragged thatch of long hair out of his eyes.

  ‘Things are going to change from now on, Finn,’ he said, with a smile that reached his eyes. ‘You’ll see.’

  Finn stared at him. His father looked different. Stronger. More confident.

  ‘Sure, Dad,’ he said, and stopped, afraid that if he said anything more the spell would be broken.

  ‘So now,’ said Mr McFee, walking briskly into the cottage’s tiny kitchen, ‘I’m going to cook us some supper.’

  That evening was a golden one for Finn. While his dad cooked in the kitchen, Finn went out once again to stand by the broken cottage gate. The sun, setting behind the cottage, cast such a brilliant light over land and sea that everything seemed to glow with a deep radiance. In the warm air, bees fumbled around in the wild flowers that fringed the cliff top, and Finn could hear the sea birds quarrelling and fussing over their chicks, out of sight on their ledges on the cliff face below, where they had built their nests.

  What’s he – my friend – doing out there? he wondered. Is he playing, like he did with me? I suppose he’s got loads of other friends. Real ones. Dolphin ones.

  The thought made him feel a pang of jealousy.

  The sun was sinking lower, and the shadow of the cottage was lengthening second by second. It was falling on Finn now, and the brilliant blue of the sea and sky was slowly darkening to a deep indigo.

  What do dolphins do at night? he asked himself. Do they sleep, like us?

  ‘Come and get your supper, son!’ his dad called out at last. ‘It’s ready!’

  Finn, suddenly starving, ran back into the cottage, then stopped at the door, his eyes wide with surprise. He and his dad had always eaten their meals with their plates balanced on their knees in front of the TV, but tonight Mr McFee had actually cleared some of the clutter on the table, and set out proper places. He’d fried up sausages and made chips too.

  ‘This is great, Dad,’ said Finn, sliding into his chair.

  He was too busy enjoying his supper to talk, and it wasn’t until he’d eaten the last bit of sausage, and chased the last chip round his plate, that he realized that his father hadn’t said a word either.

  Mr McFee had been eating more slowly than Finn, and, looking up at him, Finn could see that although the heavy, sad look had gone from his face, his father’s forehead was creased in a frown.

  ‘That was great, Dad. Thank you very much,’ Finn said, hoping to cheer his father up.

  Mr McFee nodded absently, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Finn felt a stab of anxiety.

  ‘You’re not annoyed with me, are you, Dad?’

  His father looked up in surprise.

  ‘Annoyed? No, why would I be?’ He sighed. ‘It’s just that I really, really wish she was here. I don’t know how to help you with all this business. I can’t guide you like she’d have been able to do. There’s bound to be dangers out there in the sea. I should know; I was a fisherman for years and years. But where you’ll go and what you’ll do – you’ll be on your own, Finn, and it scares me.’

  Finn laughed with relief.

  ‘But I won’t be alone, Dad. I’ll have my friend to help me. The first thing I’ll do is look for him, and I’ll find him again. I know I will. You’ll have to trust me, Dad. I’m going to be careful, but I’m going to be myself at last. I’m going to be her son as well as yours.’

  An enormous yawn suddenly threatened to split his face in two. He was so tired that his bones felt as if they’d melt.

  His father smiled at last.

  ‘Get away to your bed, Finn. It’s been quite a day, eh?’

  Finn smiled back at him, then he climbed the steep, narrow steps to his little bedroom under the eaves, feeling stronger and happier than he had ever felt in his life.

  ‘I’ll see you in the morning, friend,’ he whispered to himself as he climbed into bed.

  A moment later, he was asleep.

  Chapter Five

  By a quarter past ten on the following morning, Amir, Charlie, Kyla and Dougie had all arrived at the lighthouse and were clustered round the kitchen table helping themselves to the plate of biscuits that Jas had put out. They looked up as Professor Jamieson put his head round the door.

  ‘Hello, everyone,’ he said, peering at them. ‘Have you all come for lunch? I don’t think we’ve got enough to go round.’

  ‘It’s OK, Dad,’ said Jas. ‘We’re just having a meeting.’

  Professor Jamieson knew all about meetings. He was always having them with colleagues who came to visit him.

  ‘Good, good,’ he said vaguely. ‘Have you seen my glasses, Jas? I can’t find them anywhere.’

  ‘They’re in your pocket,’ Jas said. ‘I can see them sticking out.’

  ‘Goodness me. So they are,’ said the professor, pulling out his glasses and settling them on his nose. ‘Well, I’ll let you get on with it.’ And he ambled out of the room.

  ‘Right,’ Jas said firmly. ‘Let’s go up to the lantern room. Dougie, you bring the biscuits.’

  The lantern room was at the very top of the lighthouse tower. To get to it, the children had to go up a spiral staircase that got narrower and narrower, and then climb an iron ladder. They came up through a metal trapdoor set into the floor of the small round room.

  In the old days, the lighthouse’s lantern had been in this room. Originally lit by oil, and later by electricity, its sparkling mirrors had turned all day and all night on a pool of silvery mercury, sending a beam of brilliant light far out to sea to warn sailors to steer clear of the rocks. The lamp, the mirrors, the mercury and all the complicated old machinery had gone now. The lantern room was just a small, round, empty space with clear glass walls on all sides.

  This was Jas’s special place. She had brought up a stack of cushions so she could lie down comfortably on the hard metal floor. She kept a little stock
of her favourite books here too, a photograph of her mother, who had died when she was five, and a box of her own secret treasures.

  You could see for miles in all directions from the lantern room. The view to the front was over the harbour and far out across the sea. To the back, was the village of Stromhead and the hills behind it, and on each side the beaches and cliffs stretched away along the coast.

  In the lantern room, Jas felt like a bird, looking down from on high over the world below. Amir and Kyla often came up here with her. Amir liked to sit cross-legged with his laptop on his knee, doing complicated internet searches, while Kyla drew pictures and borrowed Jas’s crayons to colour them in, and Jas sat against one of the glass walls reading a book. None of the three usually talked much. They just liked the feeling of doing their own thing in each other’s company.

  Jas didn’t often invite Charlie to the lantern room. He was too energetic and restless to be comfortable in a small space. He would stand at the side of the tiny room that overlooked the sea for a few minutes, squinting up at the cloud formations and critically watching the surface of the water to gauge the weather and the chances of a good catch if he took out his little boat to fish; then he’d dash back down the steep stairs, his boots clanging on the metal treads all the way to the bottom.

  Only Dougie had never been in the lantern room.

  ‘You’re not old enough,’ Kyla had always told him crushingly. She was proud of her friendship with Jas and Amir, and didn’t want Dougie muscling in. ‘Us older ones, we’re the Lighthouse Crew. You have to be ten to be one of us.’

  Dougie was so excited at being admitted at last to Jas’s special place that he was unusually quiet as he followed Kyla upstairs, and his mouth opened in a large silent O when he came up into the small bright space and took in the astonishing view on all sides through the glass walls. Then he squeezed himself into the little corner between Amir and Jas and started fiddling with his chain and padlock.