Under the Weather Page 2

  Spit and I are silent on the way back. We are trying to imagine what a beach would look like without any sand.

  There are two small figures on the boulders when we near Sugar Island. As we get closer, I recognise my pa and Spit’s pa and my heart sinks. Pa must be really cross if he’s come here instead of reporting for work at the Green Mango.

  They start yelling before we’re even close enough to tie up the boat. But they’re not yelling at us. They’re yelling at Peanut.

  “What were you thinking taking two boys out with you to sea?”...

  ...“What if something happened?”...

  ...“It’s kidnapping! We could have called the police!”...

  Peanut is yelling too.

  “They helped me drop some coral domes for the reef. That’s more than any islander’s ever done!”

  Pa grabs my arm and begins to lead me away. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Peanut. You’re nothing but a drunk!”

  “And you’re an ostrich with your head in the sand – except at this rate there won’t be any sand left to hide in!”

  Spit is scrambling after his pa up the rocks to his house on the other side of the island. “Pa! Pa! We were just helping Peanut rebuild the reef.”

  But Spit’s pa just marches on without saying anything.

  “Pa,” I say. “Did you know the South reef is dead?”

  Pa doesn’t answer.

  “You knew, didn’t you?” I whisper but I am sure he can hear me. The evening is quiet save for the low swish of the coconut trees in the breeze.

  “Everybody knows!” Peanut yells and Pa stops walking. “But it’s a secret, isn’t it?”

  “A secret?” I look from one man to the other. “How can it be a secret if everybody knows?”

  Pa bows his head.

  Peanut grabs Pa’s shoulder and turns him so that they are looking each other in the eye.

  “It’s Everybody’s secret because Everybody doesn’t want the world to know. Everybody thinks the tourists will stop coming if they knew.”

  Pa opens his mouth to say something but doesn’t. He turns and walks up the trail without looking back and I have no choice but to follow him. We walk home in total silence.

  That night there is a storm. The windows shudder like they’re freezing cold and I can hear the sea groaning and raging under the howling of the wind. There are crashing sounds outside. As I lie in my bed I imagine giant waves chewing at the shore, eating up all that sugar-white sand an entire dune at a time. I creep into Ma and Pa’s room. Pa’s eyes are open. I climb under their sheet and into Pa’s arms and he holds me tight as we listen until the banging and screaming of the storm calms to a murmur.

  It is early in the morning but everyone is out on the beach when Pa and I go out to see what damage the storm has done.

  Everywhere there are coconut shells and palm fronds that have been ripped out of the trees. A tree blew on to the roof of the Green Mango Hotel. The Banana Boat Station has lost its thatch and the Sea Coconut Bar has lost its path again. The coconut trees look silly with their roots exposed, like they’ve lost their skirts.

  Everywhere I hear voices reporting what has been lost, blown away or crushed by the storm.

  The beach looks smaller.

  There is a terrible moaning sound from the far end of the beach. It rises louder and louder. Someone is crying.

  Pa and I run across the sand. Is there someone in need of help?

  It is Peanut, his dreadlocks a wild tangle over his eyes. He is on his knees, weeping in the sand with his arms around something.

  It’s a broken piece of his coral garden. All along the beach, bobbing slightly in the shallows, orange fragments of his urns lie scattered. The storm has broken them up. There is going to be no coral reef.

  Pa gently takes the fragment from Peanut and puts his arms around him.

  “It’s all gone!” Peanut weeps on to Pa’s shoulder. “It took me months to make them.”

  “There, there,” Pa whispers.

  “It’s over,” Peanut sobs. “I can’t do it any more. I can’t do it. I’m nothing. I’m just one man.”

  A tear trickles down my cheek. I can still see the devastation on the ocean floor. The coral broken and lifeless in that blue, dead place.

  “Peanut, you’re not alone,” Pa says. “You’re right. We can’t keep it a secret any longer.”

  Tip: In the end, you’ve got to do what’s right for the future, even if it’s a long, long time away. Like going to school instead of bunking off to earn pennies on the beach. Like doing something about the reef instead pretending it isn’t happening.

  At first it is only Pa. He helps Peanut put more coral urns on the seabed. But the sea keeps spitting them out.

  So Spit’s pa joins them, trying to figure something out.

  And then the Japanese lady from the Sea Coconut Bar comes along. And then the folks at the Banana Boat Station. And the Green Mango Hotel. And pretty soon all the islanders are talking and thinking and trying to figure something out. Oh boy.

  Tip: Stuff is less scary when there is more than one of you.

  And of course the answer is out there.

  But the answer doesn’t come cheaply. You need scientists and experts and equipment.

  And even all the islanders together don’t have that kind of money.

  Tip: Sometimes you just have to ask.

  It’s me who thinks of something in the end.

  I don’t want to brag but I am amazing at building sandcastles.

  So I say, I’m going to build a sandcastle. I start in the middle and work my way outward.

  Spit joins in.

  And Pa helps too.

  And so does Spit’s pa. And Peanut. And the Japanese lady from the Sea Coconut Bar. And . . . well, everybody helps.

  Next thing we know, we’ve built the most enormous, massive, GIGANTIC, humongous sandcastle. The tourists are so excited they can barely applaud.

  “Coconuts!” I yell. And everybody runs around grabbing coconuts. We put a hundred coconuts out for the tourists to fill. And guess what, the tourists fill them up and more.

  Then helicopters arrive with newspaper and TV people to see the biggest sandcastle ever built. And they learn about how the hot sea has killed the reef. So they go back to their newspapers and TV stations and tell the world about it.

  Next thing we know the world is sending us some money to help. And scientists. And experts. And equipment.

  Next thing we know the coral reefs around the island are slowly but surely growing back.

  So Sugar Beach is safe. Which means Sugar Island’s safe. Which means we are, all of us, safe.

  Oh boy.

  Sea Canaries

  by Susan Sandercock

  Jess is an ordinary girl on an extraordinary whale-watching trip in Manitoba, Canada, when she becomes enchanted by wild belugas and it changes her life.

  I wrote this story after seeing beluga whales in Vancouver Aquarium whilst on holiday in Canada. After researching them on the internet, I was shocked to discover the heart-breaking plight of these animals due to climate change.

  I’ve tried to give a real sense of the whales, and how awesomely beautiful they are. Their underwater songs are a feast for the senses, and I hope the belugas in my story inspire you as much as they have inspired me.

  Jess’s hair flapped in the sharp sub-arctic wind as she rubbed her hands together. It’s never as cold as this back home in Kent, she thought, as her group’s whale-watching jet-boat tore through the murky waters of the Churchill River.

  Pods of gleaming white beluga whales broke the skin of the water. “Wow!” she said, for the zillionth time that day. She’d thought their first week in Canada, in Vancouver and the Rockies, had been great but Manitoba was excellent. She’d never been so excited in her life; it was as if a huge wave was swelling inside her chest. The large beluga pod followed them, diving and splashing through the water, their black eyes fixed on the boat, chirping like th
ey were trying to speak. She laughed as they sprayed water from their blowholes – splashing her elbow – as their plump dolphin-like bodies arched through the jade-green water.

  “Dad, can we come here every year?” Jess asked.

  “No, we can’t, cheeky,” Mum cut in before Dad had a chance to reply. “This Canadian tour is to celebrate your first year at grammar school. We can’t afford to make a habit of it.” Jess could tell she was in one of her serious moods, because a vein that lay flat most of the time in the side of her forehead was twitching. “You’ll have to keep up those high grades next year, too.”

  Jess nodded, although she could already feel the wave inside her crashing, the water fizzling away. Anyway, she knew the truth; the belugas’ lives, like hers, weren’t easy. She’d read all about it on the Internet. The sub-arctic ice was melting and making the sea less salty, which was causing the fish on which belugas feed to die.

  “You’ll have to improve on English for next year, though,” Mum said. “I had a chat with Miss Miller, she told me the reason you only got a B in your report is because your punctuation isn’t spot on. As soon as we get home, you’ll have to practise, little and often, every night; no more going round to Rosie’s for your dinner on Thursdays.”

  “Mum!” Jess squealed.

  “Your mother’s right,” Dad said, although he looked a bit uncomfortable; he always backed Mum up when she got like this.

  Mum slapped the side of the boat. “Come ten years’ time, you’ll be at the front of a courtroom!”

  Jess sighed. She was sick of hearing the story of how Mum and Dad met at uni when they were both studying law, but failed to make it as practising lawyers. When Jess was younger, they’d been watching one of the soaps on TV and a courtroom scene had come up. She’d made the mistake of saying it would be cool to work with criminals. Mum had exclaimed she was delighted her daughter wanted to follow her shattered dream, and had never let it drop. It didn’t help that Jess excelled at all the practical subjects at school, and liked facts and figures. Mum was convinced it was ‘meant to be’ and Dad cautiously agreed with her.

  The belugas lolled in the water, some stuck up their heads. Dad and the other three tourists in their party pulled out their cameras. One beluga made chattering bird-like noises. “That’s why they’re nicknamed sea canaries,” she heard Hank, their driver and onboard marine biologist, say to someone.

  Jess dangled her hands over the edge of the boat, although the whales weren’t quite close enough to touch. Jess loved her parents and didn’t want to disappoint them, and of course she was grateful they’d brought her on this trip – even though it heaped up the pressure to continue getting good grades. She loved nature. When she was little, and Mum and Dad used to take her into the woods, she’d enjoyed identifying wildflowers. Last week in Vancouver, she’d borrowed a passer-by’s binoculars so she could admire the bald eagles perching high in the treetops. In the Rockies, she’d hidden in the forest for hours with Dad to photograph some elk, and had been the only one to spot a grizzly bear from the tour bus window.

  Before this trip, she’d read up about belugas on the Internet. The ocean had never been a specific interest of hers, but the research had fascinated her – and upset her.

  “I told you they were curious, didn’t I?” Hank wound an underwater microphone called a hydrophone into the sea. Jess heard the crackle of the river and the belugas singing underwater.

  A huge adult beluga bobbed out of the water and stared at the red-brown rocks of the shoreline. All the other members of her group were smiling broadly, their faces pink and shiny. Dad was getting snappy with the camera. Even Mum was more relaxed; the vein in her forehead had stopped quivering.

  Everyone was “ooh-ing” and “ah-ing”, enjoying the day one hundred percent. Nobody realised what life was really like for the belugas. Until Jess had done her research, she just hadn’t realised whales were so affected by climate change. Polar bears and penguins, yes, they lived on the ice. But how many people really knew of the whales’ plight? They looked happy. Jess couldn’t imagine them struggling to search out depleted supplies of krill.

  An adult beluga turned its head around like it could tell she was thinking about them. Another thing she’d discovered was belugas are the only whales that have moveable neck vertebrae.

  Hank sidled up to her. “Cute, isn’t it? Although he looks a bit silly. You like him?”

  Jess nodded.

  “He’s the grandfather of the pod.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I keep a close eye on these guys,” Hank scanned the estuary with his binoculars. “They come back every year and I get to know them pretty well.”

  Through the hydrophone speakers, many belugas were singing in a complex concerto. It sounded ghostlike. “I like how they sing,” Jess said. “It’s a shame their lives aren’t easy.”

  Hank turned to her. “These guys are pretty happy here. They come every year for the capelin fish, there’s always plenty for them to eat.”

  “That’s good,” Jess was relieved. “But other belugas aren’t so lucky, are they? They can’t all swim here.”

  “I guess not, no.”

  “Climate change is ruining their lives.”

  Hank sucked air through his teeth. “Ooh, the biggie. Like I said, they’re OK in the estuary over the summer, it’s when they head into the open sea they’re at risk. Less food, and less ice for foraging.”

  Jess had heard of the problems of less foraging space. It meant the belugas could be snatched more easily from the sea by predators – perhaps by an opportune polar bear.

  An inquisitive beluga nudged the raft and everyone laughed. Hank turned to her when the wobbling stopped. “And then there’s ocean acidification.”

  Jess frowned. “What’s that?”

  “The one with the potential to do the most damage. Fighter plankton live in the ocean and absorb carbon dioxide in the same way trees do on land. In fact, they absorb more than trees do. But we’re throwing more at the ocean than it can handle, which eventually means no oxygen for coral and fish, and therefore no food for whales.”

  Jess stared at a pair of belugas playfully nudging heads whilst Hank paused for breath.

  “Yes, the belugas are better off here than anywhere else, but in other parts of Canada beluga numbers are dropping. If the ocean fails to absorb all our carbon dioxide, fifty percent of our oxygen supply will go, and then it won’t just be entire whale species becoming extinct – it will be us.” Another person from their party asked Hank a question and he edged away from her. “Nice talking to you.”

  Jess stared at the frolicking, chattering belugas. The knowledge that one day they wouldn’t be playing here at all terrified her. To make matters worse, it wasn’t just the belugas that were dying; the ocean itself was under threat.

  Hank zoomed them back to shore and she watched the flat, dry sub-arctic tundra appear. If the ocean stops working, whales will die.

  She couldn’t let Mum and Dad pressure her into becoming a lawyer. To save whales – and humans – the ocean needed her help.

  In the evening, over dinner in the restaurant at their motel, Jess broke the news to her stunned parents. “I don’t want to become a lawyer. I never have. I want to be a marine biologist when I’m older.”

  The vein on Mum’s forehead throbbed so hard that Jess wondered if she’d explode. “For goodness sake, what’s got into you? A marine biologist? Let me get this straight; you want to spend hours on end working for a pittance in a dingy research lab, living on tiny grants compiling heaps of paperwork, travelling to the ends of the earth in horrible conditions. And it isn’t even as though fish can thank you. It’s ridiculous. What’s brought this on?”

  “Well, Hank told me –”

  “What did he say to scare you like this?” Dad cut in, struggling to put on his calming voice. Jess knew he agreed with Mum really.

  “He didn’t scare me, just made me face facts.” She had to make the
m see. “Anyway, it wasn’t just what he told me. This is my decision. I knew before we came here that climate change is a big problem, but until I spoke to Hank I didn’t realise how bad it is. I have to do something.”

  “What do you mean?” Mum snapped.

  “I mean...” It was hard to explain, she was only just understanding herself. “I’ve always liked flowers, and birds, haven’t I? And last week in the Rockies, it was great to see that grizzly bear and all those elk. I really love the ocean. I want to work with marine animals – they’re at risk, and so is the ocean itself.”

  “You sound like you’ve swallowed a textbook,” Mum said. “Except you don’t know what you’re talking about. I watched a documentary a few weeks ago about this climate change business. It’s a load of rubbish. Apparently the earth is warming up naturally. It goes through these phases. Remember, we’ve already had the dinosaurs and the ice age.”

  “How can you be so stupid?” Jess didn’t care that other people were beginning to notice the argument. “Even if it is a natural process, we’re speeding it up. We’re forcing more carbon dioxide at the ocean than it can handle!”

  “Keep your voice down, Jessica!” Dad snapped. Even he looked angry now.

  Mum regarded her steadily. “I wish we’d never brought you here,” she said in a sad whisper. “I give up with you, I really do.”

  Jess felt cold all the way through. Her biggest fear had been that one day she’d disappoint her parents. Now it had happened.

  “Fine!” she bellowed, as she stood up. “Be like that! Believe there’s nothing we can do. Carry on spending ages in the shower every day, driving the car into town. Murder some more whales. Murder yourself – because that’s what will happen!”

  She was too angry to care that the restaurant had fallen silent. She ran to their room and threw herself on to the bed. She pulled the pillow tightly over her face until all she saw were icy white stars. A knock on the door, muffled by feathers. “Go away!”