Beluga - A. B. Lord. (best classic novels TXT) 📗

and raindrops was everywhere.


Kate could go whole weeks without thinking of her Dad. It had been near on five years now since his death and although she was by no means over his death, she had rebuilt her life. She had moved on, got herself a good strong life in London, found a partner and was now attempting to write academic texts on natural science, but which unfortunately nobody seemed interested in. To Kate, the natural history of the size of whales and how it had been impacted by whaling was fascinating, but it seemed others didn’t agree. She could go months thinking about this, and her flat that she shared with Camilla, and how to go about living her life, but then the silence would always be shattered by a panic attack. They were becoming more and more frequent and with every instance, she found herself thinking of her Dad.


Sometimes she thought she heard him or saw him out the corner of her eye when she panicked, but then doesn’t everyone think they see dead loved ones occasionally? The world is full of stories of people who have lost loved ones, and then one winter they saw a little robin, and there’s something about its face that compels them to be convinced that it is none other than their dead uncle Tony, come back as a robin to say hello. You go search for it on the internet. It’s usually on the same website as the person who saw the Virgin Mary in their toast.


They slowly began to head back in to the city, in the direction of their Southwark Flat. They had reached a point in their relationship where they now had everything planned out. The idea was they would stay in this little London flat – with its floor to ceiling glass windows and balcony overlooking the bright lights of the city – for a good few years, they’d get married whilst living here, maybe get a dog whilst living here, and then when the time came for one of them to become pregnant and have a baby, they would become country mice and scuttle off to a little cottage somewhere more rural, where they’d have chickens and a vegetable patch. Floor to ceiling glass windows were not child friendly at all.


They pushed open the door to their flat and were greeted by a pile of mail. Kate pilled them in to her hands and went and sat on the sofa, sorting them in to piles of “Kate’s mail” and “Camilla’s mail.” Occasionally the piles blurred in to “our mail” which included clothes catalogues, occasional cards from well wishing relatives and friends, and pizza delivery flyers. Kate noticed she had an official white enveloped letter and she opened it curiously.


“Dear Miss Whitman,


After reading your article as submitted for our journal, we regret to inform you that on this occasion we will not...”


The letter went on.


It was the same letter she had received countless times before; such and such journal was very sorry to inform her that her article about the natural history of whaling, would not be getting published. They always wished her well though and hoped she would continue to read their publication.


The letter went in the bin.


“Rejection!” she shouted through to Camilla who was pottering in the kitchen. “I thought people liked whales?”


“Oh I’m sure some people do, darling.”


“I like whales.”


“I know you do.”


Kate slipped her feet out of her little black moccasin shoes and pulled her feet up on to the bright red sofa. She loved this sofa. This sofa had been home to many excited book readings, evenings watching David Attenborough documentaries, and her favourite piece of furniture n the flat. It wasn’t child friendly either and she didn’t know what she’d do with it when the time came to get a child friendly sofa which pulled out in to sleepover bed, and which had easy washable surfaces. But this, this sofa was lovely for the right now. The flat wasn’t massive but it was a comfortable size. The main selling point had been the large windows, if you can call them that. They were more like a solid wall of glass. The sofa sat perpendicular to the wall of glass, facing a rectangular coffee table which housed magazines, recent newspapers and the odd holiday brochures for trips they planned to make, but as yet had not. Svalbard... Mexico... Paris...


She reached across to the coffee table and thumbed through a copy of National Geographic. One day, she wanted to open it up and read something by her. Anything, by her! It didn’t even have to be about the sodding whales. As she flicked, an article on scrimshaw caught her eye and she stopped to look at it.


The article discussed the artwork as depicted on the whale bone scrimshaws and was accompanied by a photograph of a man holding a scrimshaw up to the light, with the sea in the background. His face was weathered and bronzed. Clearly a man of the sea, thought Kate. The background looked like it could be part of an old whaling town, maybe Nantucket, or somewhere near Norway?


Looking down at the picture, she began to feel dizzy.


“Bloody betablockers”, she mumbled.


“Did you say something?”, called Camilla from the kitchen?


“Er, just that my head is starting to spin a bit. Think I’m still a bit shaken from earlier. Maybe shouldn’t have had that betablocker on an empty stomach too, I feel queasy.”


“Just take some deep breaths. Do you want some water?”


Water. Oh no. That was the problem. It was the water that was making her feel unwell. She looked down at it intently. Was she hallucinating? It was if someone had a shot a video and slowed it right down, to mere milliseconds of movement, and then they had somehow got this barely moving film clip in to the National Geographic magazine. She could see the water of the sea, rippling slightly; the suns reflection bouncing of it in a ray of colour. Oh god, it was the face as well. The smile, was it smirking slightly? Were the corner of this man’s smile moving?


She felt sick. But it wasn’t just the picture of the sea, it was the feeling of the sea. She put her hands down on the bright red sofa to steady herself. She could have sworn she felt as though she was swaying. Side to side, side to side, as if on a boat. She felt her tummy go as it would if she were in a car going over a hill too quickly.


Suddenly she became aware of Camilla standing in the doorway.


“You don’t look well. Maybe you should lie down?”


“Yeah... oh God... my head...”


She felt her gag reflex go. Straight away Camilla was helping her up and the seconds that followed turned to a blur. She was on the sofa. The sea was moving. The man was smiling. She was being lead to the bathroom. She was being sick. She was lying on the bathroom floor shattered with Camilla stroking her face. She was being helped up and in to the bedroom. The nice comfy bedroom with the white sheets and ceiling to floor glass window overlooking London. She was laying on her back. She was aware of voices.


“I think you need to just lie down, baby. It’s not been your day today. I think that panic attack shook you up and then you had a reaction to your meds for some reason. Maybe just rest. Go to sleep. I’ll check on you later. Nite nite, now.”


Hello? Can you hear me?


Can you hear any of us?


I’m not sure she can hear you.


We didn’t mean to startle you, Catherine...


“Yeah I can still hear you.”


“No darling, I’m saying go to sleep. You’re delirious. Shut your eyes and sleep for a bit.”


Sorry, we’ll come back at a better time for you. Goodbye, Catherine.


Bye darlin’.


“What?”


“Nite nite, sleep.”


Kate let the delirium take over and her heavy lids fell shut. She didn’t understand what was going on but decided to take Camilla’s advice and just sleep.


Chapter 7. Beluga talks

Kate sat herself down on the banks of the river Thames on a little wooden bench, and looked out across the water. It wasn’t the same endless body of water she’d looked out across, out across to American, down at Lands End in Cornwall, but it would have to do. At twenty five, she felt embarrassed that her life was still like this; out of control and lurched from insanely happy moments, to moments of pure terror.


She’s had another one of her panic attacks and was going to have to take one of her tablets.


She’d been harmlessly browsing through some market stalls near City Hall – sampling Japanese foods and sweets, and what had started as a happy day just pottering about, had very quickly turned in to a nightmare. She’d turned around and been met by crowds of people, all pushing and shoving each other. She’d tried to say excuse me but nobody had heard her and she’d been blocked in. One of them, a big broad shouldered man was talking frantically on his phone and she’d repeatedly said “excuse me” but he hadn’t budged. He was too engrossed in his blackberry to care about the petite sized woman frantically worrying in front of him. In the end she’d had to push her way through and had had to leave the market, panicked by the chaos and commotion. In the frenzy, she’d forgotten to inform her girlfriend she was leaving, but knew now that it had happened so many times before that Camilla would naturally follow her out, knowing exactly what had happened.


Now Kate sat on the banks of the River Thames. Camilla had gone in to a small coffee shop behind them to get her a cup of tea to sip to calm her down, and so she waited. She watched the river