Binti gave him a scary look and chased him with a tea towel. Joe joined in, pulling the worst face he could, and Foggy, their schnauzer, woken by the excitement, scurried round Peter’s legs, barking loudly.
‘I knew it! My son’s taking after his mother, and even the dog’s against me,’ Peter cried dramatically. ‘I bet a big-belly seahorse doesn’t have to put up with such treatment. I’ll have to retire to my shed for a bit of peace and quiet.’
‘A seahorse doesn’t have a shed to retire to,’ Aesha observed.
‘More like a stable!’ Joe chortled. ‘Ha!’
‘You’re all mad,’ said Binti, ‘and I’ll be hopping mad if you don’t hurry up and finish packing.’
‘Do you mean island-hopping mad?’ Joe said, grinning.
‘Ha, funny, ha,’ said Aesha. ‘You and Dad tell the worst jokes.’
‘Nobody would think we were going away for a month tomorrow morning from the state of your rooms,’ said Binti in exasperation. ‘Now move!’
‘It’s that scary face again,’ Peter said.
Binti picked up a broom and swept them out of the kitchen.
Joe ran to his bedroom, shoved his model-making kit under the bed, grabbed his underpants, T-shirts and shorts from the drawers and dumped them in the case Binti had left out for him. He took his camera from the shelf, wrapped it in a towel and placed it carefully in a corner of the case. Then he picked up his flip-flops and a pair of sandals and threw them in on top. He could hear Aesha complaining that her suitcase was too small to accommodate everything she needed, and his father replying that she wouldn’t require her ball gown and tiara where they were going.
Joe was incredibly excited. He had been on plenty of trips with his parents before, but this one promised to be particularly fascinating, and he would have plenty of opportunities to take photographs like his father. He loved travelling on boats and he had never snorkelled before, so that was something else to look forward to. There was also something very appealing about seahorses that made him eager to see them in their natural environment. He laid his brand new flippers and snorkel mask in the suitcase, hoping that this was going to be his best adventure yet.
Chapter 3
Joe bagged the window seat on the flight from Heathrow to Hong Kong. He loved looking out as the plane left the ground and everything grew smaller and smaller. He was amused for a while by a young Filipino girl who kept popping up from the seat in front, gazing over the top of it, bright-eyed and mischievous, then ducking down again. Peter encouraged her by pulling hilarious faces, but the game stopped when she fell fast asleep, sprawled across her mother’s lap. Joe watched a film, played card games with Binti, and read some of his book, which was about orphan children living on the streets.
‘The kids in this story are so poor, Mum, the only way they can get anything to eat is to search through people’s rubbish for something to sell.’ Joe was indignant that anyone should have to do that.
‘I’m afraid it’s like that in many parts of the world, and I agree that it’s terrible. The Philippines is one of the poorest countries in the world, and lots of children live on the streets in the cities.’
Joe was shocked. He had imagined they were going somewhere full of happiness and sunshine and laughter. He supposed the reason he had thought that was because they had packed T-shirts and shorts and were planning to go snorkelling and island-hopping. It had all sounded very idyllic.
‘Is that why seahorses are endangered?’ he asked. ‘Is it because people sell them to make money to live?’
‘It’s partly that,’ Binti agreed, ‘although lots of different things usually combine to cause problems for an endangered species. It’s very important for local people to be involved in saving the seahorses, which is why the experts in the field are working very closely with local communities.’
‘Like in Russia, with the tigers?’
Binti nodded. ‘Without the support of the locals, conservationists fight a losing battle.’
Joe nodded. He had already learnt first-hand how teams of Russians had been trained to patrol areas where the Amur tiger roamed, in order to prevent hunting and poaching.
‘It’s no different back home, you know,’ Binti continued. ‘There are plenty of endangered species in England. They may not be as high profile as tigers and rhinos, but that doesn’t make them less important. And again, local communities are encouraged to get involved in helping to save them.’
Joe closed his eyes and wondered if there were any endangered species in the area where they lived. He hadn’t heard of any, but he could think of a few species he would be happy to see disappear, like daddy-long-legs and cockroaches – and his maths teacher. He didn’t think anyone would rally to save his maths teacher.
‘Penny for them,’ Joe heard his father saying. ‘You were grinning all over your face.’
‘I was thinking about Mr Gregory.’
‘Well, that’s nothing to smile about.’ His father laughed. ‘You hate maths and Mr Gregory is your worst nightmare. I can’t believe you’re taking them on holiday with you.’
‘I wish both of them were extinct!’ Joe grinned again.
‘Poor Mr Gregory,’ said Peter. ‘I’m sure somebody somewhere would miss him.’
‘Were you good at maths at school, Dad?’ Joe asked.
‘Hopeless,’ said Peter. ‘You take after your old man in that direction, I’m afraid. Your mum’s much better.’
Joe closed his eyes again. This time his mind drifted away on images of his family swimming like fish in a warm sea, surrounded by seahorses and other marine creatures, and accepted as guardians of their environment. Even the sharks were friendly, swimming alongside them, nudging them with their noses every so often . . .
When a voice eventually found its way through the water, telling him to fasten his seat belt, he ignored it first of all, thinking that this instruction couldn’t apply
