The life she’d found herself living in this remote corner of the world was so much harder than she’d imagined. The fishing money only went so far, and when the sea froze over in the long winter, the men turned to the seal hunt. She hated that. The ice floes were dangerous – men drowned every year. Agnes thought she was a fool when she’d refuse to cook the bloody seal flippers Ephraim and Thomas brought home. Would you have us starve? Agnes would admonish her. So, she’d cook them, but she refused to eat them. She’d had more than one supper of bread and margarine.
They’d only just got the electricity connected in the spring, though indoor plumbing was still a distant dream. And finding a book to read in Tippy’s Tickle was like searching for a diamond in a mountain of coal. It’d been a shock when she’d discovered that most of the locals were illiterate. Though, now that money was coming in from the Canadian government there was talk of a new regional high school down the coast in Wesleyville. Ellie had managed to lobby the village council to ask for Canadian money to sponsor Bertha Perkins, up from Grand Falls, to teach the younger children in the church hall basement, though, admittedly, she’d done that more for Emmett’s benefit than from any altruistic impulse. So, things were improving, but it was a slow road. Newfoundland was hardly the romantic idyll she’d imagined.
And now Dottie had married George. She should be happy for them. She would be happy for them. She’d made her choice. Her life was in Newfoundland with Thomas and Emmy and the new baby. She’d likely never see Norwich or her sister or George again.
Chapter 65
Tippy’s Tickle – 15 September 2011
They turned up in the middle of the night, beaching themselves on the sandy shore below Bufflehead Cottage. Over one hundred of them. Pilot whales. All female. Most of them pregnant.
***
‘Grab the flukes, Becca! Pull them with me!’
Becca looks at Sophie, hesitating as the blood-laced waves beat against her rubber boots.
‘Please, Becca! Please!’
Becca splashes into the water between the whales’ writhing, sleek grey bodies, and grabs hold of the flailing flukes with Sophie. They tug, grinding their booted feet into the shifting sand, but every centimetre of success is countered by the whale thrusting its huge body back onto the shore.
‘Again! Again, Becca!’
‘Over here, Sophie!’ Toby Molloy, his too-long hair plastered back over his head with saltwater, throws Sophie the end of a rope he’s tied to the seat of the rowboat he and Thor are rowing in the pinkening water. ‘Tie this to the flukes. We’ll haul it out into the sea.’
Sophie ties the rope into the slipknot her father had taught her for her school tie and pulls the loop wide. She tosses the looped rope to Becca. ‘Take hold of it, Becca. We’ll loop it over her flukes together.’ She pulls the knot tight and gives Toby a thumbs up. He and Thor thrust the oars into the churning ocean and drag the whale away from the beach.
A roar of motorcycles. Sophie looks up to see the bikes of the Chrome Warriors bounce down the rocky path towards the beach. After parking the bikes in the scrubby grass along the sand, the bikers charge like a leather-clad army down the beach to the floundering whales. Sam splashes through the pink foam towards them.
‘It’s awful, Sam. I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘I know. I’ve called the whale release group over in Portugal Cove. They’re sending a team to help. They’ll be here this afternoon. I put a call out to the Warriors in the meantime.’
‘Emmett’s out there in the motorboat with Florie. Everyone’s here. The fishermen have been hauling the whales out into the ocean all morning. We’ve managed to get about half of the whales back out there.’
Ace stamps through the water and claps Sam on his shoulder. ‘What next, b’y?’
‘Grab as many of their flukes as you can, and haul them out. Get one of the guys to help Becca.’
‘Right, b’y.’ Ace tips his hand to his forehead in a salute. ‘Consider it done.’ He turns and strides down the beach to the others. ‘Get your hands outta your trousers, b’ys, and grab yourself some tail. Show us what you’re made of.’
Sophie holds up her phone and records the scene, spotting Becca on the screen cradling the bull-like head of a whale in her lap further down the beach. ‘Why are they doing this?’
Sam surveys the writhing bodies of the exhausted whales. ‘Some say it’s radar affecting their homing abilities, some say it’s pollution, oil in the water … How would your hotel guests like waking up to see this out of their windows? Not quite what the consortium has in mind, is it?’ He runs his hand through his hair. ‘Sorry. Thanks for coming out.’
Sophie pockets her phone. ‘I’m not all bad.’
Sam nods. ‘Come on, Princess Grace. Let’s do this.’
***
Sophie stands on top of a rock by the beach and wipes her wet face with her hand. ‘We’re getting there, Sam. There’s only thirty-five still on the beach.’
Sam leaps onto the rock beside her, waving at Becca who is in the boat with Toby and Thor. ‘I saw you and Becca working with each other earlier.’
‘Yeah. The whales, you know. I don’t imagine she’s forgiven me.’ Sophie waves at the boat. ‘Toby’s been doing a great job. He’s been back and forth all day pulling the whales away from the beach.’
Sam holds up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun and squints at the boat. ‘He’s still a distraction for Becca if she wants to pass her
