Whale Pot Bay by Des Hunt Read Free Book Online Page B

it.’
    By then my stomach was tumbling like a clothes drier. I’d hoped that my part in the matter might be kept secret, but Weston clearly wanted Milt to know.
    ‘No, not your manager—this young man here,’ he said pointing to me. ‘He helpfully gave me a ride in his jeep.’
    Milton spun around to me. ‘You brought him here.’ It was an accusation, not a question.
    ‘He said Grandad had sent him to test the soil.’
    ‘And you didn’t check him out?’ By now Milt was almost shouting at me.
    ‘Yes, I did!’ I protested. ‘I rang his firm and they said he was all right.’
    ‘Well, he plainly isn’t, is he?’
    I remained silent. I felt fool enough without opening my mouth and making matters worse.
    He turned back to Weston. ‘Get out of here!’ he shouted. ‘And next time I will charge you with trespass, no matter how you get here.’ He then turned and strode off towards the elevator. I glared at the man for a while before following.
    The trip across the sand was in silence, but I could feel Milt’s anger alongside me. It wasn’t until the elevator was halfway up that he turned to me and asked, ‘Did you tell anybody about the surfing lessons?’
    I hung my head.
    ‘Did you?’
    I nodded.
    ‘Who?’
    I told him.
    For a while, he just looked at me. Then we reached the top and the door opened. I moved to go out, but he put an arm out to block me. ‘I asked you to keep it quiet, didn’t I?’
    By then I’d recovered enough to start defending myself. ‘I thought it would be OK to tell Stephanie. I told her not to pass it on.’
    ‘Well, she obviously did! I bet she went to school and told all her friends. Then the text messages would have started and by now half the world knows.’
    I said nothing, knowing that he was probably right.
    He grabbed hold of my shoulders. ‘Look at me, Jake. I want you to understand what you have done.’
    I tried to look him in the eye, but found I could hold it for only a moment.
    ‘That man took photos of me surfing. He hoped to sell them for thousands and thousands of dollars. He can’t now because I wiped them. But that won’t stop him selling the story. Someday soon, some sleazy magazine or newspaper will publish it, and then everyone will know. One of the few private things in my life has been taken away from me. Because of what you’ve done. Well, it’s not going to happen a second time. If I ever go surfing again, it will be on my own. Do you understand what I’m saying? From now on you’re not welcome around here anymore.’

Chapter 7
    I once did a school project on scatology, which is the study of animal scats—more commonly called ‘droppings’ or ‘faeces’ or one of the several other words which I won’t mention. Scientists can find out lots about an animal by studying its scats. The sperm whale is an example. A middle-sized male produces about half a tonne of faeces a day—which really is a pile of it. While most of us wouldn’t want to swim in the water just after a whale has gone to the toilet, that’s exactly what whale scientists do. They follow sperm whales and collect their scats. They’re hoping to find three things: remains of food, so that they can work out what the whale has eaten; bits of gut lining, so they can analyse its DNA; and parasitic worms, as these indicate the health of the animal.
    As I lay in bed that night after the argument with Milt, I thought about the photographer, and I also thought about those worms they find in scats. It seemed to me there was a lot in common between the two. The photographer fed off other people’s lives in the same way that the parasitic worms fed off the whales. Just before I went to sleep I came up with my own name for Mr Stuart Weston. I called him ‘Scatworm’—the creature that lives in faeces. It was surprising how much better that made me feel.
    I didn’t tell Dad about Scatworm’s visit. I did, however, ask about his trip to town. He confirmed that he and Grandad had gone