скачать книгу бесплатно
Sarah Lean - 3 Book Collection
Sarah Lean
Three extraordinary stories about special friendships that will stay with you forever. By award-winning author, Sarah Lean.A Dog Called Homeless:Cally Fisher saw her mum bright and real and alive. But no one believes her, so Cally’s stopped talking.A mysterious wolfhound always seems to be there when her mum appears and now he’s started following her everywhere. But how can Cally convince anyone that Mum is still with them, or persuade Dad that the huge silver-grey dog is their last link with her?A Horse for Angel:Sometimes when things are broken you can’t fix them on your own – no matter how hard you try.When Nell is sent to stay with distant family, she packs a suitcase full of secrets. A chance encounter with a wild horse draws Nell to Angel – a mysterious, troubled girl who is hiding secrets of her own. Both girls must learn to trust each other, if they are to save a hundred horses…The Forever Whale:A shared story can last forever.Hannah’s grandad loves telling stories from his past, but there’s one that he can’t remember… one that Hannah knows is important.When a whale appears off the coast, clues to Grandad’s secret begin to surface. Hannah is determined to solve the mystery but, as she gets closer to the truth, Grandad’s story is more extraordinary than she imagined.All stories include beautiful inside artwork from hugely talented illustrator, Gary Blythe.
Table of Contents
Cover (#u4a59cc9d-019d-53a6-982f-db5d99d7954d)
Title Page (#u728eb49a-39d6-5230-9bd1-654587e34cf4)
A Dog Called Homeless (#u9244273c-8f03-5681-9ec4-cc9b22196ec5)
A Horse for Angel (#u9f6ea459-25a7-593c-a610-56eb2026cc7e)
The Forever Whale (#u51a19b4a-119f-57b6-bd77-7e93a6fef5d1)
About the Author (#u00868de2-2373-50e9-a29a-75ce92cb8b70)
Praise for Sarah Lean’s stories (#ud21634e2-4875-58c0-a210-17516b3192e1)
Copyright (#uaa1dd9af-58e4-5f56-9295-e33340eaae27)
About the Publisher (#ub0aeddd6-6069-5091-9829-100e3b6e1364)
Sarah Lean 3 Book Collection
Sarah Lean
Dedication (#u87904077-438b-5bb5-9135-9827c6a64db2)
For Dad
Contents
Cover (#u9244273c-8f03-5681-9ec4-cc9b22196ec5)
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Acknowledgments
MY NAME IS CALLY LOUISE FISHER AND I haven’t spoken for thirty-one days. Talking doesn’t always make things happen, however much you want it to. Think of rain; it just happens when it happens. When the clouds are ready, when they’re full, they drop the water. It’s not magic; it’s just putting something back where it belongs.
And this is how it all began.
1.
DAD’S BIRTHDAY, AND I GOT UP BEFORE ANYONE.
He just wanted a quiet day. No presents, no cake, no nothing. It just wouldn’t be right, he said. People forget birthdays aren’t just about them.
Dad’s birthday is also the same day my mum died last year. I think it’s called a tragedy or a catastrophe or some other big word which means more than just ‘bad luck’ when two things like that happen on the same day.
I sat outside Dad’s bedroom door with his birthday cards, waiting. Through the gap in the doorway I could just make out the dark hump under the covers and his dark head making a deep dent in his pillow. He sighed, so I knew he was awake.
There were six birthday cards for Dad. One from me, one from my older brother Luke (still in bed or on his computer – the door was shut) and four that had come in the post. I nudged Dad’s bedroom door open a bit wider and flung my card in. I saw Dad patting round the bed, feeling for the blue envelope that landed by his back, and heard it crunch as he opened it. It was a picture of a grey bear with a blue nose. It was speaking on the telephone and on the front it said A Message From Me To You.
Dad said, “Thanks, that’s nice.”
And I said, “Are you thinking about Mum?”
Silence.
And then he said, “Get me a cup of coffee, will you?”
It didn’t feel like a birthday at all, not even with the cards on top of the telly. Dad had the volume turned low while we sat around waiting for the rest of our family to arrive and come with us to visit Mum’s grave for her anniversary.
2.
GRANDPA AND GRANDMA HAMBLIN PICKED US up and drove slowly to the cemetery. We met Granddad Fisher and Aunty Sue and walked together along paths of tidy grass and loving memories.
We made a circle, stood still as statues, not talking about her because Dad says it’s too hard to talk about her. We stared at the cold, grey stone marked with her name. Louise Fisher. The same as my middle name.
And I thought about her, up there, somewhere. Not here. And because she was so far away I missed her like crazy and I wondered if I should have had some breakfast because my belly hurt like mad.
And then there she was. I saw my mum. And I know what you’re thinking – you can’t really see dead people. But I did. She was standing on the wall of the cemetery, wearing her red raincoat and waxy green hat. And I wasn’t scared. Why would I be scared of my own mum?
She put her arms out to balance, swaying as she walked along the wall. Just like she always was, doing something that made you want to laugh or do it too. She wobbled along, until she was as close as she could get to us without jumping down. She pushed her hat flat on her head. She looked at me and smiled, just like she did when she saw me sing in the school musical of Charlotte’s Web. Like you’re everything.
Grandma had a bunch of sweet peas wrapped in silver foil.
“Be a good girl and put the flowers in the vase,” she said, holding them out. Her tissue fell out of her sleeve and floated to the ground.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” I whispered, picking up her tissue and handing it back. “Do you believe Mum could come back and we could see her?”
The purple and pink flowers reflected in her glasses and made them look like a church window. She closed her eyes and dabbed her nose.
“Oh, dear,” she said, “we’re all a little upset.” She sniffed the flowers and put them in my hand.
I made my way round the tight circle of bodies and squeezed between Aunty Sue and Dad.
“Do you believe in ghosts, Aunty Sue?” I said. “Have you ever seen Mum, even though she’s not supposed to be there?”
I guided her arm so that she would turn round and look over at the wall, so she could see Mum, colourful and bright and real as anything. I watched her eyes for the sudden surprise. Her mouth made the shape of a smile, but she frowned. I didn’t know what that meant.
“She’s there, Aunty Sue,” I whispered, pointing. “Over there.”
She blinked. Nothing.
“Dad,” I said, “look! Look over there on the wall. It’s Mum!”
He rubbed his beard. They both looked at me, in that way people do when they’re not really listening to what you’re saying. So did Grandma and Grandpa Hamblin and Granddad Fisher.
Granddad Fisher said, “Now, now, Cally, it’s neither the time nor place for silly games.”
Then Grandpa Hamblin looked at the sky, at the distant grey clouds. “Rain’s on its way,” he muttered.
Dad looked at the silent earth.
“Dad?” I said. “I can see her. I know she’s dead, but she’s here.”
