Rio’s heart buzzed and shone in excitement at the thought.

He’d even mellowed slightly toward his grandmother. Mainly because it was hard to keep being cross at someone for so long. Also, because he had found her frantically searching the marina when he’d returned the other day. But rather than be angry with him, she’d seemed relieved and even slightly emotional that he’d come back. Rio had been the carer for so long, that it was a slightly odd feeling to be the one being cared for,

“Oh, Rio,” she’d exclaimed. “Please don’t ever run off like that again.”

Then she’d given him one of her peppermint-smelling hugs.

And not only did she take him shopping to get him new shorts, sunglasses, ocean-friendly suntan lotion, she’d also lent him her binoculars. Admittedly, they were heavy, clunky things and he’d had to wipe off a couple of cobwebs and a stray spider first.

While he waited on the pier for Marina, he practiced using the binoculars to stare at the horizon.

“I like your shorts. Nice deep pockets.”

Rio jumped. He had been so deep in thought, he hadn’t heard Marina come up behind him.

“I . . . uh . . . took your advice.”

“Anyway, you’re looking all wrong. You’re waving the binoculars around like they’re some kind of pom-pom.” She grabbed them from his hand and then pointed them at the horizon, holding them perfectly still for the longest of times. “Like that. You need to keep them focused in one place. The first and most important rule for a whale watcher is patience.”

She held the binoculars out, and Rio took them silently, before realizing she expected him, there and then, to resume his watching. Placing them against his eyes, he couldn’t help but feel like he was sitting some kind of test. As if on cue, Marina reached out her hand and corrected the height at which he was holding them. “Angle them more like this. That’s it. Now just hold them steady!”

Rio did exactly as she instructed, even when his eyes felt as if they were going to pop out of his head from staring so hard.

“There!” She pointed excitedly to the horizon. “Three o’clock!”

It took Rio a second to realize Marina wasn’t telling him the time but was actually directing him where to look by using a clock face as a geographical marker. By the time he’d worked that out, all he saw was the faintest splash of water, but no whale.

Even without binoculars, her eyesight was as sharp as an eagle’s. But no matter how hard Rio looked, all he could see were the white crests of waves breaking, a few brave surfers, and the occasional sailing boat.

“The second rule of whale watching,” she said reassuringly, as if sensing his disappointment, “is to never give up. Now you know where the whale is, move your binoculars a fraction to the left and keep them steady. Wait, wait, wait . . . It will resurface anytime . . . now! See that plume of water?”