The Tide in Ollie’s Shell
Ollie lived in a tall, thin house in a town a long, long way from the sea. The house had a bath that gurgled and a kettle that whistled. And on the shelf by Ollie’s bed, it had the sea.
The sea lived in a big pink shell. Gran had found it on her beach and given it to Ollie. Every night, Ollie held it to his ear.
First he told it about his day. That was only polite.
“I had soup,” Ollie said into the shell. “I found a red button. Dad sat on my hat.”
Then he listened.
“Shhh,” said the sea.
“Ahhh,” said the sea.
The waves came in, and the waves went out. Ollie shut his eyes and pretended to swim, slow and far, all the way to sleep.
It was a real sea, too. Every morning there was a pinch of damp sand at the bottom of the shell. Ollie tipped it into an eggcup on the windowsill. The eggcup was turning into a tiny beach.
One night Ollie put on his pajamas. He brushed his teeth. He climbed into bed and picked up his shell.
“Today I jumped in a puddle,” he told it. “Then Dad jumped in it too, and the puddle went all over Dad.”
Then he listened.
Nothing.
No shhh. No ahhh. Not one little wave.
Ollie gave the shell a gentle shake. He tried his other ear. He tried it upside down.
“Mom!” he called. “Dad! The sea’s gone!”
Mom came first. She held the shell to her ear. Mom was good at listening very hard with her eyes shut. She listened so hard her nose went crinkly.
“Nothing,” said Mom.
Dad came next, with a dish towel on his shoulder. He listened too.
“Not a splash,” said Dad.
Ollie looked at the eggcup. “But there was sand this morning,” he said. “So where did the sea go?”
“Let’s look,” said Dad.
They went to the bathroom first. A sea might like a bathroom. Ollie’s bathwater was still in the tub, so he pulled out the plug. They all bent down and listened to the plughole.
“Gurgle,” said the plughole. “Gurgle-urgle-ug.”
“That’s not the sea,” said Ollie. “That’s just the bath.”
They went down to the kitchen next. A sea might like a kettle. Mom filled it up and switched it on. They all leaned in close.
The kettle rumbled. Then it went, “Wheeeeee!”
“That’s not the sea,” said Ollie. “That’s just the kettle.”
Ollie’s mouth wobbled a bit. Dad saw.
“Never mind,” said Dad. “I can be the sea.”
He took a big breath. He puffed out his cheeks.
“Shhh-chuff-chuff!” went Dad. “Ahhh-CHOO! Choo-choo!”
It did not sound like the sea. It sounded like a train with a very bad cold.
Mom laughed so much she had to hold on to the table. Ollie laughed so much he sat down on the floor.
Dad bowed. “Next stop, the seaside,” said Dad.
From down on the floor, Ollie could see the bottom of the fridge. There was Gran’s card, held on by the magnet shaped like a fish.
He pulled it out from under the fish and gave it to Mom.
“Dear Ollie,” Mom read. “Shells have tides too. Some nights it is low tide at bedtime. Be quiet and wait. Love, Gran.”
“Low tide,” said Dad. “Remember Gran’s beach?”
Ollie remembered. Some days at Gran’s beach, the sea went out so far you could walk on the wet sand. Then it came back in, all on its own.
“So the sea isn’t lost,” said Ollie. “It’s only out.”
“Then we’ll wait,” said Mom.
They went back up to Ollie’s room. Ollie got into bed. Mom sat on one side and Dad sat on the other. The big pink shell sat in the middle.
Gran’s card said be quiet. So they were quiet.
Mom shut her eyes. Dad held his nose, in case a sneezy train came out. Ollie kept as still as a sock in a drawer.
The bath had stopped gurgling. The kettle had stopped whistling. The whole tall house was quiet.
Then, from far, far away, very small:
“Shhh,” said the sea.
Ollie’s eyes went wide.
Then a little closer:
“Ahhh,” said the sea.
The waves came in, nearer and nearer, until the shell was full of them. A tiny bit of white foam bubbled up at the edge. Pop, pop, pop. And the whole bedroom smelled of salt, just like Gran’s beach.
“Hello, sea,” said Ollie. “I missed you.”
“We all did,” said Mom.
Dad let go of his nose. “Welcome back,” he said, in his smallest voice. It did not sound like a train at all.
Ollie laid the shell on his pillow, next to his ear. Mom kissed his head. Dad tucked the quilt in tight. Then they tiptoed out and left the door open a crack, with the landing light on.
Ollie told the sea the rest of his day.
“We looked for you in the bath,” he said. “And in the kettle. And Dad was a train.”
Then he listened.
The waves came in, and the waves went out, slow as breathing. Ollie shut his eyes and swam, slow and far. In the morning there would be a pinch of damp sand for the eggcup. But that was for the morning.
“Shhh,” said the sea, very softly.
“Ahhh,” said the sea.
And Ollie was fast asleep.