Oh God. That’s pretty damn sexy, isn’t it?
Watching a man get this excited about a good cause?
Oh my, yes.
Alright, girl. Calm down a little. Just order some food and stop thinking about how good he looks in that suit.
I turn my attention to the menu, and it doesn’t take me long to pick out what I want. I’m a sucker for Mexican food, and the tacos sound particularly tasty. I’ve never tried a vegetarian variant before, but am happy to give them a go tonight. The tacos appear to be a brand-new dish as well, according to the menu, and restaurants tend to make more effort with their new dishes, so I’m hoping they’re going to be very good.
The waiter comes back over and takes our order, with Nolan going for a red Thai curry, and by the time he walks away, I’m salivating at the prospect of my tacos. I haven’t eaten well today – the product of being nervous, I guess – so the damn things can’t come quick enough.
I’m about to say as much to Nolan when a large set of doors at the side of the restaurant open, and a troop of Halliwell Bird Sanctuary staff members walk in, all wearing the same beige and brown polo shirts and carrying a selection of large, squawking tropical birds.
A tall young man presents himself in the centre of the restaurant floor, holding a fat white cockatoo – easily the biggest of the bunch.
‘Good evening everybody, and welcome to Paradise in Flight. My colleagues and I will be bringing our birds over to spend a little time with you as you eat your meals. They are well trained and happy to be here, but we do ask that you don’t reach out to touch them without getting our say-so.’
The young man then makes a beeline straight for our table, which initially surprises me, but then I have to remember that Nolan is likely to be known to the management, given our new relationship with them. They’re probably trying to impress.
‘Good evening,’ the young man says to us, as he plonks the cockatoo down on the perch next to the table. ‘My name is Keiran, and this is Squawks the Cockatoo.’
‘Hello, Keiran,’ I reply.
‘Hello, Squawks,’ Nolan says with a grin.
Squawks is a very impressive-looking bird, but he looks entirely unimpressed with the pair of us. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a laid-back member of the avian species. He just sits there, paying us no heed whatsoever. Other customers might be disappointed by this, but I’m okay with it.
Looking at some of the other birds, I’d say we’ve done well with fat old Mr Squawks. There’s a parrot a few tables away who can barely sit still – much to the delight of the young girl and her parents who are sat there.
‘Squawks is very well behaved,’ Keiran says. ‘And is quite happy to be touched. He particularly likes to be tickled behind the ear.’
‘Ah, well, if that’s the case . . .’ Nolan responds. ‘May I?’
‘Of course!’ Keiran seems delighted that Nolan is keen to have a go on Squawks. ‘Just reach out and have a little tickle.’
Nolan stands up and does this – and wouldn’t you know it, the cockatoo does look quite happy about it.
I wonder if I can get Nolan to tickle me behind the ear at some point? If it worked for Squawks, it’d probably work for me too.
‘Do you want a go?’ Nolan asks me.
I put up my hands. ‘No, I’m fine, thanks. I’m happy for Squawks and me to maintain a dignified distance from one another. You fill your boots though.’
And fill his boots Nolan does. Over the next few minutes I watch as man and cockatoo bond through the medium of gentle tickling. It’s extremely sweet.
They seem to be getting along so well that Keiran tells us he’s going to go and supervise the hectic green parrot I mentioned before, because the young girl handling it is having a bit of trouble calming it down.
‘That’s fine,’ Nolan tells him. ‘Squawks and I are getting along like a house on fire. We’ll be okay with him.’
He’s not wrong. The cockatoo is actually nuzzling Nolan’s hand now.
. . . oh God. I think I’m a bit jealous of a cockatoo.
‘Maybe I will have a small tickle after all,’ I say, getting up and going over to Squawks. I’m not saying I’m doing this to deflect Nolan’s attention back to me, but I’m not going to deny it either.
Squawks doesn’t care. He’s just being tickled behind both ears now, which is taking him to a sublime level of pleasure that he’ll remember for the rest of his parroty days, I’m sure.
The tickling session comes to an end when the tacos and the Thai curry arrive. Nolan and I sit back down, leaving Squawks looking a tad disappointed. He doesn’t make a move towards us though, to demand more tickling. He seems quite content to just sit on the perch and wait for us to come back to him. You get the impression this is a routine Squawks has been through many times.
Nolan and I tuck into our food, and once I take a bite of the first of my tacos, thoughts of cockatoos and tickling go out of my head. They are absolutely delicious. Stunningly good. Probably the best I’ve ever had.
I eat in silence for a few minutes, savouring my meal to the fullest. Once my initial hunger has been sated by two of the tacos, I look up to see Nolan smiling at me. ‘Hungry, eh?’ he says.
I go a little red in the face. ‘Yeah. Haven’t eaten well today. I guess I felt a bit nervous about tonight.’
You didn’t have to tell him that. Why did you tell him that?
It’s because I know him well, isn’t it? It’s because I’ve spent a lot of time in his company. Nolan is very easy to talk to. It’s just that now the content of the conversation has changed.
‘You and me both!’ he confides. ‘Actually, asking you out was the most nerve-wracking thing, though.’
‘Well, I’m glad you did,’ I tell him, plucking a third taco from my plate. ‘And I’m glad you brought me here tonight. These things are fantastic, and I intend to enjoy each and every one of th—’
It’s at this point that the taco magically disappears from my hand. One second it’s there, the next it’s gone. The only thing that indicates what’s happened to it is a blur of white that crosses my field of vision momentarily.
‘What the . . . ?’ I blurt out, blinking rapidly.
‘Bloody hell!’ Nolan exclaims. ‘Squawks!’
I jerk my head around to regard the cockatoo, who is now back on his perch, as if he had never moved. You wouldn’t know what he had just done, were it not for the fact that he now has half a taco stuck in his beak.
‘Squawks!’ I exclaim indignantly, and rise from my chair. The cheeky little bugger!
I only have four tacos in total, and this parrot has just removed 25 per cent of them from my person. He’s already eaten half of it, so I’ve irrevocably lost 12.5 per cent, but I’m going to attempt to get the rest of it back. Oh yes I am.
‘Give me back my taco please, Squawks!’ I demand, putting my hands on my hips.
Nolan laughs as he watches me do this.
Squawks looks at me for a second, before devouring the rest of my taco in one massive gulp.
I blink a couple of times and let out a chuckle of disbelief. I am stunned. Partly because the parrot has just openly defied me, but partly because I’ve just seen a cockatoo eat a taco.
Cockatoos don’t eat tacos, do they? They eat fruit. And nuts. The occasional insect maybe. But not tacos. I’m sure they don’t eat tacos. If they did, it would have turned up on a David Attenborough show at some point, and I’ve watched all of those buggers. Nary a mention was made of cockatoo-based taco consumption in any of them.
Keiran has made his way back over to our table, and can see what I’m doing. To him, it probably looks like I’m squaring up to his parrot. The evidence of the beaky thief’s crime has disappeared down its gullet.
‘Is everything alright?’ he asks.
‘No, not really. Your cockatoo ate my taco,’ I tell him, pointing at the offending article – which has now gone back to looking around the place, ignoring us completely.
Keiran doesn’t look like he believes a word of it.
‘It’s true,’ Nolan adds, standing up as well. ‘It swooped and took it out of Ellie’s hand.’
‘Swooped?’ Keiran replies, incredulous. He gives the fat cockatoo another look. He might well sound sceptical. From looking at Squawks, it’s hard to believe he’s swooped on anything since he was a chick.
But swoop he did! Right on to my taco!
‘It’s true,’ I say to Keiran. ‘He took my taco, and I would very much like a replacement, please.’
Keiran still doesn’t look too sure – and if I had no witnesses, I don’t think he’d believe me – but I have Nolan to back me up. ‘Okay . . . I’ll ask the kitchen to prepare you some more.’ He sounds very dubious about the whole thing.
‘Thank you!’ I say, still feeling a bit indignant.
‘And I’ll take Squawks away,’ he adds.
‘Oh,’ Nolan says with disappointment. ‘Will we get another one?’
‘Yes. I’ll bring Daisy over. She’s our smallest parrot. She’s not likely to . . . steal any of your food.’
He thinks we’re lying! I can tell!
Keiran picks Squawks up and carries him away to another table. I sit back down again, still reeling a little from my run-in with the feathered taco thief. What a bizarre thing to happen.
Keiran returns with a small, rather stunned-looking blue parrot that doesn’t seem much bigger than one of my lovely tacos, so I know I’m not going to get a repeat performance. If Daisy tried to wolf one down, she’d probably choke to death.
Nolan doesn’t seem anywhere near as interested in our new, smaller bird. He’d obviously bonded with Squawks, and now looks a little sad that he’s been taken away.
Oh lord. Now I feel a little guilty about the whole thing.
This is ridiculous, of course. After all, it was Squawks that nicked my food, not the other way around (I doubt seeds and crickets would go well with my digestive system) – but I don’t want Nolan to look sad. Not on our first date.
My mood brightens with the fresh plate of two tacos that the waiter brings over to me a few minutes later, apologising for the inconvenience as he does so. ‘We have never had a bird do that before,’ he tells us. ‘It may be because the tacos are fresh on the menu this evening.’
I nod. That sounds a likely reason for the issue with Squawks. Maybe he’s always had a thing for tacos, but never had the chance to get hold of one here before.
There’s probably a vast and complex backstory as to why Squawks has developed this love of Mexican food – and it would probably make a great children’s novel, but I can’t flesh out a synopsis right now, as there are two more tacos in my immediate future and I must get down to eating them without further hesitation.
As I chomp down on the first one, Nolan and I talk a little about work, because it was inevitable we would at some point, wasn’t it? Happily, there’s not much to discuss that isn’t positive. Nolan is extremely pleased by the amount of business we’re generating.
‘And so much of that has been down to you, Ellie,’ he tells me with a huge smile on his face. ‘Your commitment to the environmental cause has been so fantastic. Making you the Head of Client Relations was the best business decision I ever made!’
Oh God.
Guilt instantly suffuses every fibre of my being. The tacos – so incredibly tasty a few moments ago – have suddenly lost all their taste.
Nolan really does think I’m just like him.
He really does believe I’m some kind of environmental rock star . . . when in reality, nothing could be further from the truth.
Hell, that’s probably one of the reasons he fancies me. It’s probably why he asked me out to dinner!
This entire date is predicated on a lie!
I crunch the tasteless taco in my mouth a few more times and try to avoid his gaze.
His lovely, soft gaze.
Oh, for fuck’s sake!
Be honest!
What?
Be honest with him!
I can’t do that!
Yes you bloody can!
My conscious is absolutely right. I do have to be honest with Nolan.
If I’m really going to think about starting something romantic with this man, I have to be honest and upfront with him about what I really think and feel. You can’t start anything with someone based on lies.
I have to tell him the truth!
This starts with being honest about my initial scheme to keep my job – like turning up at the Worriors protest, and sticking those pot plants everywhere.
And then I can tell him how much I’ve enjoyed working by his side. How much I’ve enjoyed his enthusiasm for tackling climate change. How much his influence has rubbed off on me.
Yes!
That sounds good, doesn’t it? That sounds like something he’d like to hear!
And tell him about Robert, too.
What?!
You have to tell him about Demonic Rab. About the relationship you had with him.
I can’t do that! Nolan will probably know all about Robert Ainslie bloody Blake and his love of destroying natural habitats! It was all over the papers for weeks!
He’ll find out, Ellie. If you start a relationship with Nolan, he will find out about it. Past flings have a way of rearing their ugly heads, you know this.
But . . . but Nolan will hate me!
Not if you explain it properly. Not if you make sure he knows how much you dislike Robert now, and how much you regret the relationship.
Oh God . . . okay.
Okay.
Jesus. Okay.
The blood drains out of my face as I look Nolan square in the eyes and start to speak. ‘You see, the thing is, when you first came along, Nolan, I was really worried about keeping my job, so I have to confess that I—’
A blur of white feathers. A hand full of taco becomes a hand devoid of taco.
‘Bloody hell!’ I exclaim, as I watch Squawks soar off across the restaurant with my food.
He banks sharply to the left, swings back again in a graceful arc, and comes to rest in a flurry of hectic wings back on the perch next to our table. Poor old Daisy is shoved aside like yesterday’s news.
I’m gobsmacked.
Not only has Squawks repeated his bold act of larceny, he’s now gloating about it right in front of us!
‘Give that back!’ I demand. The first time I could laugh the theft off, but this is the second time, and it’s starting to feel a bit personal.
I tickled you behind the ear, Squawks. Is this how you repay me?
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Keiran and a couple of other members of Halliwell’s staff start to make their way over to where I’m stood. ‘You give me that taco back right now, mister,’ I insist again, moving towards Squawks with purpose.
This will not stand. I was about to confess everything to Nolan, and this bloody parrot has interrupted me just as I’d worked up the courage to be honest!
‘Give it back!’ I repeat, and reach out to pluck the remains of my taco from Squawks’s beak. This is not something I would do ordinarily. Birds’ beaks tend to be sharp and nasty, and that’s without considering the involvement of the clawed feet in any physical confrontation. But that’s my taco, and I was just about to have a heartfelt conversation with a man who I have quite clearly developed feelings for! I did not want to be interrupted by a thieving parrot!
I grab hold of the taco, and yank it out of Squawks’s mouth. He looks decidedly put out by this.
‘Hah! Take that!’ I crow triumphantly, grasping the now soggy, disintegrating mess of a taco in one hand.
Squawks takes one look at me . . . and launches himself at my head.
‘Aaaarggh!’ I scream, as bird and head come into hard and deeply unpleasant contact with one another. Squawks doesn’t quite dig his claws right into my skull, but I can feel them scraping away up there, as he flaps around like a thing possessed.
Thi
s is escalation on a scale I wasn’t prepared for in the slightest. Squawks clearly has psychopathic tendencies. Or at least an abiding love of tacos that turns him from being placid and laid-back into maniacal and insane at the flick of a mental switch.
‘Fucking hell!’ I shriek, as I start to stumble around with Squawks now caught up in my hair. If the little sod decides he wants a firmer grip on my noggin, I am in for some extremely bad times.
Can parrot claws pierce a human skull? And how the hell did I manage to get myself into a situation where that becomes a question I need an immediate and clear answer to?
With screeching cockatoo atop my head, I pinball around Paradise in Flight, banging into tables and chairs, my field of vision resolutely blocked by flailing white wings.
It therefore comes as a massive shock when I feel hands grabbing me around the waist.
Oh, fabulous – not only am I being attacked by a parrot, but someone is also attempting to molest me, in what can only be described as disgusting opportunism of the highest order.
‘Please stop moving around!’ I hear Keiran cry from behind me. ‘We can’t get him off if you keep thrashing about!’
Oh, I’m sooooo fucking sorry, Keiran. Is that not the proper protocol when you’re being attacked by a maniacal bird of paradise? Is it considered impolite and impractical to thrash around when a parrot is about to claw your bloody eyes out?
‘Get him off me!’ I cry in a guttural, panicked voice.
SQUAWK SQUAWK SQUAWK, goes Squawks, in what I can only assume is cockatoo for ‘This’ll teach you to nick my fucking taco!’
‘But it was my taco!’ I actually scream out loud, as Keiran and his friends attempt to wrestle the parrot away from me. ‘Parrots don’t eat tacos!’ I add, feeling my hair being yanked out of my head as they try to pull him off.
SQUAWK SQUAWK SQUAWK, he screeches. ‘Well, this fucking parrot does!’ is what he is no doubt saying at this juncture.
Going Green Page 14