‘Oh man! That is rank.’
‘It’s very clever.’ Guy gazed on with admiration. ‘It smells like a rotting carcass. Perhaps we should leave her now so she can go back to her nest.’
‘I didn’t realise such amazing things happen all around us every day.’
I wasn’t sure if Guy had heard me. He picked up the limp snake to put her back where he’d found her.
‘Look at this.’
I shuffled over to him, wary of other wildlife lurking behind bushes. He stood up again, now holding something long and brown. At first I thought it was the plastic skin off a giant salami or ice pop that someone had thoughtlessly thrown away, but when Guy offered it to me to hold I could see it was the perfectly sloughed skin of a snake. The regular pattern of round scales looked like tiny bubble wrap, or honeycomb.
‘See, the head was here and there are the eyes,’ Guy said proudly, pointing to one end. A brown nose was apparent as were two translucent bumps, like cartoon eyes that pop out. ‘It casts off the entire skin – even over the eyes – and it ends up inside out, like a rolled off stocking.’
The skin was dry and stiff.
‘Would you like to keep it?’ Guy asked, as if offering me a thousand pounds.
I took it from him. It seemed to be an intriguing souvenir for what had become a very strange day.
Guy walked part of the way home with me.
‘I just want to show you one more thing today.’ He sounded excited. We were passing an area of private allotments. ‘Come on,’ he said, opening the gate and holding it ajar for me.
‘Are we allowed in here?’ I asked.
‘Oh, yeah. Ernest owns one of the patches. I often help him out with his vegetables.’
I followed him around the edges and past a corner, where a man in his fifties knelt down, doing some weeding.
‘Hello, Guy.’
‘All right, Frank?’
‘How’s Ernie? Tell him I’ve spotted a few caterpillars on his spinach, won’t you?’
‘Sure will.’
‘You two come to help me, have you?’ The man looked up and reached out for his flask.
‘Not this time, sorry. I’ve brought a friend over. I wanted to show him my collection.’
‘Right proud of that aren’t you, son?’
Guy nodded and beckoned to me. Over in the far corner I saw a pile of decaying logs and what I took to be a compost heap. I wondered what his collection consisted of.
‘Do you know what one of the most endangered animals is in Britain?’
I thought for a moment.
‘Some kind of mouse? No, I know – the natterjack toad.’
Guy pursed his lips. ‘Very good. I’m impressed. They have taught you something at school. But, no. It isn’t that. I have here in my log pile something very precious.’
He lifted up a log and hunted around for a few moments before delving his hand into a pile of wood chips. When he pulled his hand out, I saw something black sitting in his palm about the size of a small mobile phone. It had big horns sticking out the front of its head and sat perfectly still on Guy’s hand.
‘A stag beetle,’ he stated proudly.
‘No way!’ I responded defiantly. ‘There’s no way we have beetles in this country that big.’
‘We certainly do. You just don’t see them very often. They used to be a common sight, but now there aren’t so many left. They need rotten wood to feed on and we’re covering everything with concrete and patios so their habitats are dwindling. I created this little space for them.’ He swept his arm around like a showman. ‘This is perfect for them. Dead wood and lots of decaying matter in the soil. Aren’t they fantastic?’
I have to admit I was pretty impressed with this creepy-crawly. I held out my hand and Guy immediately placed the stag beetle onto it. I felt its feet tickle and even heard it clicking, but the beetle wouldn’t settle on me, seeming to want to return to Guy. Why did animals not like me? What was it about Guy that made him so great?
The beetle began to get jittery and run up my arm, but luckily Guy rescued me and calmed it down again. He really did have some special kind of power. What was he? Some kind of Nature Boy? A kid brought up by wolves? It gave a new meaning to ‘animal magnetism’. Not only did he seem to respect and admire animals; they seemed to love him back. Freaky … but in a cool kind of way. I started thinking about my own responses to nature and stuff, and how ironic it was that this weirdo was showing me how to see things completely differently.
Chapter Fourteen
Early the next morning I was woken by a tapping sound. I knew, straight away, that it came from the window. I didn’t feel nervous or annoyed – just intrigued. On opening the curtains I wasn’t surprised to see the magpie. The mess from its previous visit had remained uncleaned.
This time I became uncertain whether its intentions were friendly or aggressive. It seemed calm and inquisitive, but I wouldn’t let it into my room, however imploring a look it gave me. I wouldn’t be able to explain bird poo on the carpet to Mum. I pressed my nose to the window again like last time, and the magpie mirrored my position. Could birds be that intelligent? Or was it just instinctive behaviour?
The magpie tapped a few more times but I just stared back at it without moving, until it seemed then to give up on me. I watched it for a few more minutes as it flew onto the garden fence and then off into the light-streaked morning sky.
Mum’s talking about getting a kitten.
‘Take my mind off losing my lovely Frisky. I do miss the little darling. What do you think?’
I pulled a face and gestured as if to say I was undecided on the matter.
‘As long as you clear up all the poo and sick, my dear, go ahead,’ Dad said, with his usual sensitivity.
Mum stuck her tongue out at him and turned to me.
‘Is it too soon, do you think?’
I shrugged, knowing I wasn’t being very helpful.
‘On the other hand, I can’t help thinking he’s still around. I keep expecting to see him come bounding up to the back door like he did when he was younger. Is it just me, or do you keep seeing him out the corner of your eye. Every time something moves I look round to see if it’s him.’
I shook my head solemnly. ‘No, it’s just you, Mum.’
How bad do I feel?
At three in the afternoon, Guy knocked on my door.
‘Come on.’
I did my best ‘what-the hell-are-you-talking-about?’ face.
‘We’re going for a walk.’
‘We are?’
‘Mm-hmm.’
‘I don’t do walks.’ Even I thought I sounded pretty grumpy.
‘You do now.’
‘Where?’
‘The park.’
‘Why didn’t you just text me?’
‘I don’t have a phone. Don’t need one.’ He made it sound like I’d suggested taking drugs.
I realised then I’d never seen him with one and he’d never offered me a number. I patted my pocket to check I’d put mine there and stepped outside, closing the front door behind me. I had no idea what lay in store for me. Whatever it might be, it probably beat the prospect of doing stupid schoolwork.
Hillgate Park was an expansive, grassy woodland with a small lake where I sometimes came to throw stones at ducks or play football with Simon. The playground was quite fun, with rope bridges and swings that went pretty high, however, Guy’s mission appeared to be to show me a different side to the park.
He walked past the playground and the grass area, towards the lake. I knew about the rope-swing which kids often used on hot, sunny days, but he led me past that too. Eventually, Guy stopped on a fisherman’s platform, a little wooden pier walkway that took you over the water’s edge. As soon as he crouched down I felt a compulsion to do the same. He placed one hand on my shoulder and with the other he pointed out over the water, towards two objects floating about twenty metres away. When one of the objects suddenly disappeared I realised they were alive and as
sumed them to be ducks.
‘Forgot to bring some bread for the quack-quacks,’ I said sarcastically, hitting the heel of my palm on my forehead and giving a goofy look.
‘These aren’t ducks!’ he whispered forcefully. ‘They’re over there.’ He pointed to my right and there indeed were a whole group of ducks and geese gathering around some children. ‘These are great-crested grebe.’ Guy suddenly magicked a small pair of binoculars from his pocket. ‘Look at the crest and the colourful markings.’
I took the field glasses and looked through them. Everything was blurred. I swivelled the focussing dial and suddenly saw a slim, elegant bird bobbing haughtily on the water. It had a black, spiky tuft and what even looked like a lion’s mane. Then, just as suddenly as before, it dived under. Gone. I scanned left and right and then picked it up a few feet away. Was it the same bird or the other one of the pair? Further inspection showed it had a silver fish in its slim, sharp beak. It flipped its maned head up a few times, shifting a fish round until only a little silver tail stuck out of its beak. Its next swift movement saw the end of the fish as it disappeared down its gullet. I had to admit – it was almost interesting.
‘Let’s see the ducks.’ Off he strode, leaving me feeling a bit disappointed. Surely ducks are common and quite dull. They’re either brown or have green heads. Sometimes a white one slipped in. But a duck is a duck is a duck, isn’t it? How wrong I was.
‘Most of these are mallards. You see them all the time. The brown ones are the females. But over there is a tufted duck – the black one. And here comes the best of all. That’s a mandarin.’
It didn’t look real. Surely someone had just made it and placed it on the water to confuse people. It had a golden, white, and green head with a red beak, and an array of other colours on its neck and back, purple, green, and lustrous black. Its wings stuck up like small pointed orange sails. It seemed incredibly out of place and smaller than the others, especially compared to the swans and geese that soon came towards us in hope of food.
Guy told me about Canada and barnacle geese before informing me there were also four types of swan – mute, whooper, Bewick’s, and even black ones.
‘Who’da thunk it?’ was the only response I felt able to give.
I followed Guy into the woods. He really had this amazing power to attract animals and birds. I watched him as he stood frozen for a while with his fingers on his lips, and I swear, after a while he had two squirrels sniffing around his feet and about ten different birds sitting on his shoulders and head. It didn’t seem real and I kept my distance, amazed but also hoping one of the dickie-birds would do a crap on his hair. Then he’d be forced to wash it.
The woodland soon came to an end as we heard the constant drone of traffic on the nearby motorway.
‘What are we doing here, you knob? I ain’t playing chicken or throwing stones at cars.’ I was grumpy about not being in control. Why was I letting this weirdo lead me about anyway?
‘And those would both be very stupid things to do,’ Guy said with a scowl. ‘Why would I suggest doing them?’ Instead, Guy started walking on the embankment the same way the traffic flowed on our side. ‘I want you to meet someone.’
Guy hopped nimbly over the small fence, so I followed, snagging my fleece on the barbed wire.
He stopped and stared across all six lanes of the motorway and into the trees of the woodland opposite. Then he started making a high-pitched, inhuman sound, waving his hands in swiping circles.
‘Kee-kee-kee!’
The call was shrill, but cut through the rumbling of cars and lorries. Guy repeated the strange ritual and I was left guessing what wonder I could possibly behold next. Unsure whether the shape appeared from the tree or from somewhere behind it, I noticed it first as a silhouette in the sky. A bird. Or more precisely, a bird of prey. It continued its flight straight towards us and I predicted correctly that it would land somewhere near Guy and that I had nothing to fear. The bird landed at the top of the tree nearest to us and when it screeched I realised just how accurate Guy’s imitation had been.
It looked smaller than a pigeon but bigger than a blackbird. Its back was blue-grey and it had an orange throat, with stripy markings on its belly a bit like a tawny cat.
Instinctively I kept back to give boy and bird their own space. I didn’t want to spoil the moment. Guy kee-kee-ed again and held out something in his hand that looked like a piece of meat. Had he been carrying it in his pocket all this time? It would explain part of the smell. Guy made the noise again and threw it up in the air.
The bird suddenly flapped and swooped down in a perfect arc, snatching the small lump in its talons with perfect precision.
‘Awesome!’
‘He is, isn’t he?’ Showing me these creatures was Guy’s thing. He shone brightly again.
‘What is he? A falcon?’
‘Accipiter nisus.’ The Latin words sounded magical.
‘Do what?’
‘Sparrowhawk.’
‘You come and see him often then?’ I was beginning to see why he didn’t come to school now. What could they teach him exactly? This weirdo was learning more about the world than any stupid teacher could tell us.
‘When I can.’
‘Has he got a name?’ Before Guy even replied I knew I’d said something stupid.
‘He’s not a pet. He’s a sparrowhawk. A wild creature.’
I screwed up my face and tried to think of something else to ask, but Guy continued his rant before I could.
‘I don’t understand people’s need to turn animals into humans. They aren’t the same as us. They are closer to nature than most of us are. We’ve forgotten how to trust in where we came from.’
‘Are they ever used in falconry?’ I asked, hoping to not get snapped at. ‘You said it isn’t a falcon but hawks are used too, aren’t they?’
‘Yes. They’re brilliant hunters. They like catching birds as they fly. They were used in medieval times, by priests especially.’
I waited for more information, but no more came from Guy, who forgot about me for a while as all his attention went – justifiably – on the sparrowhawk. Eventually the bird got bored with us and returned to its hunting-ground or nest.
We spent a fun afternoon climbing trees. Unsurprisingly, Guy could climb like a monkey; if he’d had a tail he would have swung from a branch by it. A couple of foxes approached Guy confidently and I was amazed at how big they were. I’d never appreciated the beautiful colour of their coats before.
The two of us messed around on the swings and climbing frame until the sun sank down. Embarrassingly, I got a text from Mum asking where I was.
‘Blimey. I should get home,’ I said regretfully. Even if we didn’t talk much, just ‘hanging around’ felt good. It gave me a chance to be still and think.
‘One last thing before you go.’
What now? It was getting hard to see things too clearly – as well as becoming very chilly.
‘I can see them.’ Guy jumped up suddenly and ran back towards the lake edge. ‘There. There. Can you see them?’
I squinted out into the gloom. I could just make out the edge of the water. The water rippled slightly and at the far end were bushes and trees dangling into the water itself. At first I wondered if he meant the grebes or ducks, but they were long gone.
I shook my head, mystified.
Guy pointed upwards and I tried to follow his hand as it came down and swung around in an arc, then changed direction again. Something flying? A sudden flicker made me turn my head, before something else moved in my peripheral vision, making me spin my head back around. Then I saw it. A shadow whipped past my line of vision. Then another flew overhead. Giant bugs? Too big.
‘Are they birds?’
‘Not birds. Bats.’
I watched, fascinated. As I got used to the darkness I began to see more. Lots of them swooped over my head; some skimmed across the lake, wheeling round and banking suddenly.
‘They’r
e called pipistrelles. Would you like to see one close up?’
He didn’t wait for my answer, he just stood up on tiptoe, stretched out his right hand, and made some quick tongue clicking sounds. After a few moments he brought his hand down slowly, like a stage conjurer, to reveal a small, squirming object in his loosely closed fist. I watched Guy pet it gently and then blow on its face. He gradually opened his fist for me to see what looked like a mouse, not much bigger than the stag beetle. Its wings were folded up, making it look like it had long forearms on which to creep commando-style. Close up, and even in the waning light, I could see the details, its leathery ears and blunt nose. Carefully, Guy unfurled its wings to show me their expanse and intricate webbing. With a shake of his wrist, the bat flew off.
‘What’s your secret?’ I asked, feeling sure I’d receive no answer. I was right. Guy smiled and walked off towards the park gates.
Chapter Fifteen
Mum and Dad took up most of my weekend with shopping trips and a visit to Dad’s sister who’d just had twins, which made them my cousins, who I was supposed to go gaga over but failed to. I couldn’t help feeling disappointed that my weekend was full – especially because Monday meant going back to school again. That in turn meant I couldn’t spend the days with Guy – unless I skived off school. This seemed like a very bad idea, having just come back from exclusion. Old Saddler was bound to be keeping a beady eye on me.
It did feel strange returning to the usual routines of the school day. I’d started to get used to not being at school – that same lovely feeling of freedom you get in the summer holidays, with the thought of no school or homework stretching out for weeks ahead of you.
The first day back was OK in the end.
‘So what did you do in your week off, you dosser?’ Simon called out as he saw me approach. He and Pete were sitting on a low wall by the teachers’ car park.
‘All right? Er … not much really. My parents made me catch up with loads of work. Got a bit boring, to be honest.’
‘Boring?’ Pete said, contorting his face. ‘Hell, I’d love a week off. I could go into town, go to the skateboard park, watch telly, play Organik Apokalypse …’
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