by Wendy Reakes
None of them replied.
Gemma turned her head to see Molly in the back with the cage on her lap. “What ya got there, Mol?”
“My new birds.”
Gemma dabbed her head with her sweater. She looked at it to see if she was still bleeding. “I thought she was only getting one.”
“Love comes in pairs,” Ellen said, offering a wink through the rear-view mirror. “Isn't that right, Moll?”
Molly giggled.
“Guys, I need you to look after your sister tomorrow night.”
“What!?” said Matt. “It's Saturday night.”
“It won't kill you. I'm doing a favour for your dad.”
“Since when do you do favours for Harry?
“Since when do you call your father by his name?”
Matt rolled his eyes.
“He's taking his girlfriend away.”
At her side, Gemma was attempting a selfie on her phone. She smiled as she sent the pictures to all her friends. "And you're being supportive!? What is this, an alt-universe? A parental paradox!" she laughed at her play on words.
Ellen didn’t respond.
From the rear, Matt said, “We were going to get together with the guys.”
“They can come over to the house.” Ellen offered a reassuring smile via the rear-view mirror. “I'll bring back pizza.”
She drove up the hill towards Clifton.
Only Ellen noticed the line of birds perched on the telephone cable along the way. She heard them squawking.
She wound up her window and kept driving.
Chapter 4
Earlier, Bill made a fire on a piece of grass along the drive. He was throwing the dead birds on when he saw Dolly coming out of the house carrying a small basket of washing. “I wouldn’t put those out,” he said after he removed the white handkerchief from his mouth.
She stopped, throwing a wary glance his way.
“The winds changing,” he said.
“I’m not going to let those birds stop me doing what I want to do, Bill Hock,” she said, as if the dead birds were his fault.
“If the wind changes, you’ll get this soot all over those clean sheets.”
“Where shall I dry them, then?”
“There’s that line around the other side of the house. Use that.”
“That old thing! It’s a rotary. No good for sheets.”
"All right, Dolly," he said. "I'll let this fire die down. Give it an hour."
“Not hang them out yet, you mean?”
“Yes.”
Dolly looked down at her basket of clean sheets as if her world had come to an end. She turned about and went straight back into the house, coming out again empty-handed.
She was a fine-looking woman. Slim as the day he’d met her with a shapely body that only got seen under the blankets at night. He sometimes wished he’d never given her that oil coat. It covered up the best of her and ruined his day. She kept her long auburn hair tied up in a knot at the top of her head, looking like she’d just got out of the bath. Her face was always clean, with eyes and lips to melt his heart.
“What about the rest of these birds?” she said kicking one with her boot.
“I’ll take them down the beach, I reckon,” he said. “Bury them. Better than putting up with the stench of them burning.”
“I’ll be able to put the washing out then, will I?”
“Aye.”
“What do you make of it all, Bill?”
“Don’t rightly know. Arthur said he had a bit of bother up at his place yesterday.” He stamped out a spark getting close to Dolly’s foot. “Could be to do with winter coming. They’re looking for food.”
She pouted. “I can’t see that, Bill. There’s still plenty of food on the fields.”
He shrugged his large shoulders. “Well, it’s over now. I’ll take this lot up the beach after dinner.”
“Don’t forget we’ve got the city people coming tomorrow. Have you checked the cottage?”
“I’ll go up now, then. Take the birds with me.”
“Don’t forget the children. They’re home early today.”
She talked as if he didn't pick them up early every Friday. "Aye, all right, love."
He half-filled two black bags with the birds that were left. He’d have preferred to keep them going on the fire, but Dolly and her washing were more important.
He threw the lot on the back of his truck and got in. The open back truck was a gift from his mother, bought out of the money she'd got from the insurance after Denis died. ‘You may as well get something useful, Bill,' she'd said. ‘You can fit my old body in the back of that and have me carted off to the undertakers. Don't go wasting money on a big fancy car. They charge a fortune for all that malarkey. Waste of time when you're dead.'
The truck was a big un, all right. Big enough for twenty mothers in the back there. And inside he had seven seats. A whopper. Proud of it, he was. He'd had it for six years and still, there wasn't a mark on its body.
He switched on the ignition and called to Dolly inside the house. She came out wiping her hands on a tea towel. “You going up now?”
“Aye. Have you rung our mother?”
“Yes, she had no trouble with birds over there. I’m thinking of ringing my sister.”
“What for?”
“See if they’ve had any trouble.”
He chuckled. “She’s way up north,” he said. “Near Bristol, they won’t have any bother up there.”
“Well, I might ring her anyway. Tell her about what’s going on.” She rested her hand on the truck door through the open window. He put his hand over hers.
“Don’t go worrying, my love,” he said. “You’re making too much of it, I reckon. Birds don’t hurt people.”
“I know.”
He took hold of the wheel. “Have a pot brewing by the time I get back. Won’t be long.”
Then he drove off as she waved from the drive.
The cottage wasn’t far. Just over the brow.
He watched some gulls overhead. They were inland, but they were hovering as if they’d just spotted a shoal of pilchards on the sea.
The road was private. It belonged to his farm, but he still let the locals through if they wanted to get to the beach. And the odd tourist. He just didn’t advertise the fact.
It took him only four minutes to drive over the brow towards the clifftops, and as the sea came into view, there was the little stone cottage, sitting pretty, overlooking the beach.
They'd done it up a few years back. Before that, it had just sat, dilapidated, with an old tin roof and no windows. It was just a small place, one storey, but with the views it had, it commanded a good price with the tourists.
It was stone. Solid and sturdy against the Cornish winds that blew in from the coast. The roof had been properly slated, and a new window put in. The old wooden door was original, but Bill had sanded it down and made it good. That had saved them a few bob.
Outside was a wooden bench, sitting up against the wall under the eaves of the overhanging roof. Dolly had placed a pot of flowers there next to the door, ‘to make the place look pretty,’ she’d said, ‘since there’s no garden to speak of.’ Truth was, the cottage had no need for a garden. The only thing the occupants wanted to look at was the view, off to its right to the horizon.
He parked up outside and got out of the truck. He’d see to the house before he went down to the beach to bury the birds. Those pesky gulls were still hovering, but he’d got used to them now. Buggers!
He pushed the door open and stepped inside. There was no lock. In his opinion, if anyone went up there looking for a bit of shelter, he’d prefer them to walk right in rather than them break down his new door. Besides, no one came up there he couldn’t see coming from the road. Unless they walked up from the town along the cliff, but that was a fair trek. Only the locals would bother with that.
The house was musty smelling. Dolly would have something to say about that. He opened the window. The on
ly one, that side of the cottage. He checked the tap. Water came through all right. The tiny kitchen had a cooker and a fridge and a sink under the window, just inside the door. Beyond that was a fold up table and two chairs. The guests had the option to take them outside if they wanted a bit of Alfresco dining, so said the details on the holiday let webpage.
At the back of the room was a two-seater sofa and an easy chair and then a rocking chair at the side of that. A standard lamp brought from his mother’s house stood in the corner offering ‘subdued lighting at night’. Between the kitchen and the sitting area was an old stone fireplace. It looked like they needed to stock up on wood. Maybe he’d go over to Arthur’s place after he picked up the children from the bus stop. He was making a start on that tree today, so it would be a good opportunity to stock up on wood for winter.
Just as he was walking past the fireplace he saw a baby finch lying stone cold dead in the grate. Probably a nest up in the chimney. He hoped it wasn’t blocked. He had no time to clean that before the visitors came.
He went into the bedroom. It was small. Hardly big enough to fit a double bed, but it was useable. A small bathroom held a toilet, a standalone sink and a small shower. No bath.
In the small hall dividing the rooms, he took some clean towels out of the cupboard. He gave them a sniff. They smelled a bit musty. He reckoned Dolly would want to do something with them before the guests arrived. He decided to take them back with him. She’d go spare otherwise.
He turned the radiator on. That would help with that damp smell. He can come back later and turn it off. He’d bring the wood up at the same time.
Then he heard a thud.
He put his head around the corner as if he wasn't going with it. "Who's that?" he called. No answer.
Funny how he knew what it was before he opened the door.
He carried the two black bags down to the beach and took a spade with him. He’d already stuffed the gull inside. He’d found it dead as a dodo on the step outside the cottage door. It didn’t make sense to him. It was still daylight, so any assumption that it got lost in the dark was way off.
The sand was wet, which was a good thing if he had to dig a hole. He took his spade and started digging. He wondered about leaving the birds there on the beach to let the tide take them out to sea, but if it was some disease that had killed them, he’d be better off covering them over.
He dug a hole only three-feet deep and then he piled the dead birds inside. The last one; the white gull, he tossed on top. Then he began filling the bird grave with sand. Dead and buried, he thought, when he finished and stood up straight. He turned about to gather up the empty bags and just as he did, something caught his eye.
He looked out to sea and there on the crest of every wave was a gull. There were hundreds, floating about as if they were having a rest, waiting for…well, waiting for something. He'd never seen anything like it, not that many. He wondered for a minute if they were after the birds he'd just buried in the sand, but birds didn't eat birds, did they?
When he turned about, ready to walk over the beach to the path, he looked up at the cliffs, yonder, covered in white gulls, looking like rows of infantry, preparing for battle.
At two, he drove down the lane towards the main road. The young uns would get off the bus at about ten-past. His belly felt empty. Bill and Dolly hadn’t fancied any dinner. ‘What about a small bowl of soup, Bill?’ she’d said tempting him. Then his stomach had growled, and he turned her down. Dolly had suggested that maybe he was getting flu passed on by those birds.
The bus was pulling up just as he arrived.
He watched them jump off, along with a few other children from the estate. Some were friends of their Toby. Bill didn’t know why he had a strange feeling, like the hairs on the back of his neck were bristling. The children came towards him but then they stopped, pointing upwards. From inside the truck, Bill couldn’t see what they were looking at, so he left the engine ticking over and jumped out.
Terror wasn't a word he used often, but it was terror he felt in his gut when he looked up at the trees. At first, he thought the branches were moving in the wind until he looked closer. Then, he saw hundreds of blackbirds staring down at them, their feathers camouflaged by the branches and their black and white darting eyes looking like fairy lights on a Christmas tree.
He's never seen so many birds at once. Not like that. He held out his arms to the children, snatching a quick glance behind him as he watched them come to an obedient halt next to the truck.
Now, in all his years, he’d never known birds to attack human beings, but it was the way they looked at the children that sent shivers through his bones. He imagined, just for a minute, those birds homing in on them, and he realised that they wouldn’t stand a chance if they fancied the children for dinner.
His gut told him to tread with caution. Better to be safe than sorry, he reckoned. Six children, including his two, stood looking up at the birds. He made a motion for them to get in. They seemed excited to be riding in his truck, so he let them have that bit of enjoyment for a minute. Best not to panic them unduly. The birds collecting like that might not mean anything.
He closed the door softly behind them, keeping one eye on the masses of birds in the trees lining the road. He went around and got in himself, glad that he had kept the engine running. He drove off slowly, winding up his window as he went along the road towards the estate.
“Why were those birds watching us, dad?” Toby asked.
‘I don’t know, son.”
He turned right into the road that took them to the estate. Sixty or seventy houses, some council owned, were bunched together with small front lawns and a garage in-between. Every time he went up there, Bill always said to himself that he was glad he lived up at the farm. He’d get too claustrophobic living on the estate.
He knew where the kids lived so he dropped them off one at a time. ‘Go straight in,’ he said as each alighted from the truck. One of them couldn’t care less of his warning. He grabbed his bike abandoned on the lawn and took off without a heed.
"I'll drop you back before I go over Mr Reed's place," Bill said to his two, as he drove back the way he came.
“Can’t we come with you?”
He shook his head as he looked for the birds on the way back, but they were gone as if they’d never been there at all. He wondered where they’d gone. He hadn’t noticed any large flocks going overhead. He was beginning to think he’d been seeing things earlier. Maybe his imagination had got the better of him, but then he remembered the kids had seen them too. “You two go back and stay with your mother. I’d feel better, knowing you were all home together,” he said.
He turned into the drive towards the house and skidded along the track. He’d check his tyres later. Either they were balding, or he was driving like a maniac for no good reason. He’d taken that turn too quick, he reckoned.
Dolly was out front taking in her washing. She waved as they pulled up. The young uns jumped out and ran inside. She trotted over with a pillowcase draped over her shoulder. "All right?"
Bill frowned. “I’ll go over and see Arthur and Nancy for some wood and then I’ll be back. I’ve got a feeling we should close up early tonight.”
“What’s wrong, Bill? It’s not like you to get all jumpy.”
“I don’t rightly know. Just got a sick feeling in my stomach.”
“It’s that bird flu, probably.”
“Maybe.”
“Those chickens haven’t laid, you know,” she said. “They won’t get that flu, will they, Bill?”
“I doubt it.”
“I’ll get the cows in, shall I?”
He nodded. “Get the young uns to help.”
"All right." Dolly looked pretty as a picture with the wind blowing her hair off her face. All their troubles and he still took the time to appreciate her good looks.
“Bill, you won’t forget the children’s room, will you?”
He shook his head. “I�
��ve got some bits of wood in the barn. I’ll get the window fixed up before we have dinner.” He leaned over and reached for the two black bags on the floor at the back and handed them through the window. “The towels from the cottage are in there.”
“What? Oh, Bill. You put them in the same bag as those dead birds.”
“They need washing anyhow.”
“Yes, but with the dead birds, Bill?”
Then she went off, shaking one of those towels as she went.
Bill went over to see the Reeds. Nancy and Arthur were good friends and the godparents of their children. Dolly and Nancy had been lifelong friends. They were together at the dance in the village called the Young Farmer's annual ball. It wasn't just for local young farmers, the ones from neighbouring parts went too, but it was a good ol' knees up and some awards were handed out.
Bill had his eye on Dolly all night, seeing as she and Nancy were both sitting at the same table as him and the other young single men. She’d glanced back at him a couple of times too, so he knew he was in with a chance.
Dolly and Nancy were giggling like a couple of schoolgirls when Bill was called up to accept the award for the most promising young farmer of the year. He’d thrown a wink at her as he moved smoothly past, looking fine and dapper in his new suit and tie. When he sat back down with the silver trophy in his hand, those two girls just kept up their giggling.
When the music started up, he asked young Dolly to dance.
Now, he’d been around a dance floor a few times in his younger days, so that night -just nineteen he was- he moved that fine woman in his arms and they kicked up their heels a good un on that dance floor. By the time they finished, she was putty in his hands and agreed to let him drive her home. Nancy and Arthur had sat in the back seat as Bill drove up the main road towards the estate. Both girls lived there, so it was just a matter of dropping them off and they’d be on their way.
When he pulled over and turned about to let them know they’d arrived, Nancy and Arthur were in a long embrace and snogging as if they’d never stop.