The Lovebirds

by Cressida McLaughlin

  Jack didn’t respond immediately, and Abby felt the house settle around them, the comforting, distant chatter of the starlings.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said eventually. ‘That I didn’t respond to your note, after our coffee.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’ she asked quietly, hoping she didn’t sound accusatory.

  ‘Because, I felt ashamed.’

  ‘Ashamed? Why?’

  ‘What you told me about the memories you wished you could erase, that they weren’t your actions, felt too familiar. In the past, I was reckless; I hurt my parents, and my friends. Not physically, but emotionally. And then with Eddie, last year … I went too far. All the mistakes I made … I can’t seem to outrun my history.’

  ‘But you haven’t hurt me,’ Abby said. ‘You aren’t responsible for what happened to me. I’m only going on what I’ve experienced when I’m with you, and surely that’s what matters?’

  ‘I’ve got so much wrong.’ His voice had dropped to a whisper. ‘Even with you – not responding to your letter, being rude to you in the pub. Those stupid complaints I made.’

  ‘Can’t we put the past behind us?’ she asked. ‘I know that sounds odd when we’re standing in an abandoned house, full of the ghosts of other people’s lives, but maybe being here is as good a reminder as any. Don’t let it drag you down, Jack.’

  It felt like she was saying the words to herself as much as to him; the reassurances from Tessa that, despite her tendency to pick the wrong men, she deserved a healthy relationship; the insistence from her mum that her dad’s behaviour shouldn’t dictate her future. Was Jack different, or was she fooling herself into believing he was because she liked him so much?

  When he didn’t reply, she handed the lovebirds to him and he reached up and tied them back in place, so they fell just below the upper frame of the window, catching the sun’s light as it slipped towards the trees.

  ‘We should get back,’ he said softly. He seemed subdued, as if he’d given too much of himself away. His jaw was set again, but when he looked at her, he rewarded her with a brief smile. ‘It’s a beautiful house. It doesn’t feel oppressive or sad despite the cobwebs and dark corners.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Abby said. ‘It’s still so light, so … hopeful.’

  ‘Hopeful of what?’

  Abby shrugged. ‘Life? Maybe it hopes it’ll see human life again one day.’

  ‘Looking to the future instead of the past?’ Jack asked. ‘I’m sure it will. A place like this can’t stand empty forever, however strong Penelope’s hold on it is. Maybe she just needs some encouragement to make a decision. Or perhaps, after all this time, she’d like to move back, but is daunted by the size of the task.’

  Abby wrinkled her nose. ‘This is a big place for just one person, though. That could have been part of the reason she moved out in the first place.’ She wondered if Al was still here, gliding through the rooms after dark, looking for his wife. She shuddered and shook the thought away. ‘Come on, we don’t want to lose the last of the light.’

  She led the way down the stairs, back through the ballroom’s French doors and down the side of the house. Rabbits had emerged from their burrows and they scattered now, more afraid of Raffle than Jack or Abby, and she watched them bound through the grass; fast, dark shapes with cotton white tails.

  They walked past the fountain, towards the gate and then Jack glanced behind him, stopped and turned fully, touching Abby lightly on the arm. She followed his gaze, her eyes widening.

  The windows were full of the lowering, blazing sun, reflecting it back, each one a square of gold as if the whole building was on fire.

  ‘The house of birds and butterflies,’ Jack said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s what this is. Swallowtail House – its name, its occupants.’

  ‘The house of birds and butterflies,’ Abby murmured. It was a beautiful, romantic name for this grand old home, standing stoically in its place while nature slowly consumed it.

  With the windows on fire and the darkness chasing the sunset, nothing but nature surrounding them, Abby felt like she and Jack were the only human beings left on the planet, and realized she wouldn’t mind if that turned out to be true. And then, because that was such an unexpected, overwhelming thought, she left the abandoned, glowing building behind and picked up her pace towards the gate.

  Jack wrapped the chain around it to give it the impression of security, while Abby reattached Raffle’s lead. When they got to the cut-through that led to Peacock Cottage, she tried to say goodbye, but Jack insisted on walking her home.

  The village was almost deserted now, the falling dusk turning the sky turquoise. They reached Warbler Cottages, and Raffle padded eagerly up the front path.

  ‘Do you want to come in for a coffee?’ The words were out before she realized she’d spoken them.

  ‘Coffee would be lovely,’ Jack said, and Abby’s insides went haywire. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘as if you haven’t done enough for me already, there’s something I want to ask you.’

  ‘You want me to give you a personal tour of the reserve, so you can work out the best place to hide a body?’

  They were sitting in Abby’s living room, which in a happy coincidence was gleaming after her spring-clean that morning. Raffle was lying on the rug in front of the fireplace, and Jack was on Abby’s rather saggy sofa, which was covered in a purple and yellow checked throw. He held a steaming mug of coffee in both hands, his legs slightly open, though not stretched to breaking point in that ridiculous, alpha-male stance that she hated. She could see a bit of grass sticking out of the top of one of his boots, and after the cold of the afternoon, his cheeks were flushed in the warmth of Abby’s house.

  She was in the armchair opposite, her housewarming present from Tessa and Neil. The fabric was a bold, teal and pink flower print, and Abby loved it. She could curl right up in it, between the oversized, chunky arms.

  Now, though, she was perched on the edge of the seat, trying to make sense of Jack’s request.

  ‘You told me to embrace nature,’ he explained. ‘And to let it inspire me. After I spent a good three days being thoroughly irritated by your suggestion, I realized there might be something to it. So …’ He shrugged. ‘I rethought the plot of my book, and now one of the victims is discovered on a nature reserve. A cruel, violent death amongst all that life. But I need to know where would work best, and I could spend a morning walking round by myself, but it would be much better if you, with all your knowledge, could spare a couple of hours of your time. I wanted to ask you before today, but I wasn’t convinced I should inflict myself on you anymore.’

  She ignored his last comment. ‘You’re going to sully the beauty of this place with a death?’

  ‘Not Meadowsweet, Abby. A fictional nature reserve.’

  She sipped her tea and stroked her bare foot down Raffle’s long, soft back. The dog twitched his ears in appreciation but didn’t move from his spot on the rug.

  ‘So, will you?’ Jack prompted, his voice so low that it made Abby’s tummy flutter unhelpfully. She looked up at him, and found his blue eyes piercing her from beneath his long eyelashes, his hair gorgeously dishevelled. He looked perfectly at home on her squashy, comfortable sofa.

  She opened her mouth and found that, despite her cup of tea, it was dry.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said. Those words again, casting a spell on her.

  Abby got up and sat next to Jack. Raffle’s pale eyes fixed on her as if assessing whether his mistress was in any trouble. He must have decided no, because he laid his head back down on his front paws.

  Jack shifted round towards her.

  ‘Yes, Jack,’ she said. ‘I will take you on a body-location tour of the reserve, but you must promise not to breathe a word to Penelope, and you can’t mention that we took ourselves round Swallowtail House, and you really can’t—’ She stopped as he took her hand, his skin hot from where it had been clutching his mug, and gave her a whispe
r of a smile.

  ‘Abby, I promise. I know I started out as a fly in the ointment, a barrier to your plans to boost the popularity of the reserve, but that wasn’t my intention then, and it certainly isn’t now. I’m sorry about today, about the way I’ve behaved, and I know that I’m pushing my luck even asking. I’m already indebted to you.’

  Abby thought of Octavia’s request for help convincing Jack to do an event at the library, but kept quiet. She didn’t want to use up his favour on that; she hated how much she wanted him all to herself.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘OK, I trust you.’

  ‘Thank you, Abby,’ he whispered. ‘Trust is something a lot of people have lost in me, so to hear you say it, even about a walk, a new padlock, it means a lot.’ He frowned, and then banished it with a smile.

  He leaned towards her, the sofa squeaking as his weight shifted, and his lips found the corner of her mouth. She smelt the faintest, lingering trace of bergamot, coffee and the sharp tang of whisky almost drowning it out, felt the brush of his stubble, the press of his hand round her shoulder. Then he moved his head and his lips were against hers, kissing her gently. The tenderness of his touch, the reality after so long imagining it, made her dizzy. She kissed him back, feeling his warmth all around her, resisting the urge to lose herself in it.

  He broke away and pressed his forehead against hers, his breathing loud in the silence. She could sense that he wanted more, but that something was holding him back, too.

  ‘I should go,’ he murmured. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then stood and pulled on his coat, and gave Raffle a brief stroke goodbye.

  Abby followed him, dazed, to the front door. ‘I’ll check the rota tomorrow,’ she said, hearing the wobble in her voice. ‘To let you know when would be best to meet you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said again. ‘For that, and for not giving up on me; for the chips.’

  She nodded, mock stern. ‘Chips have all the power, it’s an important fact to remember.’

  ‘Noted,’ he said. ‘Goodnight, Abby.’ Then he was gone, striding towards the main road, hesitating to pull out his phone and put on the torch. Abby watched until the light was gone, and his tall figure was out of sight.

  She closed the door and slumped onto the sofa, picking up the mug that she’d given him. It was white, with a robin painted on it. Her pulse was racing, her thoughts trying to find their way back to those days in the autumn when Jack had been infuriating her, and she’d dismissed her emotions as anger and dislike – fleeting and insubstantial. They didn’t feel insubstantial now.

  She had been consumed by his kiss, as gentle and brief as it had been. She wanted to play it on repeat, hold on to the way it made her feel. She already missed his presence in her house, his thick, chocolatey hair and blue eyes, the stubborn jaw and the occasional smiles it let out to tempt her. She wanted to go back to Swallowtail House, to be under its spell with him – the only two people in the world. And she wanted to kiss him again. Despite the shadows of his past behaviour, and his own, obvious, self-doubt, she needed more.

  Already, she couldn’t wait to look at the rota, so she could work out when to sneak off with him, down to the heron hide or along the meadow trail, muddy and barren and often deserted at this time of year, and soak him up.

  The lesser-spotted Jack Westcoat. He was the species she was most interested in, and surely that couldn’t be good for anyone – not him, not her, and definitely not Penelope and the future of Meadowsweet.

  Raffle was looking at her, his wide, honest eyes curious, questioning, accusing.

  ‘Oh God, Raffle,’ she said, clutching the empty mug to her chest. ‘What am I doing?’

  Chapter Six

  A murmuration of starlings is one of the most impressive sights nature has to offer. Like a black, swirling wave filling the sky, the birds somehow know which direction to turn in so that they all move together. It’s like when you and your dance group, Willow, all do the steps at the same time, and it looks like you’ve been practising for years. Starlings are the dancers of the bird world.

  — Note from Abby’s notebook.

  It was only as Abby turned on the computer on the morning of her walk with Jack that she realized the significance of the date. She silently cursed her subconscious and wondered if he had smirked when he got her note, posted through the door of Peacock Cottage in what was becoming a tradition, or if he’d felt a surge of the same, complicated feelings she got whenever she thought about him, and about what had happened the last time they had been together.

  She had tried to convince herself that she’d been caught up in the madness and magic of the day. She’d had two pints at lunchtime, and then the giddiness of breaking into Swallowtail House had somehow heightened her senses, and her feelings for Jack – because he’d been there with her – had been heightened in the same way. He’d been on the way to being drunk, he was relieved that she was still talking to him after his radio silence, and their brief kiss had been the result of the alcohol and too many swirling emotions with nowhere to go except towards each other.

  But there had been no hint of irony or teasing in his returned reply, which she’d managed to read entirely alone, just confirmation that the fourteenth of February would be fine, and another thank you.

  The weather was grey. Not even a glimmer of sunshine broke through a solid wall of cloud, the air cold, heavy with promised rain, the smell of earth and damp all-pervading. A cluster of jackdaws pecked mechanically in the ground next to the feeders as Abby stepped outside and zipped her thick waterproof coat up to her neck, their sinister caws punctuating the quiet. She had always had a soft spot for jackdaws; she thought that they looked rather shy and unsure with their black caps, grey heads and beady eyes. She imagined them to be old men, doddering anxiously through life, saying things like, ‘Oh do excuse me, I’m terribly sorry,’ or else awkward teenagers, bashful and embarrassed about everything.

  Maureen was working that morning, and Abby had told Rosa and Penelope that she needed to check the meadow trail and then, if necessary, order some boards that they could place over any particularly muddy areas. She couldn’t have anyone sinking or slipping at her grand murmuration event – she just hoped Jack wouldn’t mind her multitasking.

  He was waiting for her at the top of the woodland trail, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. He had his usual navy padded jacket on, and sturdy boots. He gave her a nod as she approached, his blue eyes smiling at her even though his mouth remained impartial.

  ‘Good day for it,’ he said, pointing at the sky.

  ‘It does get you in a murderous mood,’ Abby agreed, as they started walking. ‘I thought we’d go along the meadow trail first, and then make our way around the rest of the reserve. I need to check the path for my event, and we’ll pass one of the tributaries, which would be a great place for a body to lie hidden for a couple of days.’

  ‘You’ve been thinking about this?’ Jack sounded amused.

  ‘A little bit,’ Abby admitted.

  After a few minutes, the track changed beneath their feet, becoming noticeably softer as they emerged from the woods. The view ahead was flat but beautiful, a thin slice of grey-blue water to their right, the dulled green of a winter meadow ahead. Abby showed Jack the tributary, which had sharp, steep banks, the river narrow, but, she assured him, quite deep.

  ‘Let me show you.’ She scouted around until she found a long stick, left over from some coppicing work Marek had been doing. She knelt on the ground and pushed the stick into the river. Its progress was swift, and she fell forward much more quickly than she had expected, jerking back to try and catch her balance. There was a moment of panic as she realized she wouldn’t be able to recover, then strong hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her upright, away from the water, as if Jack had been waiting behind her for that very purpose.

  She could feel his breath on her neck as she watched the stick continue down, and then, when it had almost completely disapp
eared, it stopped.

  ‘Some of that’s the mud at the bottom,’ Abby said, her voice wavering as Jack released his grip and stood, holding out his hand to pull her up. ‘If someone threw a corpse in there, then they might get away with it until the wardens did some maintenance work. The tributaries are too small to have any real current running through them, so they wouldn’t get washed up anywhere else, but perhaps there would be a hand or foot sticking up – maybe when it was disturbed by an animal or a swan.’ She wrinkled her nose in distaste and tried to dust the dirt off her waterproof trousers. ‘Thank you, by the way.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want you to go full method actor on me,’ Jack said. ‘Penelope would never forgive me if I had to explain that you’d accidentally drowned showing me where to lose a body.’

  ‘If you could find her another activity coordinator, I’m not sure she’d be too upset.’

  Jack laughed. ‘Oh, come on, she’s not that bad. Is she?’

  They continued walking, Abby stopping occasionally to test the path for slippability and give. A lot of weather could happen in a couple of weeks, and she would probably order some new boards anyway, to be on the safe side, but it was important to check the area for other potential problems.

  ‘Penelope is a wonderful woman,’ she said eventually. ‘She’s passionate about this place – all the things she’s doing to try and keep it open – but she … lacks a bit of a human touch. I see glimmers of it, but I’m one of the only ones.’ She thought back to her frank discussion about the man walking alongside her, Penelope’s obvious concern mirroring her own. ‘What happened when you replaced the padlock? Did you tell her?’

  Jack nodded. ‘I invited her to Peacock Cottage for tea and explained that I’d been walking past and noticed that the padlock was corrupted, so thought it was best to replace it.’

  Abby tried to imagine Jack and Penelope having afternoon tea together, all lightness and laughter.

  Jack mistook her silence. ‘I didn’t mention you, if that’s what you’re worried about.’