The Lovebirds

by Cressida McLaughlin

  She grinned, feeling her knot of tension start to release. The extra boards she had bought hadn’t been needed, rain and clouds hadn’t ruined the view, nobody had slipped on the icy ground – so far – and the starlings, after giving her a scare, were performing brilliantly. Everyone watched, no commentary needed, until the birds descended as one into the trees at the far side of the field. Their chirping and squawking continued for several more minutes as they settled and then, like a mute button being pressed, all was quiet.

  The light was almost gone now, and torches flicked on.

  ‘We’ll head back to the visitor centre,’ Abby said, ‘and my colleagues and I will be happy to answer any more questions while we’re warming up with a hot drink and, if I’m not mistaken, some cookies.’

  ‘You’re not mistaken, Abby,’ Stephan called. ‘A selection of homemade cookies await!’

  The post-mortem went on a long time, which was a good sign. People were interested, they wanted to know if they could come back and watch without a guide, bring their friends. Abby and Marek fielded the questions while Stephan and Rosa worked in the café. She saw Jonny hovering alone at a table, his gaze trained, for once, on something other than binoculars. Rosa was oblivious, and Abby made a mental note to ask her if she had ever got the impression Jonny had a crush on her. Jack, it seemed, had slipped back to Peacock Cottage.

  ‘That was wonderful,’ said Karen, approaching with her sister. ‘I was describing it to Joyce as best I could, but it’s like nothing else you’ve ever seen.’

  ‘I heard them though,’ Joyce said, smiling. ‘That wall of sound, of conversational voices, chattering away like gossip before bedtime, and could imagine how many birds there were.’

  ‘So, you come for the sounds, the birdsong?’ Abby asked.

  ‘And the smells too, the feel of things – bark and leaves. But I am becoming an expert at birdsong,’ Joyce added. ‘It’s the warblers I’m struggling with.’

  Abby laughed. ‘I honestly don’t know what the secret is to telling them apart; they’re so similar. When you’ve discovered it, you’ll have to let me know. Have you had a hot drink?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Karen said. ‘We’re on our way there next.’

  ‘Tell Stephan not to skimp on the marshmallows,’ Abby called as Karen guided Joyce round the reception desk. She wondered if she had a guide dog at home, and thought of Raffle snuggled up on the rug, or perhaps on her bed, waiting for her return. She felt a pang of longing, aware that he was someone else she needed to give more attention to now this event was done.

  She began to tidy up, shuffling leaflets into piles and throwing discarded visitor wristbands in the bin. When Penelope appeared, Abby gave her a wary smile.

  ‘I didn’t know you were still here,’ she said.

  ‘I’m growing into the chair these days.’ The older woman grimaced. ‘There’s so much paperwork to sort out.’

  ‘Is there anything I can help with?’

  Penelope glanced at the busy cafe. ‘Keep doing what you’re doing, don’t lose focus and we might have a chance at saving this place.’

  Abby swallowed. ‘Is there … what are the pressures?’

  For a moment Penelope didn’t reply, and Abby thought she was about to disappear back into her office, but the older woman surprised her. ‘This place costs a lot to run, with salaries, maintenance, stock and fees, and we are not doing enough to make a profit. There have been external influences, and I may have to sell some of the assets to keep us afloat, though I will do everything in my power to stop that from happening.’

  Abby glanced around her; there was nobody within earshot. ‘Assets?’

  Penelope met her gaze, and Abby was shocked by the sadness she saw in it. ‘Mr Westcoat’s new padlock may not be necessary for too much longer.’

  ‘Swallowtail?’ Abby gasped. ‘No, I—’

  ‘I’d be grateful if you could keep that to yourself for the time being. I am determined that it doesn’t come to that, and hopefully it will serve as impetus for you; think what you could achieve if you were a hundred per cent focused on the job next time.’ She squeezed Abby’s arm, a gesture that was so unlike her that Abby dropped her pile of leaflets all over the floor, and had to spend the next ten minutes retrieving them from all the places they had slid off to.

  It wasn’t until much later, once she was tucked up in bed, that Abby realized Penelope had mentioned the new padlock, knowing the comment would make sense to her. Had Penelope discovered that she and Jack had been spending time together, or had she simply guessed and let Abby walk into the trap? She tried to banish the thought that her boss knew all about their visit to her old home, rolled over and waited for sleep.

  Chapter Seven

  The male bullfinch is a chubby, pretty finch with dusky red plumage, grey wings and a black cap. It is a bit like a robin on steroids (ask your mum what steroids are). The female is paler, as if its colour has faded in the wash. The bullfinch song is high and shrill – two short, squeaky blasts like a PE teacher’s whistle.

  — Note from Abby’s notebook.

  The following morning Abby felt like her eyelids had been superglued shut. She pulled herself wearily out of bed, wishing she’d had the common sense not to agree to early reception duty the day after the murmuration event, and took Raffle for a walk along paths slick with frost. She stopped in at the village store and flicked through the local paper, even though Brad had told her his piece wouldn’t appear until the late edition because he needed time to do the write-up and sort through the photographs. She would have to wait.

  She greeted Rosa and Stephan at the visitor centre, took in their equally weary stances, and thanked them both for all their support.

  ‘It’s going to be easier from now on,’ she said. ‘It’ll get warmer, being outside will be more fun for visitors, we won’t be tensed up against the cold and the wildlife will follow suit. I saw my first daffodils on the walk in today, which is apt considering it’s St David’s Day.’

  ‘I’m finalizing my spring menu specials,’ Stephan added. ‘Honey and lavender scones should go down a treat.’

  ‘Ooh.’ Rosa brightened instantly. ‘If you need any tasters let me know.’

  The morning was slow. It was still cold, despite the daffodils, and racing, tumultuous clouds were denying them the blue skies of yesterday. No wonder people were staying inside. By eleven o’clock, Jonny was back perusing the binoculars, paying particular attention to a new pair Rosa had ordered in the week before, and Octavia had appeared to talk about the previous evening, and also, Abby soon realized, to give her a telling-off for the lack of progress with the author talk.

  ‘I’ve been rushed off my feet with this murmuration event,’ she protested, which, at least for the previous two weeks, had been the truth. ‘I haven’t had a chance to ask him.’

  ‘What about that afternoon in the pub? Don’t look at me like that, Abigail, the whole village was there. It can’t have escaped your notice.’

  Abby shook her head, aware that other ears were pricked towards their conversation. ‘He wasn’t in a fit state to be cajoled into doing a talk that afternoon,’ she said, then immediately regretted it.

  ‘What state was he in?’ Octavia asked.

  ‘He wasn’t very happy, that’s all. I was trying to cheer him up.’

  ‘And did you succeed? Is this turning into something we should know about?’

  ‘No, definitely not.’ Abby took a sip of too-hot tea and spluttered.

  ‘Not turning into something, or we shouldn’t know about it?’ Rosa’s smile was cheeky.

  ‘Not turning into something,’ Abby assured her. ‘He’s still a bit out on a limb, and I was being a good neighbour, that’s all.’

  ‘I saw him last night, I think,’ Stephan said, approaching as he dried one of his vintage cake stands with a tea towel. ‘He was wearing a beanie hat. I couldn’t be sure it was him, but – why would he come to the event?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t he?�
� Octavia asked, her voice high with excitement. ‘He’s getting into the swing of Meadowgreen life, slowly coming out of his shell. This is excellent news.’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ Abby said, ‘but he was definitely—’.

  ‘Jack asked me to give you this,’ Penelope said, striding through the door and handing Abby a white envelope. She nodded greetings to everyone then swept into her office, throwing the visitor centre into momentary silence.

  ‘Come on, Abby,’ Octavia urged. ‘Don’t leave us in suspense.’

  ‘I don’t—’ she started, and then gave in, realizing the futility of trying to argue. Why didn’t he drop them off at her house, rather than at the visitor centre where they were pounced upon like lions on a fresh piece of meat? He knew where she lived now; he could easily have posted it there.

  But she opened the envelope, wondering whether she should add some dramatic tension for her keen audience, and unfolded the stiff paper that had been pressed carefully into three. His sloping handwriting was as elegant as ever.

  Dear Abby,

  Well done for putting on an excellent display last night; did the starlings cost much to hire? I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you afterwards. You were the centre of attention, and I didn’t want to distract you.

  Also, your educational walk has been most helpful, and the (grizzly) words are flowing. I can’t thank you enough.

  Lastly, I’m sure I saw a badger in the garden of Peacock Cottage two nights ago and am planning on holding a stakeout on Saturday evening to see if it returns. I wonder if you’d like to join me? This isn’t a ruse, just an offer of some company, some badgers, possibly a bit of food. Think of it as a thank you for all you’ve done for me.

  JW.

  She folded the paper quickly, not daring to look at anyone.

  ‘He wants you to go round and see his badger?’ Octavia raised an unsubtle eyebrow.

  Abby rolled her eyes. ‘I told him how rare badger sightings were around here, so he clearly thinks that I’ll be interested – which I am. It would be a wonderful discovery; I could write a blog about it for the website.’

  ‘Leaving out some of the detail, I hope?’

  ‘Octavia,’ Abby sighed. ‘There is nothing going on between Jack and me. After a rocky start, we seem to have found a bit of common ground. That’s all.’

  ‘You should definitely go,’ Rosa said. ‘I’ve seen some gorgeous badger merchandise in a catalogue that I’d love to order, and how great would it be if we could tie it in with a genuine sighting? Have Reston Marsh found badgers?’

  Stephan shook his head. ‘They have a night camera set up, but nothing concrete so far.’

  ‘There you go, then, we could be a step ahead of Wild Wonders.’

  Abby nodded, pretending to think about it. A couple of months ago, it would have been the thought of seeing a badger so close to the reserve that would have had her pulse racing, and of course it would be wonderful if Jack hadn’t been mistaken. But a night in Jack Westcoat’s company was the star attraction. The badger, if it reappeared, would be an added bonus.

  ‘I won’t be gone too long,’ she told Raffle that Saturday evening as she rifled through her wardrobe. She picked a lilac cardigan and a white blouse with tiny blue forget-me-nots, over dark jeans and brown, calf-length boots. She kept her short hair loose, and added eyeliner, mascara and rose pink lip gloss. She’d bought a bottle of wine and a salted caramel cake at the closest supermarket, and she put them in a tote bag, along with a night-vision scope Rosa had let her borrow on pain of death that she brought it back in perfect condition.

  Raffle followed her into the living room, his head low in an Oscar worthy display of sulking, so that Abby risked dog hair all over her outfit giving him an extra-long cuddle and settling him on the rug in front of the fireplace.

  Doing up her jacket, she left the house and made her way quickly along the village road and into the woods, turning on her torch as she left the streetlights behind. At six-thirty it was close to being dark, and Abby couldn’t wait for the days to stretch out towards summer, for the heavy warmth of the spring sun on her face. Peacock Cottage looked cosy and inviting, an outside light next to the front door welcoming her; it was the first time Abby had seen it switched on, and the thought that it was for her made her heart skip.

  She knocked on the door, heard footsteps padding down the corridor and then Jack was in front of her, wearing a black shirt, open at the neck, jeans with frayed hems, and black socks. He looked completely relaxed, free of the tension in his shoulders and jaw that she had come to expect. He gave her a warm smile and invited her in.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, as he took her bag, giving her space to shrug off her jacket.

  ‘Glad you could come.’ He hesitated for a moment, then leant down and kissed her cheek, the gesture somehow misplaced, as if he should have done it on the doorstep or not at all.

  ‘Thank you for inviting me,’ she said. ‘I bought some things.’ She pointed to the bag and Jack looked inside, his eyes widening.

  ‘That’s very kind. You didn’t need to. Is that your scope?’

  ‘No, I borrowed it, but I thought we couldn’t take the stakeout very seriously if we didn’t have the right equipment. Show me where you saw the badger.’

  ‘Right, of course. This way.’ He led her down the corridor.

  The walls were painted peacock blue which, while pretty, made it seem dark and narrow, but then it opened up into a bright, compact kitchen. As Jack had mentioned, the appliances looked like they could do with updating, but everything was clean, and a couple of arty postcards on the fridge added a splash of colour. Abby wondered if they were purely for decoration, or if they had been sent to Jack by friends and family in London. On the far wall, a long window over the sink looked out on the back garden, and next to it was the glass-panelled back door.

  ‘I was rinsing a tumbler before bed,’ Jack said, leading her to the sink, ‘and I hadn’t bothered to put the light on, which meant I could see the garden. The long grass over there was shaking, as if something heavy was walking through it, and I’m sure I saw a flash of white, like the stripe on their noses, but it didn’t come onto the lawn so I couldn’t be sure.’

  ‘It sounds promising,’ Abby nodded. Jack didn’t need to know that her only encounter with a badger had been terrifying. She hadn’t been expecting it before, hadn’t been prepared, but now she was – for a badger sighting, at least. She could smell Jack’s expensive aftershave, and also something delicious that made her stomach rumble.

  ‘It’s just chilli,’ he said when she glanced around the kitchen. ‘I hope that’s OK?’

  ‘It smells amazing.’

  ‘Let me open the wine and get you a drink while it breathes. What would you like? I have gin and tonic, vodka tonic, whisky. No beer I’m afraid – I should have thought of that.’

  ‘No, that’s fine. A gin and tonic would be lovely, thank you.’

  ‘Let me show you – here.’ He led her back down the corridor, turning right into the room where Abby had so often seen the light glowing from outside.

  This room was painted mid blue with white cornicing, but the soft glow of two standard lamps, the pale blue blanket flung over the back of the grey fabric sofa and bold peacock print on the wall made it seem snug rather than gloomy. In one corner there was an expensive-looking office chair and a wooden desk. On it sat a closed MacBook and a Moleskine notebook, their edges perfectly aligned. Abby also noticed a sharing-sized bag of peanut M&Ms, and the thought of him crunching his way through them while he wrote made her smile.

  ‘Are you happy to wait here while I sort out the drinks?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course.’ She sank into a plush sofa cushion that was softer than it looked, while Jack returned to the kitchen. She couldn’t detect the musty smell he’d mentioned, and thought that his presence, his life in the house, must have obliterated it. He had helped the cottage breathe again.

  Sitting on the back of the sofa was a
small, cuddly hippopotamus. It looked old and tatty, but it still had two beady eyes and a pink tongue protruding from its mouth. Abby reached up for it, squeezing its soft fabric. She would never have pictured Jack as a cuddly toy person – not in a million years.

  ‘Here you go.’ He came back with their drinks and Abby hurriedly put the hippo back in its place.

  Jack sat next to her, clinking his glass against her own, and Abby thought he hadn’t noticed.

  ‘That’s Shalimar,’ he said, pointing at the hippo. ‘I’ve had him for most of my life. The one toy that I couldn’t bear to get rid of.’

  ‘He’s lovely,’ Abby said. ‘Why Shalimar?’

  ‘My dad named him after the river in Flanders and Swann’s “Hippopotamus Song”. You know,’ he added, when Abby frowned. ‘Mud, mud, glorious mud – you haven’t heard of it?’

  ‘It sounds vaguely familiar. It’s certainly something I can relate to,’ she said. ‘You have to love mud to do my job – or not hate it, at least. You’ll have to play it for me.’

  ‘I could do that, though Flanders and Swann songs are … an acquired taste. Not the kind of music I listen to on a daily basis.’

  ‘And definitely not when you write,’ Abby said. ‘I remember that. No music.’

  ‘No. I’d forgotten I’d told you that. Oh – except, it was that first meeting, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yup.’ Abby grinned at the memory. She was determined not to be awkward or hesitant tonight. They were simply two people getting to know each other, looking for a badger together. It sounded ludicrous, but it was the truth. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get to talk to you at the murmuration event,’ she added. ‘I spotted you, but it was so busy afterwards. I can’t even remember what time I got home.’