Birds of a Feather

by Cressida McLaughlin

  ‘The For Sale sign has disappeared from outside,’ Octavia said.

  Abby gasped. How had she failed to notice that? She walked past it, pinned to the wall next to the gates, on her way to and from work. ‘Shit,’ she murmured. ‘So it’s really happened, then? Poor Penelope.’

  ‘Maybe she’s glad,’ Rosa said. ‘Maybe if it means the reserve is no longer in trouble, she’s happy she’s done it.’

  ‘But there has to be a reason she hasn’t sold it up to now,’ Abby said.

  ‘She probably didn’t want it falling into the wrong hands.’ Stephan shrugged. ‘People sniff at sentimentality, but I know what it’s like to lose the person you love most, your whole world, and the urge to hang on to inanimate objects that remind you of them is overwhelming, even though it will never bring them back, and your memories don’t need the place, the thing, to survive.’

  Octavia nodded, silence hanging over them for a moment.

  ‘Hopefully that means she’s convinced the buyer will do it justice, then?’ Rosa said quietly. ‘After all, she’ll still be here, working close by, so it’s not like she can avoid it.’

  ‘Fingers crossed.’ Abby thought of the tangle of foliage in the gardens, and tried to imagine it with topiary hedges and nail-scissor grass.

  ‘And what’s this?’ Gavin asked, pointing at the parcel Octavia was clutching. ‘Have you been intercepting their post as well? I know you’re curious, but that’s going a bit far, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh this?’ Octavia waggled it. ‘No, this came for Abby. The postie knocked on my door because it wouldn’t fit through the letterbox.’ She thrust it forward, and Abby felt a strange sense of déjà vu as everyone peered in to see what it was. She wanted to shout that it was her personal post, for God’s sake, and had nothing to do with the reserve. But then she saw the handwriting, and all thoughts of protest left her.

  ‘Is it from Jack?’ Rosa asked.

  Abby nodded. She turned it over, peeled open the jiffy bag and slid out a large, hardback book. It was silky to the touch, and she took in the detail of a cover she’d seen tiny images of online, alongside the reviews. It was black, with the raised title, The Hidden Field, written in yellow along the top. Below it was an image of a windblown, desolate field beneath grey, thunderous clouds emerging out of the black background as if the cover was night and the landscape was being lit with a powerful torch. At the bottom, written large in raised, silver foil, was his name: Jack Westcoat. Abby shivered, surprised at the strength of her emotion at seeing and holding his finished book.

  ‘That,’ Rosa said dreamily, ‘is a gorgeous hardback. Wow, feel the finish on the jacket.’ Hands pawed at it, her friends’ attention not fading now the book had been revealed.

  ‘Open it then,’ Gavin said. ‘Has he signed it?’

  ‘Of course he will have,’ Stephan tutted.

  On the title page was Jack’s neat handwriting, a slight smudge to the ink suggesting he had used a fountain pen:

  Dear Abby,

  Was it really worth all the fuss? I’m sending you a copy regardless.

  All my love,

  Jack Westcoat

  Xx

  His signature was smart and flamboyant, and Abby felt her throat tighten as she reread his note. Then she flipped quickly away from the title page and found herself reading the dedication instead.

  To Abby

  For friendship and chips

  &

  The House of Birds and Butterflies

  Tears burned in the corners of her eyes. He had dedicated his book to her. Not just this one with its personalized inscription, but every single copy. He had acknowledged her as a part of his life, wanted everyone who read it to see, to know, she meant something to him.

  A hand landed on her shoulder, and she was surprised to find it was Gavin’s. ‘That’s a pretty impressive gesture, Abby,’ he said quietly.

  She managed a smile in return. ‘I need to go and see how Marek’s getting on with the set-up.’ She picked up Jack’s book and, hugging it to her, fled from the attention and sympathy of her friends. She would allow herself ten minutes to think about Jack, and then she would put him to the back of her mind, at least until the Summer Spectacular had drawn to a, hopefully triumphant, close.

  Chapter Five

  Wrens are my favourite. A tiny, dumpy brown bird with a sticky-up tail and a pale stripe above its eye like it’s wearing make-up, it stays close to the ground, searching for bugs. It’s very loud for such a small bird – sound familiar, Daisy? It has a beautiful, trilling song and a rattling alarm call when it’s worried about something.

  — Note from Abby’s notebook.

  The cursor blinked, waiting for her to add to the message, but she didn’t know what else to say, other than:

  I hope last night was a success. Thank you for my present.

  He had dedicated his book to her. Did he love her, the way she had come to realize she loved him? Surely he must, to want to put her there, indelibly, on the page like that. But what was the point of love when it was separate like this? Abby almost longed for the simple, straightforward relationship Tessa had been urging her to find when Jack had come into her life, without drama, perhaps without passion – comfort, warmth, someone to confide in. Jack had been all those things, but he’d brought drama and passion too.

  But she couldn’t express her love through text messages and the occasional, handwritten letter. She felt like a lovebird pining for her mate, unable to consider the prospect of living at a distance from him. She wanted to feed him chips, the way lovebirds fed each other. She wanted to be close to him, and the fact that she couldn’t made her chest ache.

  She added a couple of kisses to the end of the message, pressed send, and forced herself out of bed. The birds were only just up, but Abby had work to do.

  By midday, Meadowsweet Nature Reserve was busier than Abby had ever seen it. Volunteers were leading walks to the different hides, each one twenty-people strong, all with bingo cards of bird and butterfly species to tick off whenever they were spotted. Those who got a full house would get a 50 per cent saving on a year’s membership, others with a row or a line would get discounts in the shop or the café, or a pair of day passes every month for a year.

  The key, Abby had decided, was to give a little, but encourage more. If she promoted the memberships to the hilt, hopefully even those who didn’t win would be interested in signing up. Everyone who joined over the three days would get a free birdwatcher’s pack containing the latest Collins bird guide, a spotter’s notebook and a thermos for those cold, winter mornings when the lure of the café was almost – but not quite – greater than the wildlife.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ she said to two adults who had arrived with an army of children, from gangly teenagers to toddlers. ‘If you make your way down there,’ she pointed, ‘and follow the signs to the field, that’s where the action is. Here’s a programme of everything that’s happening over the weekend, and if you have any questions just look for one of us, we’ll all be wearing these fetching orange T-shirts.’ She gave a silly grin, and a couple of the children laughed.

  ‘What’s this about Meadowsweet Fledglings?’ the woman asked. ‘I heard something about it at school.’

  ‘Ah, excellent,’ Abby said. ‘It’s our new membership scheme for young people. We want to encourage as many children and teenagers as possible to get involved in nature, to find out how fascinating it is and what they can do to look after it. So if their parents or guardians join at a discounted fee, payable monthly or yearly, the children can have free access to Meadowsweet and work their way towards getting their Fledgling medal. There’s a checklist of things they have to spot, and activities they have to fulfil away from the reserve – making a nest box, setting up a community wildlife area somewhere local to them, that sort of thing – and if they come back with everything completed within the year, they get a prize, and another year of discounts for their family.’

  ‘Wow!’ The woman�
��s eyebrows rose. ‘It sounds wonderful. Do you have any more information?’

  ‘Here’s our leaflet and membership form, which you can also complete on our website. We ask for a diary as evidence, which they complete as they go, either online or in a physical notebook – with accounts of their trips to the reserve, their activities, and any photos. At the end of the year, that acts as proof of their achievements.’

  Abby, Rosa and Gavin had spent a sober day in the pub coming up with all the details of the Fledglings scheme. Abby admitted it had come to her because of Jack’s words on the doorstop of Peacock Cottage, the morning he had returned to London. It seemed fitting, somehow, that he had left her with a nugget of inspiration, something that could change the fortunes of Meadowsweet. She only wished he’d said the words, or she’d come up with the idea, sooner, and that Swallowtail House could have been saved as well.

  First, Abby, Rosa and Gavin had worked out whether their small reserve had enough capacity to do the associated administration. They had decided that, yes, they did, and anyway, Rosa knew someone who could help them with the online side of things, setting up the diary software and the Fledgling membership form to go alongside the standard, adult version.

  ‘So Jonny’s got his uses after all,’ Gavin had said, whistling. ‘And has he actually bought a pair of binoculars?’

  ‘No.’ Rosa had smiled coyly. ‘But I don’t mind that.’

  ‘Made up for it in other ways, has he?’ Gavin’s eyebrows had gone skywards.

  Rosa had picked that moment to go and replenish their lemonades.

  Now, it seemed that all their hard work had paid off. People were interested, the pile of membership forms was rapidly decreasing, and it was only the first day of the event.

  (text break]

  The weather continued to shine, and after Friday’s success there was a warning on the local radio on Saturday morning about increased traffic to the Meadowsweet Nature Reserve’s Summer Spectacular – please allow extra time for your journey, as queues are expected! They’d never been the subject of a traffic warning before, and it made Abby’s heart swell with pride.

  If only, she thought, Jack could be here to see it. He could have run more storytelling sessions, for adults as well as children, reading creepy excerpts from his book as the sun went down. He hadn’t replied to her message, and she realized that hers had been too brief, too cursory, considering his heartfelt dedication to her.

  She vowed that she would call him when this was over, perhaps even plan a trip to London to see him. There was nothing stopping her, and the pace of both their lives would become less frantic after this weekend, with his book published and her biggest event over. Maybe they could see if long distance was a possibility.

  Sunday was the last day of the fair, and Abby had a celebratory ending planned, after which she would go home, rest her weary feet and hug her husky. Raffle was restless at being left alone for such long hours, but there was no way he could go with her to the reserve. The carefully cultivated habitats of Meadowsweet couldn’t be disturbed by four-legged friends, and so the closest she had ever taken him was the fallen elder at the perimeter of Swallowtail House.

  She took him for an extra-long walk, unable to hide her curiosity following Octavia’s gossip about Swallowtail House. She stopped at the side gate, and at first glance it looked the same as it always had. But then she peered more closely and saw that, creeping up the back corner of the house was a tower of scaffolding. It was only visible from the side, but it was definitely there. Someone was fixing it, or at least starting to, which meant it had to have been sold. Surveys were one thing; scaffolding was another matter altogether.

  By the time she got to the visitor centre, buzzing with the new information, Rosa was already there. Her dark eyes were creased at the edges, but her friend smiled warmly as she ripped open a cardboard box and pulled out a pile of Fledgling membership forms.

  ‘Last box,’ she said, triumphantly.

  ‘What?’ Abby squealed. ‘But I had three thousand printed! Has someone dumped a whole load in the lagoon?’

  ‘Nope. They’re flying. OK, they’re not all going to get filled in, but just think, if we get even a quarter back, even an eighth, Abby, that’s three-hundred-and-seventy-five new Fledglings, with their parents paying for discounted memberships. Can you imagine? You’re a genius!’

  ‘We’re geniuses,’ Abby said. ‘All of us. Shit, this could save the reserve, couldn’t it? With the sale of Swallowtail House, and a new influx of members, Mr Philpott will be off Penelope’s back for ages.’

  ‘Alleged sale,’ Rosa corrected, but Abby shook her head.

  ‘It’s got scaffolding up,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Swallowtail House. Someone has committed to doing work on it, which they wouldn’t do unless they’d bought it. Octavia only saw the surveying van on Thursday, but the sale must have been agreed a while ago if the scaffolding’s gone up already.’

  ‘Oh my God! Why hasn’t Penelope told us?’

  ‘She’s probably waiting until the end of all this.’ Abby flung her arms wide. ‘It’s not like we need a distraction, is it?’

  ‘True dat,’ Rosa said, and Stephan came over with steaming cups of tea that, Abby thought, she might now solely run on.

  Abby helped carry the leaflets to the field, where the atmosphere reminded her of the outdoor fairgrounds she had visited as a child. Stalls were opening up, the smells of coffee and sugar assailed her, and the sun was rising blissfully over the trees, making the dew-covered grass sparkle. It might well be a long day, but really, was there anywhere better to spend it?

  She was hijacked at lunchtime by Marek, trying and failing to keep up with an over-exuberant Evan. His mid-brown hair was longer and curlier than the last time she’d seen him, his eyes bright with their usual enthusiasm.

  ‘Evan!’ she said, delighted. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘I saw a swallowtail butterfly,’ he panted. ‘That’s super-rare, right?’

  Abby’s eyes widened. ‘They’re almost unheard of here. Yours is only the third sighting at the reserve since Penelope and Al started keeping records.’

  ‘Yes!’ He jumped up and down, fist-bumping the air. ‘It was awesome, wasn’t it, Marek?’

  ‘Yup,’ Marek agreed. ‘It was incredible. Abby, they’re fu— frigging huge! And so beautiful.’

  Abby grinned. ‘You, Evan, are officially a Meadowsweet Fledgling, did you know that? We’re launching the scheme this weekend, but you were part of the inspiration behind it, so you are officially our first. You’ll get in free, and your parents’ membership will be discounted for the next year.’ She had checked his mum and dad were already members, rather than simply frequent visitors, before deciding to announce Evan as the inaugural Fledgling. ‘I’d love you to complete a diary of all your sightings, your involvement in nature, between now and next summer, and I’d like to give you something at the end of the day, if you’re still around?’ She pulled one of the leaflets out of her back pocket and handed it to him.

  He stared at it, and then her. ‘Serious?’

  ‘Deadly serious.’

  ‘Wow, cool! I have to tell Mum and Dad – about this, and the swallowtail!’

  ‘We’ll be presenting everything at four, if that’s OK?’

  ‘I told them we had to stay to the end!’ Evan called over his shoulder, racing off to find his parents.

  ‘A swallowtail, huh?’ Abby said.

  Marek nodded slowly. ‘I know. Pretty spectacular.’

  ‘Maybe it’s a sign?’

  ‘Of what, Abby?’

  Abby thought about Swallowtail House and its scaffolding, all the Fledgling leaflets they’d shifted, the glimmers of good humour, and something close to friendliness, she’d seen from Penelope recently, as if she was trying to make up for threatening to fire her. ‘Of better things to come?’

  She watched as the fair continued around them, pondering whether a rare butterfly sighting really could be symbolic, or if
her exhaustion was getting to her. And then, through the crowd, she saw a familiar face, and all thoughts of butterflies went out of her head.

  ‘Mum!’ she exclaimed, as Caroline embraced her, her floral scent overwhelming. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I came with this lot.’ She stood aside to allow Tessa and Neil, and then Daisy and Willow, to hug Abby. ‘We couldn’t miss your event – not this one. I have to say, Abby, it really is wonderful. Are there still walks left for us to go on?’

  ‘A couple,’ Abby replied, in a daze. She glanced at her mum’s feet, and saw that she had trainers on, her usual kitten heels left sensibly at home.

  ‘Hey, sis,’ Tessa said. ‘How are things?’

  Abby grinned. ‘They’re good! Busy, obviously, but – all OK.’

  ‘Fab. We should … catch up. Soon? Come for a roast and a bottle of wine. Also, Daisy and Willow are dying to read your bird guide.’

  Abby laughed. ‘It’s only a few scribbles in a scruffy notebook.’

  ‘Don’t care,’ Tessa said. ‘We want a grand unveiling. You can read the whole thing aloud, maybe down by the pond?’

  ‘I’d love to come to that,’ their mum said, and Abby tried to hide her disbelief.

  ‘That would be great, Mum.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Tessa added, looking at the floor, ‘it can’t be far off being published, not with the company you’ve been keeping. Some of his talent must have rubbed off on you.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Caroline asked. ‘Who are you talking about?’

  ‘Oh God, Mum—’ Tessa’s hands went to her mouth. ‘You don’t know anything about it? The photo, the – Abby, you didn’t tell her?’

  Abby felt her cheeks flush and saw the apology in her sister’s eyes. ‘It’s been a busy time,’ she said, unconvincingly. ‘But I promise I’ll fill you in on everything. At this notebook reading, or whatever it is.’

  ‘Next Saturday,’ Tessa said quickly. ‘OK? You can both stay over; we’ve got room.’

  Caroline nodded, but her attention was fixed on Abby. ‘It sounds wonderful.’