by Wendy Reakes
“Just as a precaution. It’ll put my mind at rest knowing she’s where I can keep an eye on her.”
“I might do chicken for tea. What do you think?”
Bill felt his stomach churn. Chicken? “How about sausages, again, my love?”
Chapter 6
The house in Clifton was the best place in the world. For Ellen, there would never be anything to match it. The location, the ambience, and most importantly, the view. It was a two-storey dwelling, set into the rocks of the gorge, with a large terrace, more like a huge balcony, surrounded with a balustrade of glass panels with a rail on top, preventing anyone from crashing to the hillside below. Down there, hundreds of meters down, was the river Avon and above the level of the house, set in the near distance was Brunel's Suspension Bridge, in all its glory. Okay, it wasn't the biggest suspension bridge in the world. It certainly wasn't the Golden Gate, in San Francisco, but it was just as magnificent, hanging fast and strong, living on as generations across time went from one side to the other.
A day never went by without Ellen admiring the view. Just across the narrow gorge, two similar houses sat steadfast. Her neighbours over there sometimes waved, as each family in their own unique creations barbequed along with the setting sun.
That morning, Saturday, Ellen pushed open the windows that slid easily along its gliders to reveal the gorge. ‘Who’d have walls,’ she’d sometimes say. Walls blocked the view. No, these doors were heavy, but as a lever was released, they would glide open even if a feather had pushed them along. It was one of the unique selling points when the architect built the three houses. ‘A view to die for’, the details had said. The houses went under the hammer with closed bids. It was the nineties when no one had anticipated the hike in property prices into the millennium. Now, no one could afford to buy the three units. To Ellen and everyone else, they were priceless.
She went into the kitchen. It had walls, but a panoramic window went right across the units above the sink. She never opened that, she just admired the view when she cooked or made coffee or poured a glass of wine. Bliss. From a dining area with a table and six chairs, another set of doors went out to the terrace where they spent most of their time, where a little shed and tool store sat in the right-hand corner and a small bunker, housing cushions from the exterior furniture during winter. Frankly, they never put the cushions away unless a storm was brewing. Most of the time they stayed out, alongside two patio heaters. Of course, they had no choice to concede in winter, when it snowed.
Harry often said he missed the place. Ellen kept her mouth closed on that one.
She made her coffee and with a mug in hand, she went through the door to the large lounge where the glass doors now remained open until someone complained of the cold. Namely the kids. The lounge was an all-through. Going from the glass doors overlooking the gorge, to the back where, up some steps, a large wooden ornate door kept strangers at bay. Inside that area was a formal table and chairs and a dresser that housed Ellen's best china. The front area (as she called it) was down the other end near the glass doors with a large screen TV fixed over a fireplace housing an artificial gas flame fire. The sofas wrapped themselves around that area, making a nice cosy place to enjoy TV in the winter.
Stairs led downwards to the bedrooms. They had good views too, but more subdued, compared to the grand glass walls in the main room. Ellen went with bare feet to Molly’s room. She held her coffee to one side as she opened her door and peeked inside. Next to Moll’s bed was her two lovebirds together on a perch in a cage.
She was lying on her side, snuggled down beneath the duvet. ‘Breakfast, Molly?' Ellen whispered. Her eight-year-old hated to sleep in. Even on a Saturday, she always told Ellen to get her up rather than let her stay in bed all day long. By that alone, Ellen knew that when her daughter grew up, she would live life to the fullest. Molly was like her. The twins were more like Harry. More's the pity.
Molly murmured something as her eyes caught the birdcage to her right. Ellen smiled and closed the door. It was Saturday, so there was no way she was going to attempt to wake up her teenagers.
Back upstairs, she poured some cereal into two bowls and slotted four slices of bread into the toaster. She looked up at the clock on the wall. It was nine. Harry said he wanted to get away by eleven.
The phone rang. “Hi.”
Speak of the devil, Ellen thought.
“Can you be here for eleven?”
“I thought I’d already agreed to that.”
“Well, I wanted to get away by eleven, but I didn’t mention if you had to be here or not.”
“You sound fired up.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know, ready to go…ready to shake the dirt off your boots and get your weekend started.”
He paused. She smiled to herself. He doesn’t know she’s teasing him. He stopped knowing that, years ago. “You still there?”
“Yeah.”
“Does it matter if I’m not there by eleven? You don’t have to wait, do you?”
“I thought it was better.”
“Why? You’re missing it. Get going, Stop dragging your feet.”
“I’m not…”
“Then, why aren’t you there already?”
“We can’t get in till two,” he said.
“Hmm,” she said as if she was suspicious of him. She could feel his tension over the phone. She enjoyed winding him up. It was her way of getting satisfaction after the divorce.
“What does ‘hmm’ mean?”
“What?”
He was miffed now. “I’ll leave the keys with Frank. Just get here when you can. I’m going.” Then he hung up.
She smiled. One love to Ellen.
By ten-thirty she was ready to leave. The kids had emerged from their beds just half an hour ago. Matt had thrown himself down on the couch with his X-box and Gemma was sitting in the kitchen eating cereal while texting at the same time. Molly was sitting next to her, feeding her birds.
“Don't overfeed them, sweetie.”
"I'm not," she mumbled. "Mum, do you think the lovebirds are in love?”
“Most definitely. And I think they’re married too.”
“Birds don't get married,” Molly scoffed.
“How can you be so sure?”
Molly giggled as she spoke through the wires of the cage. “You married then, little love birds?”
“Right. Family meeting,” Ellen called.
From the sitting room, Matt cursed as he threw down his controller on the couch. He came in and grabbed some orange juice from the fridge, he was about to lift the carton to his mouth when Ellen said. "Get a glass."
When they were all seated around the table, Ellen commenced with the ‘family rules’.
“Okay. You’re on your own until midnight. You can bring two friends each to hang out, but you’re not allowed to watch 18 movies until Molly’s gone to bed.”
Molly frowned. “I’ve watched 18’s before, mum.”
“No, you’re not allowed. Really, you’re not allowed to watch PG, since you have no parental guidance. Only these two little monsters,” she mocked. “Sometimes I think Moll should be in charge.”
Molly grinned.
“You don’t have to take parental guidance so literally, mum,” said Matt.
“Moving on. If one of you go out, let me know. I won’t be happy about it, but since I know you’d sneak out if you wanted to, I prefer to be realistic. If one of you goes out, be back by ten. No later.”
“We’re just hanging here, mum. Don’t worry,” said Gemma.
“How’s your head by the way?”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“There’s plenty of food in. Make sure you have something, but I’ll bring back pizza before your friends go home, okay?”
"We won't need pizza. There are some frozen ones."
“Good. That will save me the bother.” When they didn’t respond, she added. “Make sure yo
u look after your sister.”
Gemma was already back on her phone and Matt was drumming his fingers on the table.
Suddenly, they heard two loud thumps, more like thuds, one after the other. “What was that?”
Matt shrugged. He got up and followed her out of the kitchen to the sitting room. While she went to the front entrance, Matt headed back to the couch.
She opened the door and saw two large birds, one black and one white, lying on the doorstep with their necks broken. “Matt, come look at this.”
He rushed over. “Whoa.”
When he tapped the white one with his foot, the bird lifted its head and pecked his toes with its sharp beak.
Surprised and furious, Ellen kicked the creature until it flew off into the sky, leaving the black one still dead on the doorstep.
Matt’s foot was bleeding and needed seeing to. Before she closed the door, Ellen thought about the action of the bird. The black one was dead all right, but she could have sworn the white one had been pretending.
“What’s with all these birds?” Matt asked.
The bird’s sharp beak had nipped a piece of skin out of Matt’s big toe. Ellen cleaned it with disinfectant swabs. Then she covered it with a strip of plaster. It wasn’t much, but that damn bird had made her son bleed. What a bitch.
She looked up at Matt, looking as if he was over the whole event. “How can you tell a female bird from a male bird?”
He shrugged. “I’ll google it.”
He read aloud. “Knowing how to tell the difference between male and female birds takes keen observation and a dedication to detailed birding. While not all species have easily visible gender differences, it is often possible to determine which birds are male or female by either appearance or behaviour.”
“That explains it. The guy bird was dead, and the girl bird was pretending. Like I said. A bitch.”
“Probably on her period.”
Ellen slapped his leg. “Go on,” she said. “You’re good to go.”
Before he went, Ellen said. “Seriously, though, Matt. That was weird, eh?”
"Forget it, mum. I'm fine."
She shook her head as she thought about the birds going crazy in the shop and then Gemma getting attacked outside the college. “Maybe there’s something in the air?” she muttered to herself.
She turned on the radio. When all she got was music, she switched channels until she found one that reported news all day long.
She heard ‘Birds…Coastline…Cornwall…Devon…Bizarre events…’
So, not just here then, Ellen thought, as she shut the green med box and picked up her keys.
She called out to the kids before she left. “Be good all of you. See you later.”
Molly came running over to her at the door. They hugged and kissed. Ellen tapped her on the bottom. “Look after your brother and sister,” she said before she closed the door behind her.
Chapter 7
Harry and Melanie were on their way. Thank God, thought Harry as they got onto the M5. To get away for a couple of days was just what the doctor ordered.
Ellen still hadn’t shown up. He had to text her to let her know he was leaving. He’d left the keys with Frank, but he knew Ellen wouldn’t let him down.
Melanie sat at his side and as they hit a clear run on the motorway, he reached over and placed his hand on her knee. She turned sideways and smiled. Yes, they were on their way.
They’d met at a nightclub only six weeks ago. He’d gone in with a group of lads he knew from his old firm. They often dined at the Boathouse and he always gave them ten per cent off.
Melanie was there with a group of friends. All girls, so it was only natural for the two tables to mingle. Within half an hour, most of the group had paired off, leaving Harry and Melanie with no choice but to sit together and make polite conversation.
He thought she was very attractive, but he’d doubted she would fancy him. After all, at thirty-nine he was an old man now, with an ex-wife, three kids and a mortgage to drown in.
As it turned out, she’d fancied him too. They’d danced, talked, shared each other’s past lives. It was the beginning and six months later they were still going strong.
Melanie was ten years his junior. He was lucky to have her. She was classy, coming from one of the better families in Bristol. Apart from being a fashion blogger, she was also an interior designer. She often said that she lived and breathed both. Fashion and design were in her blood she'd say.
It was Melanie's best friend who had acted as a consultant in the restaurant. Harry hadn't mentioned that to Ellen. Mel had helped with the final design of tableware and the odd piece of furniture to brighten up the place. He didn't tell Ellen that either.
Now they were going away to spend some quality time together. Harry had found the cottage online. Rustic was the word he used to persuade her it was the right place. "Imagine," he said, right next to the sea, our own little love nest with no one for miles around. Scenic walks, red wine and fantastic sex. It was true, the sex was great. That was the other thing that had dried up in his marriage to Ellen.
They’d taken Melanie’s car, a white sports number with a soft top. She said they could have it down when going around all the cute Cornish villages.
“I’m not sure the weather will allow it, baby,” he’d said.
"No, I've checked the forecast. It looks like sunshine all around."
Now, they were driving south, with the top up. “Can't wait to get you there, honey,” he said with his hand on her knee.
“Hmm. Lovely.”
“Have you been to Cornwall before?” he asked.
“I was almost born there.”
He laughed. “Almost?”
“My parents were on holiday when my mother was expecting. She went into labour the day they left. That's why she always says I was 'almost born' in Cornwall.” She laughed. “Better than actually being born there.”
“Hmm? You don't like it?!”
“Cornwall is as remote to us as the outback is to the Aussies.”
“No, it's not.” He’d taken umbrage to that. Jesus, it was only a couple of hours down the motorway, not the Outer Hebrides.
“Yes, it is. Name one place where you can find some decent shops.”
He laughed. “I get your point. No Prada in the outback.”
“Exactly,” she said. “The only good thing to come out of Cornwall is Poldark. Have you seen it?”
“The new one or the old one?”
“The new one, of course.”
“No.” But he had seen the old one. Better he thought. He remembered watching it with Ellen. That was in the good ‘ol days before everything fell apart. Ellen, the woman he still loved. She didn’t know that, of course. God forbid he’d ever mention it. She hated him now. He’d let her down and she’d never forgive him for it. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it had been an affair that had broken them up, but the only affair he’d had was the one with his restaurant. He should never have mortgaged the house. The house was special. It didn’t deserve to be treated that way. Still, it was all water under the bridge now. He’d met Mel. He could finally move on.
He rubbed her thigh. “Hey, you know what? You're going to have a great birthday. I'm going to make sure of it.
“Thank you, darling. And you know what, maybe I can pick the destination next time.”
“Sure,” he said as his enthusiasm waned.
Chapter 8
Bill finished the window and two more besides. If the birds came back, let them get through that lot, he thought as he hammered in the final nail.
Fortunately, the front bedroom had shutters to match the ones downstairs in the kitchen. That was one of the advantages of having an old stone farmhouse in Cornwall, they were built to last with few windows to cause the residents any problems when the wind blew through in winter. Now, it saved him a job since all he had to do was close them tight and nail them shut.
Inside, the house was dark now, but he
kept the lamp on the landing turned on. He only needed to do the window in the sitting room and then the job was done.
At the last minute, since time was getting on, he decided to leave it till he got back. He wanted to collect Gladys and then go up to the cottage to make sure everything was all right, ready for the visitors.
It was eleven when he drove over to the farm where he was born. Gladys was out the front sweeping up leaves. He pulled up and turned off the engine. “You ready?”
“I’m not coming, Bill. Why do you want me driven out of me house by a bunch of birds? Hmm? Tell me that.”
“You’ll be better off with us,” he said. “The birds are acting strange. You should have seen it last night, mother. I don’t want you being alone if they come back.”
Gladys Hock was a strong woman and she'd loved the bones of Bill’s father, Denis. Her biggest downfall, she’d told everyone who'd listen, was that she’d only managed to bear one son to take over the farm. ‘He's a strapping lad, though,' Gladys would finish. ‘Wouldn't have minded a daughter to call my own,' she'd said, ‘if just to help hang out the washing belonging to these strapping boys.' She’d meant Bill and Denis, since they were both six-foot-five with long-legged overalls, opposed to Gladys’ five foot nothing. Gladys had to use a small set of steps to get up near the line to hang those long-legged pants. ‘That's what I wanted a girl for, to reach up that far without me having to use the steps.'
“Come on, mother,” he called. The day was getting on and he wanted to get back to tend the cottage before the city folk arrived. He also wanted to drop by Arthur Reed’s farm, but the way Gladys was moving, there wouldn’t be much time for that.
‘Alright, alright,’ she mumbled, opening the door to go back into the house.
But then, just as she opened the door to go inside, a crow flew out of the house and pushed her over onto the ground.
Bill made a quick dash to reach her as quickly as he could.
The bird had hopped onto a chair which Gladys used to sit outside on a nice day, but just before Bill reached her, the bird made the most of the time it had and went for her once more, landing on her torso as she laid on the floor with her arms lashing out and having no effect.
