Lovebirds: The Dawn Chorus

by Cressida McLaughlin

  Abby could imagine it, too.

  They walked to the reserve, Abby taking her usual shortcut, aware that Octavia also knew it, and if she took the detour she had used for the last couple of weeks the older woman would start asking questions. As they got to Peacock Cottage, Octavia’s pace slowed almost comically, and she peered towards the windows. They were dark, the shiny red Range Rover absent from its usual space, and Abby felt a twinge of disappointment as she wondered where Jack had gone, whether he was out getting shopping or had disappeared back to London for good.

  It had been two weeks since he had rescued her from the dark, and then followed it up with his good-humoured note, but since then she hadn’t seen or heard from him and had spent far too much time wondering if he was expecting an answer to his question about her guided walk. She had thought it was rhetorical, but should she have let him know the dates? Had she pushed him away? She had been going around in circles, telling herself it was a good thing, and then feeling a sharp sense of loss that she might have done just that.

  ‘No more from Mr Westcoat?’ Octavia asked as, her curiosity unrewarded, they trooped through the last patch of woodland before reaching the visitor centre.

  ‘A couple of brief meetings, one more note, but it was much … friendlier. I think he’s coming to terms with his adopted neighbourhood.’

  ‘That’s good to know. I suppose he realizes beggars can’t be choosers, and after what he did …’ She tutted loudly.

  Abby prayed that she wouldn’t elaborate and was overjoyed to see Rosa waving at them from the doorway.

  ‘This is unexpected, Octavia,’ Rosa said. ‘Come in, I’ll make you both a hot drink.’

  ‘Octavia’s brought spectacular handmade decorations,’ Abby said. ’It seems right that she should be able to help put them up. Or else just direct us from one of the café pews, whatever you prefer?’

  ‘Oh no, I’ll get stuck in my love. No point keeping these hands idle when I could make the job easier.’

  Abby lost herself in it, analyzing angles and viewpoints, working out where the best places would be for Octavia’s glittering creations. She hauled the ladder out of the storeroom and climbed to the top to hang strings of shimmering, rainbow tinsel from the centre of the domed roof out to the edges, like a maypole.

  By the time they had finished, the whole building was dripping in festive, sparkling colour. They had even dared to put a mini Christmas tree on Penelope’s desk, and Abby was eager to see what the reaction would be. Would she accept it, smile, even, or ask for it to be removed before she threw it in the bin?

  Abby knew so little about her boss, about who she spent time with outside work, whether she had close friends she let her hair down with. She had tried to picture Penelope relaxing, and found she couldn’t. She knew, via village hearsay, that Al had been her one true love, that she had abandoned her old life the moment he’d died – everything except the reserve, which she kept alive in his memory. They’d had no children together, and Abby thought she must be horribly lonely. Perhaps, over the years, she had held onto her loneliness, nurturing it, slowly shutting everyone out. It was such a shame.

  Beneath the sternness, Abby could sense that there was so much more to Penelope, but perhaps living in a close-knit village, the way gossip whispered through it like wind through the trees, had made her cautious.

  ‘Earth to Abby.’ Rosa clicked her fingers in front of her face and Abby started, almost dropping the sparkly purple bird she was holding, unmistakable as a wren with its upright tail, its small, bulbous body and sharp beak. ‘Stephan’s just arrived, and we’re going to get a bacon roll before we open. You in?’

  ‘Five secs,’ Abby said. ‘Got to pop this little guy somewhere.’ She turned in a slow circle, looking for the perfect place for her wren, and chose a shelf in the Birdseye View section, between two high-end pairs of binoculars. Secretly, she named the bird Jonny, and went to find her bacon roll. As she approached the table, she realized the others were already deep in a conversation she would have tried to steer them away from, had she been there from the start.

  ‘It’s very gloomy and empty looking,’ Octavia was saying. ‘Has he gone? Had enough of the place? Abby said …’ She glanced up. ‘Oh, hello pet, I was just telling the others that Peacock Cottage seems deserted again. He didn’t last long, did he?’

  Abby slid in next to Stephan, thanking him for the sandwich. ‘He could have gone to the shops.’

  ‘True,’ Octavia mused, but Abby knew it didn’t fit in with her sense of the dramatic. ‘And he’s stopped complaining, you were saying.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Rosa said, swiping a glance at Abby. ‘The last note he left was almost enthusiastic about the reserve, or certain aspects of it.’

  Abby stared at her plate. After Jack’s note, the one that had made her smile and thoroughly confused everyone else, Rosa had pressed Abby about what it meant, but Abby had been as vague as she could, saying they’d almost literally bumped into each other and it was a sort of apology from him. It wasn’t the truth, but she thought that if he had something to be sorry for, then his swift change of opinion, from hostile to conciliatory, might make more sense. Rosa hadn’t been convinced – she knew when Abby was holding something back – and hadn’t entirely let it go.

  What Abby was absolutely not prepared to do was give anyone her opinion of Jack Westcoat, for fear that her complicated feelings for him might escape along with it.

  ‘I was saying to Abby,’ Octavia carried on, oblivious to the atmosphere between the two friends, ‘that if he’s really in all that much trouble, and this is – or was – some kind of safe haven, then he isn’t in a position to be complaining. But then maybe he’s that kind of man, one who does as he pleases, always looks after himself and damn the consequences. Long before this latest incident he’d had a few reckless years, according to newspaper reports. It seems old habits die hard, and I’ve been debating with myself whether I want to unleash a man like that on the library regulars – but it would do wonders for our profile, having such a famous author under our humble roof. As long as he’s not going to fly into a rage, I think it would be worth it.’

  ‘You’ve not approached him about it yet then, Octavia?’ Stephan asked.

  She shook her head, her myriad of necklaces jiggling. ‘I was giving him a couple of months, but now I see I might have left it too late.’

  ‘Left what too late?’

  Abby hadn’t heard Penelope approach, and judging by the startled looks of her friends, she wasn’t the only one.

  ‘We were wondering if your tenant is still about, Penelope? You know, Jack Westcoat, notorious, bad-tempered author.’ Octavia was the only one in the vicinity of Meadowsweet – other than Gavin when he was being bold – who was unfazed by her.

  ‘Mr Westcoat is still in Peacock Cottage,’ Penelope said, ‘though I’m not sure he would appreciate being a subject at the breakfast table. I do, however, like the way you’ve made the reserve look festive. I’m sure our guests will love it, and I believe I have you to thank for the quirky decorations, Octavia?’

  ‘I enjoy a bit of crafting, and what better way of spreading festive cheer than to share that with friends? Glad you approve. That’ll be a selling point when I go and see young Ryan later.’

  ‘Indeed. And please, if you have to talk about fellow residents of Meadowgreen, I would be mindful that what may be shallow gossip to you, is actually very serious for them. He happens to be in a position where his every move is liable to be scrutinized, and I’m sure he’d be grateful if, while he was here, he could at least get some let up from that. Now, do you have a spare piece of tinsel, Abby? The tree you’ve left on my desk is looking somewhat forlorn.’

  Octavia rustled about in her bag and pulled out a few colourful strands that were the perfect size for the miniature Christmas tree.

  ‘Thank you,’ Penelope said.

  ‘Do you want a bacon roll? Come and join us for a bit, maybe?’ Stephan glanced up hopefu
lly.

  Penelope’s thin lips shivered into a smile. ‘That’s a very kind offer, Stephan, but I have some paperwork to go through. A cappuccino would be welcome, but please—’ she held a hand out, stopping him as he began to rise – ‘not until you’ve finished your breakfast. I’m not gasping.’ She walked back to her office, twisting the tinsel between her fingers.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Rosa whispered, after they’d heard the door shut. ‘What was that about? I was sure she’d be Queen Grinch over Christmas; I remember she was pretty nonplussed last year, but that was while we are all still getting to know each other. Is she softening?’

  ‘Interesting what she said about Jack,’ Stephan said. ‘Very much as if she knows him personally and is looking out for him.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ Rosa said. ‘She wouldn’t want just anyone staying in one of her houses, she’s way too particular for that.’

  ‘How do they know each other, then?’ Octavia asked. ‘And what does she think of all his antics at the awards ceremony, and the reasons behind it? Did you read up on that?’ Rosa and Stephan nodded and Abby joined in, hoping if she pretended to be clued up Octavia wouldn’t go over it again. ‘I could barely believe it,’ she continued. ‘I wonder how he’s hoping to recover his reputation after pulling a stunt like that? It makes the attack on his friend almost acceptable by comparison.’

  ‘As Penelope says though,’ Stephan said cautiously, ‘we have to be careful. It’s his life, and you never know how much the press have twisted things or blown them out of proportion. He might be a highly decent chap, stuck in a very difficult situation.’

  Rosa nodded, her eyes finding Abby’s and then sliding away. Abby knew that, as much as her friend wanted to have the full story about the contact she’d had with Jack, she wouldn’t put her in an awkward position in front of Octavia.

  Octavia, however, had no problem asking the pertinent questions. ‘What do you think about all this, Abby love? You’ve been very quiet, and you’ve had a couple of encounters with him. Is he author-talk material, or is he as dark as those terrible psychopaths he writes about?’

  ‘I’ve never read his books,’ Abby said, picking up crumbs on the end of her finger. ‘He was difficult to begin with, but he was prepared to listen to me. He might even come on one of my organized walks, so he can’t be all bad.’

  Stephan laughed. ‘As long as they’re a nature lover, they’re OK with Abby. He could have punched everyone at the awards ceremony, but if he stopped to look at the bluebells Abby would forgive him.’

  ‘Hey,’ Abby protested, forcing a smile.

  ‘Well.’ Octavia shook her head, and then her shirt, depositing crumbs on the table. ‘Wouldn’t that be a turn up for the books? Jack Westcoat on one of Meadowsweet Nature Reserve’s guided walks. That would give Flick Hunter and Wild Wonders a run for their money, and no mistake.’

  Nobody pointed out to Octavia that, even if Jack came on one of the walks, he was highly unlikely to want the fact advertised to the whole of Suffolk.

  The turn up for the books happened one Saturday morning a few weeks later, when Christmas Day was less than three weeks away, and Abby had started to hum ‘Fairytale of New York’ on repeat.

  She liked Christmas, and loved spending time with Tessa, Neil and the girls. Though their festive period inevitably included a visit from their mum, who would regale them with tales of her burgeoning single life, cruises and wine trips to France, dinner parties and dances in the posh Suffolk village of Lavenham, and a card from their dad, complete with additional scribbled names on the bottom, reminding them of his new, younger family, and how little time he gave to them anymore.

  Still, Abby knew it was for the best, that new families and scattered lives were bliss compared to that claustrophobic pressure cooker of a house where one wrong word was likely to wreak havoc. While her dad had tried to make amends for what he’d done, she was more comfortable keeping him at a distance. At least everyone seemed more or less happy now.

  She was trying not to think about what her dad would be doing with his wife Susan and Abby and Tess’s half-brother Shaun who, despite being fourteen, they had only met on a handful of occasions, and how different their Christmas would be to the ones she had experienced growing up, when she pulled on her extra-thick fleece in the storeroom and went to meet the guests who had booked onto her winter warmer walk.

  The first thing she noticed was that Evan was there, with his mum and dad in tow. He had an expensive-looking pair of binoculars around his neck, and a spotter book and pen clasped in his gloved hands. Abby’s heart soared, all thoughts of her dad forgotten.

  ‘Evan,’ she said, before greeting the rest of her visitors. ‘How are you? Still enjoying nature spotting?’

  ‘It’s the best,’ Evan confirmed. ‘We’ve been all over and I’ve seen so much stuff, but this is my favourite reserve. Are we going down to the kingfisher hide today? They’ve seen one there already this morning, I checked the board.’

  ‘Yes, I thought we’d go there. Our kingfishers are pretty consistent, if you stay for long enough you should get a good sighting from the right-hand windows. I’m so glad you’re here – you’ll have to tell me about all the things you’ve seen after we get back.’ She pointed at his book and Evan grinned, glancing at his mum and dad to check they’d noticed Abby’s interest. This, she thought, was why she loved her job so much.

  ‘Right everyone, welcome to Meadowsweet Nature Reserve’s winter warmer walk. As you will have noticed, it’s a beautiful day, clear and dry, but don’t be deceived. Are you all wearing enough layers? Have you got suitable footwear? There’s still a deceptive amount of mud out there, hidden beneath that sparkly crackle of frost. I don’t want anyone slipping over and being confined to their houses for the Christmas period.’

  She made eye contact, nodded to her visitors as they confirmed they were properly attired, and that was when she saw him, standing at the back, partly obscured behind an older man wearing a bobble hat.

  Jack stood up tall but his shoulders were raised, his chin buried in the collar of his padded jacket, as if he was trying to remain incognito. She thought with the winter sun he could even have got away with sunglasses, but maybe that would have drawn more attention to him, rather than less. She carried on with her introduction, telling everyone the plan before walking past them – eleven people, not bad when it was so cold – to lead them to the first trail.

  She passed close to Jack, and felt his fingers brush the back of her hand. She turned, and he gave her a fleeting smile.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘You didn’t give me the dates of your walks, so I had to look them up for myself.’

  ‘What a hardship for you,’ she whispered, but she was smiling. ‘Glad it wasn’t beyond your efforts to make it down here. I’m guessing you won’t be too cold, that your coat is filled with duck down or something?’

  He laughed. ‘It’s warm enough but didn’t require the death of any ducks to make it. I’m not entirely heartless.’

  ‘You don’t need to kill ducks to—’ she started, and then realized that he was grinning, and that the other visitors were listening to the exchange. ‘Right then,’ she said loudly, ‘if you’ll follow me please. This way.’

  The reserve was spectacular, with glistening, sun-kissed water and frosty, twinkling reeds. Everything shimmered, the air was crisp against her cheeks and lips, and the variety of wading birds, winter visitors, herons and egrets on the lagoon meant that Abby’s job was easy; everyone was engaged and she found herself answering constant questions rather than giving a monologue on the different species they encountered. She also left a lot of it up to Evan, whose enthusiasm shone through as much as his knowledge. Abby only stepped in occasionally when he faltered on a bit of detail.

  ‘Bewick’s swans come all the way from Siberia,’ he said, when someone asked about the smaller variety of swan. ‘They’ll stay until …’ He looked at her, and Abby supplied the answer.

  ‘Sometime i
n March.’

  ‘Then they’ll fly back again,’ Evan continued. ‘As well as the size difference, you can identify them because their beaks are blacker, less yellow than the other swans.’

  Several members of the group made interested noises, and then tried to spot the features Evan had mentioned through binoculars and telescopic lenses.

  Jack, she noticed, was standing to one side of the hide, staring across the wintery tableau, not asking to borrow any of the equipment Abby had brought with her or getting involved in the discussions. She thought that he might be observing, soaking everything up ready to note it all down and use some of it in his next book. She longed to ask him about it, had often found herself wondering how he worked, if he had one writing space or preferred variety, where he got his ideas from and why he focused on such dark subjects.

  She had almost borrowed one of his books from the library, and then realized that would be a green light to Octavia that her disinterest was a cover, and she couldn’t bear the thought of the rumours that would spread as a result. Besides, with his presence common knowledge, she was sure all Jack Westcoat books at the library would have On Reserve against them for the foreseeable future.

  Online was her next port of call. She could buy any of his books with a single click but, like looking up the details of his indiscretions on the internet, she felt that to read one would be to fall down the rabbit hole. She was still waiting for her confused feelings for him to sort themselves out or, even better, disappear altogether.

  ‘What’s that, Abby?’ Evan asked, dragging her from her thoughts. As she turned, so did Jack, as if he, too, had been miles away.

  Abby stood next to the boy and peered out across the water, in the direction he was pointing.

  ‘Like a heron, only different.’

  Abby’s pulse increased. She lifted her binoculars to her eyes, trying to pinpoint the spot, finding it easily.

  ‘You little superstar,’ she said, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. ‘Everyone, Evan’s found one of our most thrilling, and hardest to see species. If you all grab your binoculars and scopes, look just to the right of that tall, dead tree in the centre, and then down in the reeds in front, close to the water, you’ll see a bird that looks like a heron, but is shorter, and browner in colour. It’s a wading bird called a bittern, and it is part of the heron family. They’ve got amber status in the UK, and mostly appear in the south of the country, although there are some in Lancashire and Wales and even Scotland. We’re establishing a conservation programme here, involving supplementary feeding when the weather’s at its coldest to try and help their numbers grow, and a lot of the other reserves in East Anglia are doing the same. Wow, Evan. Well done!’