Page 110 of Hope and Happiness in Bluebell Wood
‘I think the work only stops while the area is looked at by the experts; once they’re happy they’ve found all they can, then the work continues. It would have to be an area ofextremehistoric interest to prevent the houseseverbeing built. So while we’ve probably done a great job in pausing the development, I don’t think we can assume we’ve stopped it completely.’
I stare at Jemima. I hadn’t thought about it like that. I’d been so pleased we might have found a way of stopping the development, I hadn’t paused to consider that it might go ahead again at a future date.
‘I could be wrong,’ Jemima says hopefully, seeing my forlorn expression. ‘You never know what they’ll find once they start digging; we might all be living on a complete Roman settlement?’
‘But we might not,’ I reply desolately. ‘It might just be a few odd things that have survived in a field, and if they find anything valuable like Robin did, Colin will get half the profits as the owner of the land, according to Lonan. So, we’ve probably done him a favour in the long run: not only will he get to build all his houses, but he might make an extra few quid out of it as well.’
*
The afternoon is wet, so Merlin and I spend it cuddled up on the sofa together. Merlin is tired from his trip to the school, and I’m just miserable about life in general. Even Callum calling to ask about the school’s trip to the field and to enquire whether he can come round tonight doesn’t cheer my mood as much as it should do, and I feel annoyed with myself that I can’t even see the positive in that.
The rain ceases for a while and one of the young birds that have recently begun to frequent the garden bobs about on the grass a little way from the bird table looking for food. This youngster’s feathers haven’t come through properly yet, but it has a small flash of yellow on its wings that makes me think it might be a greenfinch, and I make a mental note to check one of Evelyn’s books later.
I watch the little bird for a while, wondering at what stage a mother bird decides it’s safe for her young to venture out on their own, and if she still worries about them constantly, like I do with my two grown-up children. I’m half watching the bird, half thinking about Hannah and Matt, when out of the corner of my eye a large shadow is cast over the garden as something drops quickly down from the sky. Before I have time to react, I realise the shape has swooped down on top of the little bird.
‘No!’ I cry, as the huge bird I now recognise as a sparrow hawk beats its long wings and takes off again with the little greenfinch in its talons. ‘Stop!’ I shout at the window, banging on the glass. But it’s too late; the cunning predator has caught its innocent prey, and is probably retreating back to its own nest, where the young bird that had been happily searching for food a few moments ago is now likely a meal for the sparrow hawk and its own chicks.
I stand silently at the window, completely shocked thatsomething so violent has taken place in my garden, right under my nose.
I feel guilty that the little bird had been under my bird table when it was taken, as if it should have been better protected here than out in the wild somewhere. It had put its trust in me and my garden to forage for food, somewhere it should have been safe, and yet it had been savagely attacked by a predator it didn’t stand any chance against.
I feel cold and numb as I stand at the window, and I realise after a while I’ve started to shake. Merlin, sensing something is wrong, rolls off the sofa to come and stand supportively next to me. He nuzzles his nose up against my leg, so I slide down on to the floor and pick him up, holding him close as I sit crosslegged on the carpet.
‘Why do the innocent fall prey to those that wish them harm?’ I ask Merlin, finding his closeness immediately calming in a way I hadn’t expected to. ‘Those innocent people had trusted they’d be safe coming into the hotel that day. They thought no harm would come to them, but it did. Those that meant them harm got to them, just like the sparrow hawk got to the young bird – an innocent life taken in an instant.’
Merlin wriggles in my grip, and I realise I’m holding him a little too tightly.
‘Sorry,’ I tell him, snuggling against his soft fur. ‘I just don’t understand anything any more, Merlin. It seems you can’t win whatever you do, however you try to help; it all just goes wrong.’
Just then the friendly little robin that so often visits the garden lands on the grass not far from where the bird had been taken a few moments ago. I’m about to warn him to leave in case the sparrow hawk returns, when I notice he has some pink paper in his beak, which he drops purposefully on the groundin front of him. Then he looks at me in that knowing way he always has, with his little head cocked to one side.
Merlin spies the robin and pricks up his ears.
‘No, Merlin, leave him,’ I say, trying to calm him by stroking his back firmly. Merlin growls, in what I know to be a playful way, but it’s too much for the robin and he decides to leave.
‘Merlin!’ I complain good-naturedly. ‘Now you’ve scared him away.’
The piece of pink paper blows towards us across the grass. So I put Merlin down and open up the French window, then I chase the paper a little way across the lawn as it blows gently along in the breeze.
When I finally catch up with it, I pick it up and open up the folds to reveal what the robin has dropped – it looks like a torn corner from a bingo card, with the numbers 12 and 21 remaining.
‘Well, you’ve stumped me now,’ I call out to the garden, in case the robin is still about. ‘Did the Romans play bingo? Is that what you want me to know this time?’
There is, of course, no answer. However, I do feel a little better as I stand outside in the fresh air and realise what Merlin and I probably need is a good walk to clear away the drama of this afternoon, and put it in perspective.
So that’s exactly what we do. And as always, the peace and tranquillity of the wood doesn’t totally heal my woes or take my worries away, but it makes them seem just that little bit easier to deal with. So when Callum arrives that evening, I’m already in a much better state of mind.
I tell him about what had happened earlier in the garden, and how I’d reacted. When I get to the part about the robin and the pink paper, he smiles.
‘What’s funny?’ I ask, annoyed that he’s finding this amusing.
‘Nothing is funny at all. I’m smiling because of what the robin left for you – the piece of paper.’
‘What about it – do you understand what it means?’
‘Possibly. You won’t like it, though.’
‘Why?’
