Page 19 of Hope and Happiness in Bluebell Wood
‘Oh, like a trainee vicar?’
‘There’s a little more to it than that – but yes.’
‘That makes more sense, then. I had visions of someone in full ceremonial robes and a pointy hat answering your phone.’
Callum laughs and I feel my heart beat a little faster in my chest.
‘Well, it was good to see you again . . . Ava, isn’t it?’ he asks.
I nod.
‘I’d better get back to Jenny – I just popped in for some milk. If I go back to the vicarage without any and Jonah is left with black coffee, I’ll never hear the end of it.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘I sometimes think being married would be easier than living with him!’
I grin now.
‘Hope to see you around again,’ he says, smiling at me. ‘Bluebell Wood is a very friendly village, I’m sure you’ll enjoy being here.’
He turns and strides confidently back down the path towards the shop.
But this time as I watch him go, my thoughts about his departing figure aren’t quite so clear cut . . .
Six
The next morning Merlin and I are in our new favourite spot. It’s a warm day for March, helped by the sun that’s shining through the window into the sitting room, so I’ve opened one of the glass doors just a little to let in some fresh air.
It’s lovely feeling a little warmth in the air again. Spring is definitely on the way, and then summer. And in the same way as the weather is warming a little, a day at a time, so are my feelings towards this little cottage and the village I’m living in.
For the first time in ages I feel protected and safe. Both when I’m in the cottage and particularly when Merlin and I are in the wood.
There’s something about Bluebell Wood that I can’t quite put my finger on – but it’s a something I’m growing to love a little more with every passing day.
I gaze out at the garden, enjoying the sun and simply letting my mind wander for a bit (something my therapist had recommended to me, but I’d yet to put into practice very often), when movement in the garden catches my eye – something darting behind a bush.
I’m just wondering what it was, when there’s more movement from the bush, and a tiny bird flies across the garden and lands on the bird table.
It’s the robin!I think excitedly, as the little bird looks carefully around several times before it goes to investigate the food on the table. As quick as a flash it chooses something and flies off again, back down to the same bush it had emerged from.
Finally!I think, and I find myself smiling.And it’s the little robin again. But then there’s more movement as the robin appears again and repeats his previous routine, before selecting a worm this time and darting off.
‘At last,’ I comment to Merlin. ‘I thought they’d never come.’
It was only one robin, but the sight of a bird brave enough to come to the table and try something new makes me so much happier than I’d anticipated.
Over the next few days the robin returns several times to feed on the table, and then it brings a friend.
A pair!I think, watching them from my now regular spot by the window.How fabulous.
When I’d lived in London I’d seen wild birds all the time – sparrows on the window sill of my office, the pigeons around Trafalgar Square when I’d walked from the tube to my work, even the annoying birds that would sit in the trees outside my flat some mornings and wake me up with their incessant coocoo-cooing. I’d never given them a second thought. But now, seeing the pair of robins that had decided to trust me enough to feed on my bird table brought me more joy than I ever could have imagined.
I didn’t always see them from the French windows; sometimes I’d be out in the garden when they’d visit – hanging out my washing or pulling the odd weed out of the flower beds. Theydidn’t seem in the least bit scared of me; if anything, I felt like I was intruding on their patch instead of the other way around.
It said in one of Evelyn’s bird books that robins are very territorial, and once they’ve chosen a garden to feed from they will often try to scare off other birds that attempt to invade their territory. I hadn’t seen any sign of that yet with my robins, I was simply honoured that they’d chosen my garden to feed from.
Our days in Bluebird Cottage had developed a routine of sorts. I’d get up in the morning and make Merlin’s breakfast and myself a coffee. I’d then go out and top up the bird table if it needed it. I was beginning to think there were more birds feeding there than just my two regulars, as the seed was disappearing far too quickly to only be them. But so far I hadn’t seen any other birds, so I guessed they must be coming before I got up in the morning. And that was another thing: I was sleeping better now – I put it down to all the fresh air and exercise I was getting. Often the first thing that would wake me in the morning would be birdsong. I’d awake feeling refreshed, rather than groggy from a mix of sleeping tablets and another fretful night of tossing and turning.
Once we’d looked after ourselves and the birds, Merlin and I would sit by the French windows and look out at the garden for a while, waiting for the first robin to make an appearance.
We’d go for one walk in the morning and another in the evening, and in between that I’d fill my time with reading from the many books on Evelyn’s shelves, watching the odd bit of television, and occasionally attempting some more baking, although unlike my success in feeding the birds, my baking still left a lot to be desired.
