Page 48 of Hope and Happiness in Bluebell Wood
Callum and I both lift our glasses.
‘To Ava and Merlin, and the joy they will bring to Bluebell Wood Primary School!’
‘To Ava and Merlin,’ Callum repeats. ‘And the joy they’ve brought toall of usin Bluebell Wood already . . . ’
Fourteen
I stagger sleepily downstairs on Sunday morning with the intention of making some coffee, feeding Merlin and heading outside to feed the birds. We’d slept later than we usually do because it had been quite a late one last night. We’d stayed on at the pub with Jemima and Callum, and later Lonan, who had unexpectedly joined us halfway through the evening, entertaining us with stories of his research trips abroad and his publishing career. When it got too cold to sit outside, Jemima suggested we all move inside to continue our evening, but it was a Saturday night and the pub was heaving with people, so to my regret I’d had to decline.
As we’d all stood up from the table, and I said I was going to head home, Callum had hesitated in following the others. Jemima had wasted no time in sliding her arm companionably through his to encourage him to continue the night with them. But Callum clearly had other ideas, and said he had an early start in the morning with the Sunday service and he would walk me home first before heading back to the vicarage.
My heart had leapt as high as Jemima’s had likely fallen when he’d wriggled from her hold and walked over towards me, and we’d left the pub together, leaving Jemima and Lonan to carry on the rest of their evening together.
‘Thanks for offering to walk me home,’ I’d said before we left the pub. ‘But you don’t have to; Merlin and I will be fine.’
‘Don’t be silly, it’s my pleasure. Between you and me, you gave me just the excuse I needed to leave. I enjoy our local pub, but I really don’t feel like it tonight. A nice walk and some fresh air seem much more appealing right now.’
We’d then enjoyed a lovely moonlit amble back to the cottage, not talking about anything in particular, simply enjoying being in each other’s company.
When we’d got to the top of the path that leads down to the cottage, Callum had insisted on walking me right to the gate. Then we’d paused and said our goodnights.
‘I’m glad you and Merlin are going to give the school a chance,’ Callum said, reflecting back on what had taken place earlier. ‘I think it will be a good move for everyone involved.’
‘Perhaps,’ I’d replied with a little less confidence.
‘You have so much to give, Ava. It’s a shame you don’t realise it.’
‘Have I?’ I’d asked doubtfully.
Callum had nodded. ‘I suspect you could do great things if you put your mind to it.’
‘And I think you might have had one beer too many!’ I’d joked in an attempt to lighten the conversation.
But Callum had remained solemn. Then to my surprise he’d reached out his hand and gently allowed his soft fingers to caress my cheek.
‘I . . . I must go,’ he’d said hastily, with the slightly startledexpression of someone who’s just been woken from a really intense dream. ‘I’ll see you soon – yes?’
I’d simply nodded, feeling just as astonished by his touch as he’d looked dazed. Then I’d watched as he’d walked briskly up the path away from me and away from Bluebird Cottage.
This morning as I gaze out of the kitchen window, still sleepy, I reach out my hand and gently touch my cheek where Callum’s fingers had been last night.
Then I feel Merlin nudge my leg impatiently.
‘Sorry, fella,’ I say apologetically, ‘I’m getting it now.’
I make Merlin’s breakfast, and then we both head out to the garden to top up the bird feeders.
‘Good morning!’ I say to a cheery little robin and a beadyeyed blackbird who are brave enough to sit watching me as I cross the grass towards them. ‘How are you both today?’
But as I get closer to the bird table, my heart drops. I can see something bright red lying against the base. I pause for a moment, there’s movement: it looks like tiny feathers moving in the breeze.
Oh no,I think, staring at it.Has a cat had one of my birds? Is it lying there covered in blood?
With much trepidation I move closer to the table, but my concern turns to relief as I see what is actually lying there. It is indeed a feather I can see moving, but instead of being lots of little feathers covered in blood, this is just one large red feather.
I move forward and pick it up.
Where has this come from?I wonder. There are certainly no birds that come to this table that have feathers like it; in fact, I’m pretty sure that no birds in the British Isles have feathersthis long and in this shade of vibrant red. No, this is a fake feather, the sort that might be bought for crafting or to add to a hat or fancy-dress costume.
