The House of Birds and Butterflies

Abby laughed at Gavin’s crudeness. He, as much as anyone, was dedicated to his job and looking after the wildlife on the reserve, even though he sometimes did a good impression of not caring.

She felt a slight change in atmosphere round the table. Things were already so precarious with the confirmation of the Wild Wonders team turning up at Reston Marsh, and a new tenant in Peacock Cottage shouldn’t be a massive deal, but she was sure everyone else was having the same thoughts she was.

Any relative or friend of Penelope’s would stay with her on the Harrier estate – she had enough room in her house there – so it seemed unlikely that was the answer. Had she brought someone in to try and rescue the reserve, a professional project manager because none of them were up to the task? Or could it be someone who was interested in buying the Meadowsweet estate, Swallowtail House and the reserve included, and wanted to spend some time there first, getting the lie of the land? Penelope wasn’t the type to rent her property out to a complete stranger; she was far too private a person for that, unless the financial situation had become so desperate she had no choice.

That last option would, surely, be the worst of them all, and would suggest they were in even more trouble than Abby had first thought.

Chapter Three (#u0b80c63a-bb74-551b-80d2-eb45d8626347)

The Dawn Chorus is when birds start singing very early in the morning, as the sun rises. It’s most notable in the spring and summer – because that’s when birds are most active – and can start as early as four o’clock, which is pretty annoying when you’ve had a late night, but helpful if you’ve forgotten to set the alarm on your phone.

— Note from Abby’s notebook

For the next week, the gossip in the pub was at the back of Abby’s mind, hovering like some forgotten item that she meant to add to her shopping list. It would occasionally burst to the surface, sending a twinge of apprehension through her, though she had nothing to be concerned about except the imagined upsetting of the equilibrium of her life at the reserve. Wild Wonders and an increased workload she could cope with – in a way it was better that they knew about it now, the certainty much easier to deal with than worried speculation. And she enjoyed throwing herself into her job, poring over the short evaluation questionnaires she had drawn up for the school visits, reading the comments, bristling slightly when they said ‘dull’, or ‘boring’, or ‘who cares about blackbirds anyway?’ and looking for those that would help her to improve the activities and information she was trying to inspire the children with.

One of the comments stood out: ‘Instead of a fake treasure hunt with wood creatures, why can’t we look for real birds and animals?’ It was a good point, Abby conceded, and enough adults took their spotter books around with them, ticking off godwits, teals and chiffchaffs when they came across them. There was no reason school visits couldn’t include an element of this – she’d only held back because she didn’t want to create disappointment when a whole class failed to find anything she’d listed. If she kept it simple, included a few plants and trees they would be guaranteed to come across as well as the more common birds, then it could be a success.

She was leaning forward on the reception desk, adding to the written plan Penelope had requested while there was a lull in new customers, when Gavin walked out of the office, his hands in his pockets, Penelope following.

‘Thanks for that Penelope,’ he said. ‘I’ll get on it tomorrow, once I’ve finished at the heron hide.’ He winked at Rosa and Abby, then turned to face the older woman. ‘By the way, is it right that someone’s moving into Peacock Cottage? Only I wondered if you wanted me to do any work on the back garden, clear the bindweed?’

Abby gasped and started coughing. Rosa stopped reorganizing the pens on the counter, and Gavin waited for an answer to the prying that, Abby had to admit, was quite well disguised as an offer of help.

Penelope, her claret silk shirt done up to the neck, seemed unmoved, her face impassive. Abby wondered what was happening behind it, whether she was trying to work out who had spilled the beans.

‘That won’t be necessary,’ she said. ‘The garden has been dealt with. Thank you for the offer.’ She walked back into her office and closed the door.

Gavin let out a low whistle. ‘Bloody hell, she’s good. Neither confirm nor deny. Do you think she was a spy in the war?’

‘She’s sixty-seven this week,’ Rosa said, ‘not a hundred and seven. And she was never going to indulge us, was she? However good your attempt to break through.’

Gavin rested his elbows on the desk. ‘Do you think she’s like the Snow Queen? She used to be all soft inside but something’s frozen her solid? Surely it’s not natural to be that icy about everything?’

‘Oh no,’ Rosa said with false sympathy. ‘Did she give you a hard time?’

‘She didn’t actually. She wanted to know how I was getting on with the reed beds around the heron hide. I told her and she nodded, which is as close to a compliment as I’ve ever had, and it gave me the confidence to ask about Peacock Cottage. Thought she was going to answer me properly for a second.’

‘If someone is moving in we’ll know about it soon enough,’ Abby said. ‘We all go past there every day.’

‘Yeah, but when it comes to Meadowsweet, gossip’s the main currency. What’s the good in knowing after the fact? We need to have the info now, then we’ll hold all the power.’

‘Anyone would think the ranger job isn’t stimulating enough for you,’ Rosa said, grinning. ‘I promise the moment I find out anything else, you’ll be the first to know.’

‘Scout’s honour?’ Gavin asked.

‘Brownie promise,’ Rosa confirmed.

As Gavin sauntered back outside, his workmen’s gloves sticking out of the waistband of his waterproof trousers, Rosa gave Abby a wicked smile. ‘I do have news, actually,’ she said, glancing at the closed office door before slipping out from behind the shop counter and joining Abby. ‘When I was driving in this morning, the postman put something through the letterbox of Peacock Cottage, which means that whoever is coming has already told people or had their post redirected.’

‘It’s happening soon, then.’ Abby chewed her bottom lip.

She wondered how she’d feel if she was the object of so much interest simply because she’d moved house, then remembered that when she’d moved into Warbler Cottages, Octavia had been on her doorstep within half an hour of the removal van driving away with a bottle of wine and homemade lasagne, and realized it was simply natural curiosity. Still, the position of the cottage, Penelope’s ownership of it and the fact that it had remained unlived in for so long, not to mention the rumours around Wild Wonders being somehow connected to the new arrival, did make it a bit out of the ordinary. Or maybe Gavin was right, that so little generally happened in the quiet Suffolk village that any news was important currency. She hoped whoever it was didn’t mind a bit of attention.

‘Definitely soon,’ Rosa said, bringing her back to reality. ‘Imminent.’

‘Rosa,’ a voice called from behind the office door. ‘How is the Baywater crockery promotion getting along?’

‘Oh, fine,’ Rosa called back, her eyes wide with horror. ‘I’ve got some great figures to show you, actually.’

‘Excellent,’ Penelope replied. ‘Looking forward to it.’

‘How is she able to hear us?’ Rosa hissed at Abby, her cheeks blushing pink. ‘We know to keep our voices down.’

‘How do you know she did? She could have coincidentally timed it to perfection.’

‘Or she’s got a webcam trained on us,’ Rosa said, ‘and she sits in her office and listens to our conversations all day. Maybe she was a spy.’ She scurried back to her counter and pulled out the sales figures she’d promised Penelope.

If she had been a spy, Abby thought, she must be feeling underwhelmed. Adder and nightingale sightings probably didn’t compare to cracking international codes and chasing down terrorists. Abby’s mind drifted towards what the mail might have been, and who would be on the receiving end of it when they arrived in their new home.

She was distracted by a young couple, a tiny baby strapped onto the father’s chest in an expensive-looking carrier, and Abby’s imagination was quashed by practicalities, explaining where the facilities were and giving a rundown of the different habitats and the day’s sightings, and it wasn’t until she was walking home, eager to get back to Raffle and a long stroll in the balmy, early autumn evening, that she was reminded of the conversation with Rosa and Gavin.

As Abby emerged through the trees, the picture she was usually faced with seemed wrong, distorted somehow, and it took her a few moments to realize it was because there was a car parked in the narrow driveway in front of Peacock Cottage. It was a Range Rover, square and squat, the roof fractionally lower at the back than the front, giving the impression it had been slightly squashed. It was ruby-red, impossibly shiny and definitely expensive. Her eyes trailed to the number plate, expecting to see something personalized like RANG3 1 or C0UNTRY K1NG, but it looked like a standard number plate, though it wasn’t local.

Resisting the urge to walk up to the windows of the cottage and peer inside or, even worse, knock on the front door, feigning a sprained ankle or pretending she was lost, she picked up her pace, texting as she went. It would seem that, this time at least, she held all the currency.

The next day, Saturday, it seemed the whole of Suffolk had decided to descend on the reserve.

‘Perhaps they’ve shut Reston Marsh to get it ready,’ Stephan said as he handed Abby a cup of tea, a part of their morning routine that she never took for granted. It was early, but there were already people spilling from the car park towards the visitor centre, the Indian summer bringing everyone out into the fresh air. ‘You know, give it a makeover before it gets spread all over the television.’

‘When is the first programme?’ Abby asked, sipping her milky tea.

‘Monday,’ Stephan called. ‘Seven o’clock. You going to tune in? I’m curious.’

‘I’m definitely going to watch some of it,’ Abby said. ‘I don’t think Penelope can expect us not to be interested when it’s so close to home. Thanks for the tea, Stephan.’ She slipped her mug onto the shelf under the desk and put on her brightest smile for the queue of waiting customers. ‘Would you like day passes?’ she asked two women in brightly coloured outdoor jackets. One of them, she noticed, was holding a white stick, her eyes staring straight ahead. ‘It looks like the weather’s going to hold.’

‘Yes please,’ the taller of the two said. ‘Is there a concession for disabled people, for my sister?’

‘Of course.’ Abby pressed a couple of buttons on the till and issued them with their passes.

Her feet barely touched the ground all morning, and she could see things were the same in the shop and café. Just before lunch, Penelope emerged from her office and took her place behind the reception desk as a young, enthusiastic boy pleaded with Abby to help him identify a bird he’d found.

‘I know you’re busy,’ his mum said, smiling apologetically. ‘I wouldn’t ask, except we bought Evan a wildlife book for his birthday and he does nothing but pore over it when we’re at home. Even the iPad’s been abandoned, unless he wants to find out some more information about a particular species.’

‘That’s wonderful,’ Abby said, smiling at Evan. ‘You’re going to save the planet, you know.’

‘I am?’ he looked up at her with wide eyes, his whole body jiggling in anticipation. ‘I’m nine now.’

‘You and people like you – and it’s never too young to start.’ She glanced at Penelope, who made a shooing motion with her hands. Abby could see amusement, and something like warmth, in her grey eyes. For what seemed like the first time in months, her boss was in a good mood, and Abby wondered if it was just the busyness of the reserve, or something else, that had lifted her spirits.