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‘You’re kidding me.’ He shook his head and made a point of holding the umbrella a little higher. He was there and he was helping, but he wasn’t sure he fancied sticking his hand into a dark, collapsing box that was howling like something out of a horror film.

She rolled her eyes, carefully balancing herself against the wall, and nudged the lid of the box open with one end of a crutch. An angry growl emanated from the box, followed by dark, evil-sounding muttering.

Rick stared at Angela, his eyes wide in horror as his heart pounded. ‘If you believe in karma and things like that, do you believe in evil and demons too?’

The box let out another screeching yowl, and this time Rick definitely heard swear words.

‘I didn’t.’ Angela swallowed hard, then shuffled closer to the box, before it told her, in a grating and squeaky voice, to drop dead. ‘But I’m starting to think we should have grabbed a cage.’

‘I suppose it’s too late for me to volunteer to go back and get one?’ Water dropped off the brolly to land in his collar, trickling coldly down his neck.

‘You suppose right.’ She shook the water out of her hair. ‘Right, I’ve had enough of this. On three?’ Her eyes locked with his.

Damn it. If he said no now, he’d be admitting to having less cajónes than a woman on crutches. He had far more pride than that, so he took a deep breath and nodded.

‘All right then. One.’

‘Two.’

‘Three.’ She flipped the flaps of the box open, and leaned back.

Dark scaly talons gripped the edge of the box, followed by a vicious looking hook attached to the strangest looking creature Rick had ever seen. It grumbled and hissed before snapping at Angela, who had stooped to look at it.

‘What the hell is that?’

‘I think it’s a parrot. A very wet and bald one.’ She reached towards the alien-looking thing, then yanked her hand back when it snapped and hissed at her.

‘Are you sure?’ It looked like an oven-ready partridge to him — far too small and too grey looking to be a chicken. If not for the wet clumps on the head and dirty feathers sticking out from bony wings, it would have been completely bald.

‘Yes, see this hooked beak . . . ?’

‘The one trying to take lumps out of you?’ He manoeuvred the umbrella so he could crouch to look at the thing without smacking Angela in the head. As soon as he was near the hell-creature its demeanour changed — it tilted its ugly head on one side, as if looking at him from underneath a messy mop of something.

‘Yeah.’ Angela laughed. ‘Only parrots have hooked beaks like that.’

‘Eagles have pretty sharp, hooked beaks.’ He was sure he’d seen that on a nature reel.

‘Different shape. Parrots’ are much broader and stronger, so they can bite into nuts. Raptors tend to have much smaller, sharper beaks for tearing into flesh.’

‘Wonderful.’ He shuffled his feet. ‘So now we’ve established that it’s a probably-parrot, can we go back inside and dry off?’

‘I’m not leaving it here. Poor thing must be terrified. And freezing.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting we should.’ Despite what she might think of him, he wasn’t that heartless. ‘But can’t we just grab the box or something?’

‘I’m pretty sure that disgusting thing will disintegrate when I touch it. And there’s no way it can fly when it’s this wet and partly bald. If the box collapses, it’ll hit the ground hard. We’re going to have to pick it up. Poor critter must have been here for hours. Didn’t you notice it on your way in?’

‘Obviously not.’ He’d had his head down, ear buds in, too busy trying to drown out some of his misery to take notice of his surroundings. He felt a little guilty — if he’d been a bit more focussed he could have brought the thing in sooner. ‘Can’t you just grab it or something? I’m getting cold.’ If he hadn’t already been feeling it, her glare would have frozen him through. ‘I meant, I’m getting cold and I’ve got a coat on. Unlike this . . . thing.’

‘You’re not a thing, are you? You’re a gorgeous parrot, aren’t you? Don’t listen to the silly man.’ She reached out to the bird again, making little cooing noises as she did so. The thing seemed calmer and edged towards her. ‘Come on, sweetie, let’s get you inside and we can warm you up and give you something nice to eat.’ The little “Sweetie” edged closer still, and Angela slowly petted the mess that passed for feathers on the top of its head. ‘There, there, it’s all going to be OK . . . it’s all going to be — sugar-plum fairies and custard! Gerroff!’ she screeched as it chomped down on her thumb.

‘Hey!’ Without thinking, Rick dropped the umbrella and shoved his fingers into the sides of the hell-bird’s beak, pressing hard at the point when skin met . . . whatever beaks were made of . . . He glared at the bird like it was a hostess who had messed up his reservation at the latest must-be-seen-at joint. ‘Enough of your nonsense. Behave!’ Much to his shock and relief, the critter released its grip on Angela and dropped its head into his hand. Was it snuggling with him? A bright black eye peered up at him, and for a second he could have sworn the thing purred.

‘Well, it seems to like you better than me. I don’t suppose you want to try picking it up?’

He hesitated. No, he absolutely did not want to pick up that demon-chicken with the huge beak, which it was obviously more than happy to use. He looked up at Angela, cradling her bitten hand against her chest, and had a sudden flash of worry. Exactly how strong was that beak, and how much damage had it done to her and her usually quick, nimble fingers that were gentle enough to hand-feed tiny baby mice?

He sighed, knowing he didn’t really have a choice.