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‘Hush. I’m trying to listen, to learn about you.’ He stroked one scaly foot, feeling oddly protective of the fugly creature.

‘Well, it seems to have taken to you.’ Jake pursed his lips as he watched Rick.

‘She.’ Rick couldn’t help it.

The vet laughed. ‘Even I can’t tell. Cockatoos aren’t sexed visually. Few parrots are. Some people think you can tell with eye colour, but if that’s true I’m not experienced enough to do it. We’d have to do a DNA test to know for sure — unless it decided to lay an egg.’

Rick shrugged, feeling a bit silly.

‘Then we might as well call her “she”. It’s better than “it”, isn’t it?’ Angela shot him a wink.

‘Fair enough,’ Jake agreed.

‘You said she’s a cockatoo. Can you tell what kind? There’s more than one, isn’t there?’ Rick asked, casting his mind back to a recent visit to a zoo where they’d filmed reels. He wished he’d spent more time paying attention, and less time acting like “Maverick”. He would have valued the information now. He wondered if he might be able to get some help from some of the keepers there. Then again, he’d been a bit of a pain in the arse and he wasn’t sure how happy they’d be to hear from him again.

‘From her crest, I’d say she’s a Moluccan cockatoo. They’re the only ones this size with pink feathers.’

‘How is she?’ Rick worried over the bird, who had clearly been through so much, but still nibbled his fingers so gently. It was crazy that he was letting her so close to him when he’d seen what she’d done to Angela, but he found himself trusting her. Plus, she was so damned ugly she was actually kind of cute. It didn’t make sense to him, but then again neither did those stupid handbag dogs that so many of Yvette’s friends carted about. He personally thought most of them looked more like overgrown, shaggy rats than dogs — but they cooed over them like they were babies. Which was how he was starting to feel about the half-bald bird — not that he thought it was a baby, obviously, but certainly something he felt oddly protective of. ‘Angela thought she’d done this to herself.’

‘Sadly, she’s probably right.’ Jake washed his hands before sitting at his computer. ‘Parrots aren’t easy pets to keep. At least, not to keep happy and healthy. Some people think they can just shove them in a cage and look at them. But in reality, they’re very, very clever creatures who need a lot of love, understanding and care. We’ll need to find a specialist rehab for her. There’s a couple of good avian vets I’ve consulted with in the past. I’ll pull their numbers for you, and they can direct you to an appropriate rescue centre. In the meantime, I’ll print off a proper diet sheet for you.’

‘Thanks, Jake.’

Rick didn’t bother to listen to much more of the conversation. Instead he picked up the little cage containing the fugliest animal he’d ever seen, itching her head through the bars. ‘Do you hear that? We’re going to find a specialist who can properly look after you and get you better.’ He knew he was probably imagining it, but for a few moments those big eyes — which he now realised had dark brown irises and weren’t completely black — looked sad. But it would be fine. She needed a proper expert to help her, and that’s what they would find.

* * *

Two days later, Angela watched as Rick bounced the cockatoo up and down on his arm, the thing cackling and bobbing her head as she whistled and blew kisses.

‘See, she likes this game,’ he told Paul, the man from the parrot sanctuary. ‘I think maybe it feels a bit like flying does.’

‘Quite possibly.’ He nodded.

‘And you’re sure you can help her?’ Rick asked again as the bird he’d nicknamed Chicken-butt hopped up his arm to rub her beak against his cheek.

‘It’s not the first cockatoo we’ve had like this. And once it’s been tested for viruses and quarantined for a few weeks, it can be released into one of our aviaries, and go about learning how to be a happy bird again.’

‘Sounds good.’ Angela nodded, happy to have the little biter going somewhere she’d be properly cared for. She and Rick had done their best for the last couple of days, but it was very clear the bird didn’t like her, and they weren’t really set up to deal with parrots at Bill’s.

‘Do you think she might fly again?’

‘It’s possible.’ Paul nodded. ‘I’ve seen other birds in similar condition learn. If it stops picking, the feathers could start regrowing in anything from a few weeks to a few months, if it hasn’t damaged the follicles. But it’s usually a long process, and not all of them recover fully. But, whether it doesn’t or not, it can live happily with us. Right, do you want to step up for me?’ He held out his wrist, but the bird backed away, edging around Rick’s neck and to his other shoulder. ‘All right then, can you pop it in the cage for me, please?’

Rick did as he was asked, pushing the cockatoo gently but firmly down his arm and into the waiting cage, which he had to admit looked a lot sturdier than the wire crates they’d been using.

‘Thanks, Paul, it’s a relief to be handing this one over to a specialist.’

‘Not at all.’ He offered Angela a handshake that was dry, but slightly limp. ‘It’s been nice meeting you. Next time someone asks me what to do with a fox or donkey in need of a home and rehab, I’ll know who to call.’

‘Sounds fair to me.’ Angela laughed. ‘And thanks for coming all this way to collect her.’

Paul shrugged. ‘A hundred-mile round trip seemed easier for me than you. And I’ve driven further for smaller birds. Hope the leg gets better soon.’

‘It already is, thanks.’ She waved the man and bird out of the door. ‘Well, that’s one good job well done.’ She turned to Rick. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yeah, just . . . I dunno. Feeling a bit sad to see her go.’

‘You know, Paul’s much better qualified to care for her than you or me. And she’ll have other bird friends in a few weeks.’