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Chapter Six

Rick looked at the heavy-duty carrier sitting next to him and wondered, for about the hundredth time in the last few days, what the hell he was thinking. He was wearing clothes he’d bought — much to his surprise — from a supermarket, which had been the only place still open when he’d left the bird park, and had spent a small fortune online having a list of items the length of his arm special-delivered to his flat.

After two days of joyfully watching Chicken-butt pig out on everything he’d offered her, and — heartbreakingly — reject food from every other source, Rick had given up and spoken to Paul and Nancy. After much discussion they’d reached an agreement, then spent the next day giving him a crash course on everything they could think of that he needed to know to care for a parrot.

Angela had been incredibly understanding about him missing days at Bill’s, and had even gone so far as offering her login details to one of her suppliers, so he could get the charity rates on some of the equipment he apparently needed. He’d refused — feeling guilty because he could easily afford it — but was still shocked at the total. After the past couple of days he was well aware parrots were special creatures with specialist care needs, but he couldn’t help wondering if the same was true for a lot of Bill’s residents, and how Angela managed to cover their bills.

When finally he paid the driver, stumbled out of the lift on his floor and let himself into his flat, it was dark and he was knackered. He nearly brained himself tripping over a large box, fumbling with the cage and bruising his arm so as not to drop his expensive, new, pain-in-the-butt pet. She showed her gratitude by chomping down on his finger. Hard.

‘Knock it off, you arse.’ Rick balanced her on the sleek console that held his expensive — mostly designer — shoes and flicked on the light. Stacked up semi-neatly were large boxes. He’d have to send some chocolates or something to the building caretaker for making sure they got to the right flat.

He looked at the boxes again, a sinking feeling hitting his stomach. None of them looked big enough to be the cage he’d ordered . . . unless . . . oh shit, cages came flat-packed? He sighed and dragged one of the boxes towards him. Yep, just as he feared: cages didn’t come pre-assembled. He rummaged around his random crap drawer hopefully for a few minutes, before sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, admitting defeat. He knew damn well he didn’t own a screwdriver anymore. He used to be good at things like this, but lately he’d just paid people to do the stuff in life that he considered “boring”. Who was he kidding, bringing the bird here? He couldn’t even manage the basic task of sorting out a cage. What the hell was he supposed to do?

‘Shitty shit fucker shit.’

‘You said it, Chicken-butt.’

* * *

Angela was just peering into her freezer, trying to figure out what to throw at the microwave when her phone rang. She glanced at it, hoping she wouldn’t need to go out this evening. ‘Bill’s Sanctuary.’

‘Hey, it’s me.’

‘Hey, Rick. Are you and the ungrateful little biter home and settled?’

‘Sort of.’ He sighed.

‘Long day?’ She’d never heard him sounding so down.

‘Yeah, and still not over. Umm, can I ask you something without you judging me too harshly?’

‘Sure.’

‘I’m pretty sure I know the answer to this, but there’s no chance I can leave Chicken-butt in the travel cage overnight, is there?’

‘I’d advise against it, unless you really have no other choice. Oh—’ She closed the freezer as a thought hit her. ‘Did your delivery get messed up?’

‘No — well yes, sort of. I didn’t realise the cage would arrive flat-packed.’

‘Oh dear, is it missing parts?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’

‘What’s the problem then?’

‘I have no idea what I’m doing! I’m in way over my head, I have no idea why I agreed to bring her home. I’ve got no idea how to look after her, or what I’m supposed to be doing and when. I don’t even know how the hell to build her bloody cage.’

‘All right, take a breath.’ Angela let the swearing slide and focussed on getting to the root of the problem. ‘Cages look a bit unwieldy, but they’re really simple. So long as you know how to use a screwdriver and spanners, you’re pretty much fine.’

‘And if you don’t even own a screwdriver?’

‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘You’re judging me, aren’t you?’

‘No, no, not at all,’ she lied. ‘I was just surprised, that’s all. You were so good getting the cat out . . .’

‘I learned messing around in my dad’s shed years ago. Using his tools. But I haven’t really bothered with anything like that in years. It’s easier just to pay someone else to do it.’ He hated admitting how useless he was nowadays. ‘Do you see what I mean? I don’t even own a basic toolkit. How the hell am I supposed to look after a special-needs cockatoo?’