Page 9

She stared at him for a long moment, before slowly reaching out. While he had apparently won, it seemed that it had been a close call. Her hand was firm and strong in his as he carefully helped her back to her feet. She snatched her hand back as soon as she was upright, and he tried not to be offended at the thought he was less appealing than a smelly, biting bird. Which reminded him . . .

‘How is she? The bird?’

Angela stared at him for another long moment, apparently surprised by the question. Did she really think he was such a terrible person that he wouldn’t even ask about an injured animal? Then again, he supposed that might be fair, given that he didn’t even know what it was. She had told him its name, but it had gone out of his head. But at least he knew it wasn’t a duck now. Or a boy.

‘She’s going to be fine. I’ve got to give her some antibiotics tomorrow, and for a few days.’

‘Is she sick?’ He wondered if he should worry about that. Bird flu was still a thing, according to the reels he saw online.

‘No. But she was attacked by a cat.’

‘Oh, so the cat was sick.’ Now he understood.

‘No.’ She rubbed her head. ‘Cats have some really nasty germs. If it’s not treated quickly, even a small scratch can be fatal to birds, or a lot of smaller animals.’

He’d always thought that anything that cleaned itself with its own spit was pretty gross. ‘It’s the licking, right?’

‘What?’

‘When they clean themselves, they lick their arses. That’s why they have so many germs, right?’

‘Lots of animals clean like that.’ She sighed. ‘And are still a lot cleaner than cats. Dogs, rodents, rabbits . . .’

‘Rabbits aren’t rodents?’ He’d always thought they were.

‘No, they’re Leporidae. Rabbits have four incisors. Rodents like mice, rats and squirrels have two.’

‘Right.’ He couldn’t really see that it made any difference. She rubbed her forehead again, and he noticed it looked a bit pink. ‘Did you bang your head?’

‘One of the tins did.’ She gestured to the mess on the floor. ‘I couldn’t reach the duck food. And yes, I know we’ve got a moorhen, but their diets are similar enough to have the same food.’

‘Why did you put it so high?’ It seemed silly to him.

‘Because when I put it up there, I could still climb a stool.’

She didn’t say it with any malice, but he felt the hit anyway. It was his fault. That she’d been hurt originally — and that she’d been hurt again now.

‘Angela . . .’ He started to apologise, and then realised he had no idea what he could possibly say that wouldn’t sound trite or stupid or not even close to enough. So, instead, he went with the age-old fix-all of parents everywhere. ‘Why don’t you go make yourself a cuppa, and I’ll clear up in here?’ There, that sounded . . . nice. Maybe even helpful? He could do helpful.

‘I’d love to, but I need to sort her out.’

‘Can’t we just lob some food in with her?’

‘In the travel cage?’

‘No?’ It sounded like that was the answer she was expecting, but he didn’t see anything wrong with the box cage she was in. The not-a-duck looked quite comfy to him, snuggled into a blanket.

‘No.’ Angela nodded. ‘She needs to go into a pen. Which I need to set up.’

‘Is that something I can help with?’

* * *

He seemed to be trying to be helpful, and her head was already starting to throb, setting up an unpleasant staccato with her leg. Head, leg, head, leg, head, leg . . . the pain reverberated through her. That, plus recent conversations — with even a child telling her she needed help — pushed the decision for her. It was that or have him watch as she ungainly dragged around the cage and everything else she’d need.

‘You know what, actually you can.’

His eyes widened at her reply, as if surprised by her response, like he’d expected her to say no again. But that was tough. He’d offered, and he was supposed to be there to help.