The Dawn Chorus

‘Hello,’ he said, bypassing the reception desk and going over to the binoculars before she’d had a chance to reply.

‘Hi, Jonny,’ Rosa called.

‘Oh, hey.’ Jonny turned uncertainly, as if Rosa was the last person he expected to see in the shop that she ran.

Abby had almost started a pool on when Jonny would actually buy a pair of binoculars, but then decided it was cruel, and that if he ever found out he’d be mortified. It was the regular customers keeping the reserve going, even if most of them only bought a day pass and a slice of carrot cake rather than a £300 pair of Helios Fieldmasters with high-transmission lenses and prism coatings.

‘I need to fill up the feeders,’ Abby said to Gavin, who was leaning on the desk alongside her, turning a reserve map into a paper aeroplane.

She went to the storeroom and lifted bags of seed, mealworms and fat balls onto a small trolley, then wheeled it outside to the bank of feeders just beyond the main doors. It was often awash with small birds: blue tits, great tits, robins, chaffinches and greenfinches. Occasionally a marsh tit would find its way there, or a cloud of the dusky pink and brown long-tailed tits, their high-pitched peeps insistent. Small flocks of starlings would swoop down, cause a couple of minutes of devastation and then leave again. Squirrels regularly chanced their luck, and rabbits and pheasants waited for fallen seed on the grass below.

Often, before visitors had even stepped through the automatic door of the visitor centre they had seen more wildlife than they found in their own back gardens, and once they were on the reserve, the possibilities were almost endless.

Abby waited for a male greenfinch to finish his lunch and fly away, then set to work.

Her job title, activity coordinator, didn’t encompass all that she did for the reserve, but she didn’t mind. There wasn’t anywhere she’d rather spend her time, and her role mattered. She belonged at Meadowsweet, and if Penelope wanted her to get more creative, to double the number of visitors, then so be it.

Gavin had followed her out, pulling his reserve-issue baseball cap on, and Abby noticed how muddy his ranger overalls were.

‘That was a kick up the backside,’ he said, speaking frankly now they were well out of Penelope’s earshot.

‘Not unexpected, though,’ Abby replied. ‘There have been rumours about Wild Wonders for ages, and taking a fresh look at how we run this place wouldn’t be a bad thing, would it?’

‘We could talk about it over a drink in the Skylark later, if you and the others are keen?’

‘You’ve got a pub pass, then?’

‘Jenna’s taking the girls to her mum’s for tea, so I’m jumping on the opportunity.’

‘I’ll see who I can round up,’ Abby said.

‘Grand. I heard it was someone’s birthday at the beginning of the week. We should do a bit of celebrating.’

‘How did you—?’ Abby started, but Gavin placed a full feeder back on its hook, then grinned and sidled off, whistling.

She got back to her task, exchanging pleasantries with visitors as they strolled down from the car park. That was the thing about working on a nature reserve – nobody turned up grumpy. They were all coming for enjoyment, to stretch their legs and get a dose of fresh air, spot a species they loved or discover something new. There were the odd children who were brought under duress, but there was enough on offer to engage a young, curious mind once they gave it a chance.

On the whole, the reserve was a happy place, and she wished that Penelope would embody that a bit more. She had always been a strict, no nonsense boss, but even so, Abby had noticed a distinct cooling over the last few months. She could put it down to the threat of Wild Wonders, but Abby had a feeling there were other things Penelope was worried about but had so far failed to share with her team.

But then, everybody had things that they wanted to keep to themselves. Abby had made friends here, but the thought of any of them – even Rosa – knowing her deepest insecurities, her past mistakes, made her feel sick. She hadn’t even realized she’d told anyone when her birthday was. She liked to keep them quiet, but she had to concede that a few drinks at the pub would be nice, and nothing they didn’t already do.

On Monday, the August bank holiday, Abby had turned thirty-one. Her sister Tessa, Tessa’s husband Neil, and their two children Willow and Daisy had thrown Abby a birthday picnic in the garden of their modern house in Bury St Edmunds. Abby loved spending time with them. She was helping with the pond they were creating and had started trying to come up with ways to describe the wildlife that Willow, at eight, would be enthusiastic about, writing some of her ideas down in her notebook. Three-year-old Daisy was still a way off being converted, though Abby had her in her sights.

But thirty-one somehow felt even more of a milestone than thirty had. Abby had no children of her own, no husband or boyfriend or even a glimmer of romance on the horizon – not that, after her last relationship, she felt inclined to dive into something new. It had been a long time since she’d shared her bed with anyone besides a large husky with twitchy ears and icy blue eyes. Raffle wasn’t even supposed to go in her bedroom, but it had taken about five minutes from the moment she’d picked him up from the rescue centre for that rule to get broken.

Working on the reserve, and the long morning and evening walks that kept her husky exercised, meant that Abby was fit, her five foot four frame slender but not boyishly flat. Her dark blonde hair was shoulder length, often in a ponytail, and she wore minimal make-up, usually only mascara to frame her hazel eyes. Being glamorous wasn’t one of her job’s remits, and the village pub didn’t have much higher standards.

As she tidied up the visitor centre later that day, Abby decided an evening in the Skylark with her friends was just what she needed. She took her usual route home, knowing the land like the back of her hand.

The approach road that led from Meadowgreen village to the reserve’s car park was long and meandering, forcing cars to slow down, twisting around the larger, established trees, and a single building. If Abby followed the road it would take her three times as long to get home, so instead she cut through the trees and came out halfway along it, opposite the building it curved around: Peacock Cottage.

Part of the Meadowsweet estate and therefore owned by Penelope, Peacock Cottage was a quaint thatched house with pristine white walls, a peacock-blue front door and four, front-facing windows – two up and two down – as if it had been drawn by a child. It was isolated, surrounded on three sides by trees, but also encountered regularly by visitors going to or from the reserve, the approach road passing within a hair’s breadth of the low front gate. Abby didn’t know who tended to the hanging basket – she’d never seen anyone go in or out of the cottage, though it still managed to look immaculate.

She wondered how many people driving past, or walking the less-trodden paths through the surrounding woodland came across the cottage and thought about who lived there. Was it Mrs Tiggywinkle? Red Riding Hood’s grandma? Did the witch who lured Hansel and Gretel in hide inside, behind walls that appeared completely normal to adults, the true, confectionary nature of the house only visible to children? Abby had conjured up all kinds of interesting occupants, something that she’d never done when peering at Swallowtail House, perhaps because she knew Penelope had once lived there.

Once she’d left the cottage behind and emerged from the trees, Abby was in the middle of Meadowgreen village. She walked past the post box and the old chapel that had been converted into the library-cum-shop, and was run by her inquisitive next-door neighbour, Octavia Pilch, its graveyard garden looking out of place next to the newspaper bulletin board.

Then – as always – she crossed over the main road and walked along the edge of the tall, red brick wall that shielded Swallowtail House and its overgrown gardens from the rest of the world. As she got to pass the main gates of the house twice a day, she didn’t quite understand her need to visit it that morning, except that it had drawn her to it, as if it wanted to give up all its secrets.

She crossed back over as she came level with her road, unlocked the red front door of Number One Warbler Cottages, and was greeted enthusiastically by Raffle. The evening was warm so she discarded her reserve fleece, attached Raffle’s lead and set off on one of her husky’s favourite walks, neither she or her dog ever tiring of being outdoors. Pounding through the countryside would help her think about how she could rescue Meadowsweet from the threat of closure, something that, until today, she hadn’t even allowed herself to contemplate.

Chapter Two

A goldcrest is a tiny, round bird like a greeny-brown ping-pong ball. It has large eyes, and an orange crest on its head if it’s male or yellow if it’s female. It has a call like a high-pitched, squeaky toy, and it rarely sits still, like Daisy when she’s watching a Disney film.

— Note from Abby’s notebook.

The Skylark was a typical village pub. Its paintwork was yellow, but duller than the exterior walls of Swallowtail House, as if it was a slightly desperate copycat. But it had a healthy wisteria over the front door – though its blooms had ended for the year – and picnic tables outside. The wooden floorboards and chocolate-coloured leather seating inside gave it an air of opulence, and while it did a good trade in lunches with local walkers, the evenings were another matter, and Abby had never seen the pub more than half full, even on a balmy summer night.

When she walked in there was the soft hum of voices and Ryan, a few years older than Abby and a big, gentle bear of a man, gave her a cheery welcome. ‘They’re through there,’ he said. ‘Got you one in, unless Stephan’s particularly thirsty.’

‘Thanks, Ryan.’ She made her way to the large table by the window, where they always liked to convene and were very rarely unable to. The window faced the reserve’s approach road, and Abby liked seeing who turned onto and out of it. The visitor centre shut at five, but at this time of year, when the sun took its time going down, people could still park and walk the trails, though signs reminded them they were doing so at their own risk.

Stephan pushed a pint of pale ale in her direction as she sat down, Raffle settling on the floor next to her chair. Along with Gavin, the other full-time warden, Marek had made an appearance, even though it was his day off. This was the largest their gathering ever got; it was rare for them all to be available on the same day.

‘Happy birthday, Abby,’ Marek said, holding up his glass as everyone else echoed his words. ‘What is it, twenty-four, five maybe?’

Abby laughed. ‘You charmer. Thank you, everyone.’ She took a sip of beer, her eyes automatically going to the table. They were all her friends, it wasn’t exactly a surprise party, but she still felt self-conscious. How was it she could lead an activity at the reserve in front of forty strangers, and yet being the centre of attention with people she cared about made her want to hide in a cupboard?

‘If I’d known, I would have baked you a cake,’ Stephan said.

‘You still can,’ Rosa replied quickly. ‘A few days late won’t matter, and cakes can be enjoyed by more than just the birthday girl. That’s what makes them so brilliant.’

Stephan laughed, his eyes bright. He was in his mid-fifties and had run the café at the reserve for the last eighteen months, coming on board at the same time as Abby and Rosa, the supposed turning point for Meadowsweet, when the new visitor centre opened and the venture was supposed to be more professional and profitable. Abby had noticed that Stephan never seemed to have an off day, never appeared grumpy or downcast, and she wondered how much of that was forced, how big a role he’d had to play both to his wife, Mary, and the rest of his friends and family while Mary was dying of cancer.

Sometimes she wanted to ask him how he really felt, sure that he couldn’t be upbeat all of the time, but she knew any delving would be a two-way thing, and she wasn’t prepared to reveal too much about her past – she’d need another decade getting to know them all for that.

‘What did you do, Abby?’ Gavin asked.

‘I met up with my sister and her family at their house in Bury.’

‘No wild nights out on the town? Bury’s got a good nightlife. Relatively speaking.’

‘Tessa’s got a young family, so she’s usually asleep on the sofa by half nine, and besides, this is my night out – what could be better than you lot in here?’

‘Abby, Abby, Abby,’ Marek said pityingly, his accent softening the words. His family had moved to Suffolk from Warsaw nearly twenty years ago, and he’d worked on the reserve much longer than the rest of them, when it was still Penelope and Al’s pet project. He was happy with his position and hadn’t begrudged Gavin the role of head warden when he’d started the year before. ‘This is the best you can do?’

‘It is for me,’ Abby said, patting Raffle’s head. ‘Besides, I have to get going on a plan to save the reserve in the morning, and I don’t want a sore head when I’m doing it.’

‘Bloody Wild Wonders,’ Gavin said. ‘What a fucking curse, eh?’ His glass was empty, and the swearing – usually quite prevalent anyway – had ramped up a notch, which meant he was already on his way to being drunk, making the most of the pass he’d got from his wife.

‘It’s good for the area,’ Stephan said carefully. ‘It might mean more publicity for Meadowsweet as well as Reston Marsh. I don’t think Penelope would have appreciated me saying this earlier, but we shouldn’t knock it until it’s started.’

‘They’re here already.’ Rosa turned to Abby, filling her in on the gossip she had missed by turning up later than the others. ‘Stephan passed three trucks emblazoned with the logo on his cycle over this evening.’

Stephan nodded. ‘I went home to feed Tilly her Whiskas, and I passed them on my way back here. Great big bloody things, I wouldn’t be surprised if they get stuck in the mud at some point. I wonder, did they not do a recce when they decided to come to Reston Marsh and realize that the reserve is, unsurprisingly, in marshland? Even car parks and properly built trails won’t always cut it for fifty-ton trucks in this kind of environment.’

Marek chuckled. ‘You would have thought the name would give them a clue. Wouldn’t it be great if they started off with a huge disaster like that? All the expensive filming equipment lost, because one of the trucks tipped over into the mire.’

‘I’m not sure even that would be enough to raise a smile from Penelope,’ Rosa said. ‘She’s so austere – more so than usual.’

‘She has a lot on her plate.’ Stephan echoed Abby’s earlier words. ‘Wild Wonders is real. And I’m the only one who thinks it could be a bonus for us, instead of a problem.’

‘It’s like putting two mobiles on the table,’ Marek said. ‘One’s the latest iPhone, and the other’s the Nokia 3330 with the tiny buttons and the worm game. No matter how nostalgic you feel, you’ll go for the iPhone, 100 per cent.’

‘But why can’t people have both?’ Abby asked. ‘The iPhone for the cool features, the Nokia because it reminds you of simpler times. Why won’t people go to Reston Marsh for the thrill of being somewhere they see on the TV, and then come to us because it’s more peaceful?’

‘I’ll give you a reason,’ Gavin said. ‘Flick Hunter. That’s why.’ He sat back, a smug grin on his face and tried to drink the now non-existent dregs of his pint.

‘I’ll get another round in.’ Rosa stood and disappeared to the bar, but not before Abby had seen the eye-roll.

‘Who’s Flick Hunter?’ she asked. ‘It sounds like a made-up name.’

‘Wild Wonders TV presenter,’ Marek said. ‘She is a hottie. Blonde hair, long-limbed, twinkly eyes. A reason to watch all on her own, never mind the wildlife.’

‘But she’ll only be there when they’re broadcasting, surely?’ Abby tried not to be annoyed at their obvious objectification of this woman.

‘But people will still go to Reston Marsh on the off-chance,’ Gavin said. ‘Hell, I’m trying to come up with a detour home so I can spot a glimpse of her striding through the trees.’

‘Oh God.’ Abby put her head in her hands. ‘I can’t believe the success or failure of Meadowsweet is going to come down to a television presenter who probably doesn’t know that much about wildlife in the first place.’

‘It’s not that bad,’ Stephan said. ‘The lads are exaggerating. Thinking with their lower halves. We’ll be fine.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Gavin gave a humourless laugh, and the table settled into quiet, not remotely jubilant contemplation. Beside her, Raffle whined softly, and Abby scratched his ears, reminding him that he wasn’t forgotten.

‘I thought we were supposed to be celebrating Abby’s birthday, not bemoaning the fate of our workplace,’ Rosa said, returning to the table, Ryan behind her with the tray of drinks, his large hands making the glasses look like they belonged to a child’s tea set. ‘Can we stop talking shop for five minutes, please?’

‘Go on then.’ Marek folded his tanned arms. ‘If you can beat the Wild Wonders gossip then I’ll get the next round in, and a bag of crisps each. Push the boat out.’

‘Fine.’ Rosa gave them a wide, confident grin, her dark eyes sparkling, and then delivered her news. ‘Someone’s moving into Peacock Cottage.’

‘Oooooh.’ Gavin waved his hands in mock excitement.

‘Shut up, Gav,’ Rosa said. ‘It’s good gossip.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Penelope owns it, obviously, but like the big house up there—’ she pointed, and Abby cut in, her interested piqued by her friend’s news.

‘Swallowtail House.’

‘Thanks, Abby, like Swallowtail House, it’s been empty ever since I’ve worked on the reserve. So, why is Penelope moving someone in now? And is it someone she knows, or is she renting it out to boost her income, add another string to the Meadowsweet bow?’

‘I don’t understand why she doesn’t sell Swallowtail House if the reserve’s in trouble,’ Marek said. ‘That would surely go for a pretty packet and help fund the reserve for a while to come.’

‘She won’t,’ Abby said. ‘It’s a reminder of her life with Al, isn’t it? She can’t bear to part with it, that’s what everyone says.’

‘It’s a shame she and Al never had children, someone to inherit it or live in it, even if Penelope couldn’t bear to.’ Rosa sipped her wine.

‘All these romantic notions are very well and good,’ Gavin said, ‘but can you imagine Penelope with kids? Poor fucking kids!’

‘Gavin!’ Abby squealed. ‘You can’t say that. She might have been a wonderful mother; we don’t know her well enough to pass judgement.’

‘She could do with a little bit more humanity,’ Rosa said quietly.

‘How do you know about Peacock Cottage anyway?’ Abby asked. She wanted to have faith in Penelope. Nobody who cared about wildlife as much as she did, who had – along with her late husband – put all her money into turning her private estate into a nature reserve, could be heartless. But the news about Peacock Cottage was safer ground. No longer would little Red Riding Hood’s gran live there, but someone real. It was good gossip.

‘I overheard Penelope on the phone,’ Rosa said. ‘I was in the storeroom getting some more coaster sets out, and the office door blew open a bit. She was talking to some guy called Leo. Said something about them being able to move in whenever they liked, the sooner the better, and that it was a “quiet little cottage that was hardly ever disturbed”. Guys,’ Rosa added, ‘I heard Penelope laughing.’

There was a moment of stunned silence.

‘Laughing?’ Stephan said the word as if it were a foreign language.

‘Christ,’ Gavin shook his head. ‘Are you sure it was Penelope?’

‘Yup,’ Rosa said. ‘She said something like “He’ll be perfect, Leo. We can see if there’s hope left for either of us.” Maybe she thinks the rent money will go some way to restoring reserve fortunes?’

‘She’s not telling the truth about Peacock Cottage, though,’ Marek said. ‘It may look quiet, nestled there in the trees, but visitors go past it all the time. If Penelope’s using that as a selling point, it’s false advertising.’

‘And it’s right on the road to the car park,’ Abby added. ‘With cars slowing to go over the speed humps. You didn’t find out who was moving in, though? Or when?’

‘Nope,’ Rosa said. ‘We’ll have to wait and see, I guess.’

Gavin grunted. ‘I expect Octavia knows, has their shoe size, their health history and the exact minute they’re going to pitch up here. She’s probably already picked out a selection of library books for them based on their reading preferences. Bloody woman.’

There was genuine, hearty laughter round the table, Gavin’s scathing tone being mostly false.

Octavia, Abby’s next-door neighbour, kept gossip circulating like blood through Meadowgreen’s veins. She had a handle on everything that was happening in the village and, to a certain extent, on the reserve, but her heart was in the right place. The community library would have disappeared a long time ago had it not been for her selfless commitment.

‘You’re probably right,’ Rosa said. ‘I’m almost tempted to go and ask her.’

‘Imagine if she’s unwittingly rented it to one of the Wild Wonders crew members?’ Marek’s eyes widened.

‘Or Flick Hunter herself,’ Stephan added.

‘No way,’ Gavin said, breaking off to down his pint in three long gulps. ‘No fucking way would it be that fucking interesting. Come on, guys, this is Meadowsweet we’re talking about here. England’s most sedate fucking visitor attraction. If a squirrel farts it’s the highlight of the day.’

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

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.