The House of Birds and Butterflies. Cressida McLaughlin

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СКАЧАТЬ now the reserve was in trouble. The last few months had seen falling visitor numbers, the damp summer not helping, and recently there had been another dark cloud hanging over it, something which Abby was convinced was the subject of the staff meeting Penelope had called for later that morning.

      She was nearly finished. The ladybird was the final piece in her nature trail, a new activity she had devised for the school visits that would happen throughout the autumn term. She found a particularly gnarly root, easily visible from the wide walkway that cut a swathe through the woodland, and secured the ladybird beneath it, writing down its location in the notebook she always carried with her. The sculptures had been made by a local artist, Phyllis Drum, crafted from twigs and bound with twine. Abby liked the hedgehog best; it must have taken Phyllis hours – days, maybe – to put his spines in place.

      When she got back to the visitor centre, she would create the map and the questions that would lead intrepid groups of children across the reserve to each of the crafted creatures.

      It was the first week in September and the sun was still strong, sparkling on the surface of the coastal lagoons, but there was a faint chill to the air, a clarity that made Abby shiver with nostalgia for fireworks and bonfires, crunching through drives of shin-high leaves. She loved autumn; the sun bold but not stifling, the ripples of leafy scent and pungent sweetness of apples, the way everything burst forth in a blaze of colour, as if refusing to succumb to winter. She picked up her pace, hurrying along the trail that was one of the reserve’s main arteries. Paths led off it down to the water, to the heron and kingfisher hides, to the forest hide, and along the meadow trail.

      She greeted a couple in matching navy parkas, a tripod slung over the man’s shoulder, the woman’s rucksack bulky with extra camera lenses.

      ‘Anything doing down at the heron hide?’ the man asked, spotting Abby’s reserve jacket, the logo of a sprig of meadowsweet and a peacock butterfly on the breast pocket.

      ‘A little egret, and some bearded tits were in the reeds in front of the hide about half an hour ago.’

      ‘Excellent, we’ll head there first. Thank you.’

      ‘No problem,’ Abby said, and waved them off.

      The visitor centre was a round, high-ceilinged building constructed out of wood and glass, the huge windows cleaned regularly, letting the weather encroach on the indoors. It was only eighteen months old, and was welcoming, modern and eco-friendly. Inside, it was split into four sections that reminded Abby of the Trivial Pursuit wedges. Penelope’s office, the storeroom and the kitchen made up one wedge, the reception and enquiry desk made up another, the gift shop was the third and, leading out onto a grassy area with picnic tables that looked out over the lagoons, Stephan’s café was the fourth.

      When Abby walked in, Rosa was behind the reception desk, looking elegant in a loose-fitting teal top, her black, springy curls pulled away from her face in a large butterfly clip. She handed over day passes to two men dressed in camouflage and shouldering impressive telescopes.

      ‘Busy so far?’ Abby asked once they’d taken the map Rosa had offered them and headed out of the door.

      ‘Not very,’ Rosa admitted, her shoulders rising in a sigh. ‘But it’s still early. And lots of people go back to school and work this week so it’s understandable that it’s quieter than usual.’

      ‘Of course it is,’ Abby said, their false enthusiasm spurring each other on. ‘Give it a few more days and we’ll be heaving.’

      ‘I truly hope so.’ The voice came from behind Abby. It was smooth and calm, but with a steel to it that made her heart beat a little faster. ‘How is the treasure hunt coming along?’

      ‘I’ve placed everything along the trails,’ Abby said, turning to face Penelope. ‘I just need to finish the paperwork that goes with it.’

      ‘Good.’ Penelope raised an appraising eyebrow. ‘When is our first school coming in?’

      ‘Next week. The first week back was too soon for most of the teachers I spoke to, but they’re also keen to come while the weather’s still good. I think the possibility of forty children going home to their parents with muddy trousers was too much to bear.’

      ‘And how’s Gavin getting on with clearing the area around the heron hide?’

      Abby’s mouth opened but nothing came out, because she had no idea.

      Penelope stood with her arms folded across her slender chest, her long grey hair, streaked with white like a heron’s wing feathers, pulled back into a bun, waiting for the answer. She had used her usual tactic, lulling Abby into a false sense of security by asking her questions she could answer with confidence, then sneaking in the killer blow once she’d become complacent.

      ‘He’s been working since seven,’ Rosa said, rescuing her. ‘He told me he was making good progress when I saw him half an hour ago.’

      ‘I wonder, though,’ Penelope said, ‘whether his version of good progress would be the same as mine?’

      Neither Abby nor Rosa dared to answer that one, and Penelope pursed her lips and glanced in the direction of the café, from where the smell of cheese scones, as well as a rather ropey a cappella version of ‘Bat out of Hell’, was coming.

      ‘I want you in my office in five minutes.’ She spun on her heels and walked away, closing her office door firmly behind her.

      Rosa leaned her elbows on the desk. ‘Why do we put up with it?’

      ‘Penelope’s not that bad,’ Abby said. ‘She has the potential to be friendly – it’s just that she’s been on her own for so long, she’s forgotten how.’

      ‘She’s not on her own though, is she? Her life is the reserve, and we’re all here. You, me and Stephan, Gavin and Marek, the volunteers, the regular visitors. She probably sees more people on a daily basis than most other sixty-six-year-olds. My parents don’t have as large a social circle as she does, and they’re eternally happy.’

      ‘Your mum and dad don’t understand the meaning of the word miserable.’

      Abby had met Rosa’s parents several times since she’d started working at Meadowsweet, and they were the most cheerful people she’d ever encountered, living in a cosy bungalow in the Suffolk town of Stowmarket. Rosa’s Jamaican mother was always laughing about something, and her dad had welcomed Abby with open arms, and was easy to talk to. Abby couldn’t help feeling a pang of longing and envy that Rosa had such a loving family close by. Not that Abby didn’t have Tessa, her sister, but it wasn’t the same as doting parents.

      ‘My mum and dad don’t take anything for granted,’ Rosa said, ‘which is the best way to live your life. Penelope has this whole estate, she has the houses – Peacock Cottage and that gorgeous, deteriorating pile that could be so wonderful, yet it’s lying in tatters. And she still walks around as if she’s sucking a rotten plum.’

      ‘Yes,’ Abby said, leaning over the reception desk and lowering her voice. ‘But the reserve is in trouble, isn’t it? We both know what this meeting’s about.’

      Rosa sighed in exasperation. Her dark eyes were sharp, inquisitive. She had spent several years in London, buying products for a department store, and had moved back to Suffolk when her mum had had a stroke – one which, thankfully, she was almost completely recovered СКАЧАТЬ