Read Pets on Parade (Prospect House 2) Online

Authors: Malcolm D. Welshman

Pets on Parade (Prospect House 2) (32 page)

That evening she threw a fit. With a sickening rattle in her throat, she toppled off her perch and collapsed in a corner of her cage. Her shrieks of distress brought tears to my eyes but I didn’t dare handle her for fear of killing her with the extra stress involved. So with a heavy heart, I switched off the light and prayed she’d survive the night.

My own survival that night was another matter. In my concern for Polly’s welfare, I hadn’t made it clear to Jodie as to whether we’d be staying at my parents’ overnight. I’d thrown a few things together and I noticed she’d brought an overnight bag, so I guessed she was prepared for any eventuality – ready to bunk down wherever. In my bed, maybe?

However, there was a guest room. Once Mum realised we were going to stay and see how Polly was the next day, she tactfully said the bed in there was made up. Somehow, it didn’t seem right to share a bed under my parents’ roof, and even more inappropriate with Polly downstairs, fighting for her life. But I didn’t object when, slipping into sleep, I heard my door creak open, the rustle of my bedclothes, and felt the warmth of Jodie’s body as she curled herself round my buttocks and slid her hand over my thigh and murmured, ‘Hello, big boy.’

I finally rose from an empty bed just after seven, hearing the agitated whispers of my parents down in the kitchen. I threw my clothes on, pounded down the stairs, wondering just what I was going to be confronted by. A dead parrot?

I pushed open the door and walked in. Mum and Dad turned to me. ‘She’s still with us,’ said Mum, the relief evident in her voice.

I looked over at Polly’s cage and saw she was on her perch, a little shaky, but gripping it with grim determination. I walked over. As I drew near, she tottered across, and, putting her head down, pressed it against the bars for a scratch, and said in my voice, albeit a very croaky voice, ‘Watch’er, mate.’ I sensed then that she would pull through. I was ecstatic.

‘I was so worried,’ said Mum, filling the kettle. ‘I could hardly sleep a wink all night. Heard you tossing and turning … and moaning quite a bit. So I guess you had a bad night as well.’

‘But not that bad, eh, son?’ said Dad with a wink and a thumbs up behind Mum’s back.

‘Well, it was a long day for all of us,’ said Mum, pulling some teabags out of a caddie. ‘So we don’t mind if Jodie wants a lie in. But perhaps you’d like to take her up a mug of tea and see what she wants for breakfast.’

I saw the smirk on Dad’s face when the tea was made and I took the two mugs Mum was proffering me. I knew what Jodie would like. So did my father. Really, as if I would, Dad. But I did.

Breakfast consisted of a full English; and it seemed a bit weird to be eating at the table where only a few hours earlier I’d been operating on Polly. She even participated in the meal, taking a small portion of toast liberally spread with butter; and she seemed to have no problem in eating it. I guessed, with the tumour removed, the pressure on her throat had been instantly relieved, so making it easier to swallow and breathe. She was certainly more perky by mid-morning, almost as perky as me, quite cocky, in fact. Mum noticed my buoyant mood and remarked on it, saying how pleased I must have felt to have done what I did. Dad caught my eye and just smirked again as he glanced across at Jodie. Honestly. Fathers!

Whatever the reason, be it the successful operation on Polly or the sex with Jodie, who, despite our intense couplings, had managed to maintain a demure innocence throughout breakfast, I had this tremendous sense of elation akin to the feelings I had when I’d graduated the previous summer. That suddenly jolted my memory.

‘Hey,’ I exclaimed, checking the date on my watch. Mum, Dad and Jodie froze. ‘It’s the sixth of June. A year to the day when I learnt I’d passed my Finals.’

‘Yes, and you took yourself over to the Dorset coast for a celebratory walk if you remember,’ said Mum.

‘On your own?’ queried Jodie.

‘On his own,’ answered Dad. ‘Chapman’s Pool, I think.’

‘Oh, Hardy country,’ exclaimed Jodie. ‘One of my favourite parts of the world.’

Dad finished the dregs of his tea and said, ‘Well, why don’t you get Paul to take you over there today? Unless, that is, you have to get back.’ He raised a hand to his eyebrow and made a pretence of scratching it with a finger to cover the wink he gave me.

‘Would you?’ Jodie turned eagerly to me.

‘I’m sure she’ll appreciate it,’ chipped in Mum.

‘I bet she will,’ added Dad. ‘It’s a nice day for it.’

Oh boy … he was at it again.

So that’s how, an hour later, Jodie and I found ourselves clambering out of my car at the foot of the cliffs that stretched up from Chapman’s Pool, first to breathe in the cool, salt-laden sea breeze that was blowing across the cove, then to pick our way down onto the boulder-strewn beach and along to the shale under-cliffs in search of fossils. Undaunted by not finding any, we began the ascent of the steep cliff path, hand in hand, hauling our way up – the same path I’d scaled the previous summer on an equally gorgeous June day, the sun beating down from an azure sky, the waves crashing on the rocks below me, kittiwakes and guillemots winging across the surf and weaving in the eddies of breeze that buffeted the sheer cliffs and fanned up into my face. It had been heaven then. It was heaven now. Only this time, sharing it with Jodie made it all the more special.

In my solitary climb, my spirits had soared at the prospects ahead of me, prospects that materialised into the practice I was now in. A year of learning, a year of coping, a year of gaining confidence in the treatment of animals of all shapes and sizes. Those pets on parade, and their unforgettable owners: Madam Mountjoy; the Stockwell twins; Ernie Entwhistle and Bess; the Coles with their Boxer, Henry.

When Jodie and I reached the summit and lay stretched out on the cliff edge in a cocoon of soft, dry grass, a turf dotted with clumps of pink thrift and banks of gorse, their sweet, coconut scent drifting through the air, I was lulled by the muted drone of bees, the distant, raucous cries of gulls echoing up from the surf far below, and felt the warmth of Jodie’s lips come down on mine. My spirits soared as they had done a year ago. I became a kite, swaying and dipping through the shimmering blue above me. High … higher … higher still.

Maybe Jodie
was
pulling my strings. But at that precise moment, suspended between heaven and earth, I was flying so high, I wished it would last forever.

Copyright
 
 

Published by Metro Publishing
an imprint of John Blake Publishing Ltd,
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This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those may be liable in law accordingly.

 

ePub ISBN 978 1 85782 769 9
Mobi ISBN 978 1 85782 770 5
PDF ISBN 978 1 85782 771 2

 

First published in paperback in 2012

 

ISBN: 978–1–84358–947–1

 

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

 

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A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

 

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Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon CR0 4YY

 

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© Text copyright Malcolm D. Welshman 2012

 

Papers used by John Blake Publishing are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

 

Every attempt has been made to contact the relevant copyright-holders, but some were unobtainable. We would be grateful if the appropriate people could contact us.

 
 

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