One Summer in Cornwall Karen King (positive books to read TXT) 📖

cob but he won’t budge. Actually, he doesn’t seem to be eating or drinking,’ she confessed. ‘I was wondering—’

‘He’s upset, that’s why. You’re a complete stranger to him, and all of his routine is shattered.’ He knew that the parrot was still grieving for Albert, and he was probably also wondering where Marcus had gone and what the hell a strange woman was doing in his house, and that’s why he wasn’t eating.

Her eyes sparkled with anger. ‘I realise that. I’m doing my best here. I came to ask if you could help me get him back into his cage. Sorry I troubled you.’ She turned and started to walk away.

He felt a bit bad for snapping at her like that. It wasn’t her fault. Buddy was really crafty and had managed to sneak out of the cage a few times when Marcus had been cleaning him out.

‘Look, he’s done that a couple of times with me. He’s missing Albert,’ he said, softening his tone. ‘That’s why I left the sheets on Albert’s bed. I usually let him out for a bit so he can go into Albert’s old room. He can smell Albert on the bedding and it comforts him a bit. He usually flies back to his cage in the night though; he’s always there when I check on him in the morning. So, maybe if you leave it a little while, he’ll fly back.’

‘The thing is, I really need him out of there. I’ve got a friend and her daughter coming to stay in a couple of days, so I need to change the bedding and clean the room for them.’ She pushed a lock of white-blond hair out of her eyes. ‘And I’m really worried that Buddy’s not eating.’

Just as he’d thought: she wanted rid of the parrot. Well, it was only what he’d expected. He’d have to offer to take Buddy off her hands, and make sure he put him somewhere safe, away from Mr Tibbs. Maybe he could keep him in his studio in the attic and make sure the door was always closed. ‘Give me a few minutes to put a top on and comb my hair, and I’ll come and get him,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring my carry cage. I bought it when Albert was ill because he wanted Buddy to keep him company and it was easier to take him upstairs in a little cage.’ Marcus had let Buddy out for an hour to keep the old man company in the evening, then come back after his shift to coax the bird back inside again and take him downstairs for the night so Albert could sleep in peace.

‘Thanks. Can you come around the back? I’ll leave the gate and back door unlocked.’

Hattie walked away and Marcus went upstairs to grab a

T-shirt and give his hair a quick comb, then went into the spare bedroom for the small carry cage. He would bring the big cage around, too, later on; this one didn’t have enough room for Buddy to fly around. On the way out, he grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl, and his keys, then pulled the door shut behind him and went round to next door.

‘Only me!’ he called as he let himself in, closing the door behind him. Hattie walked through from the lounge, her eyes resting on the smaller cage and then flitting to the banana.

‘We’ll get him in this, then move him to the big cage.’ Marcus held up the banana. ‘Buddy’s favourite treat,’ he explained.

She looked disappointed. ‘I got him broccoli and corn on the cob,’ she said. ‘I did an Internet search and that’s what it said parrot’s like.’

‘Buddy likes carrots and apples, but he’s really mad for bananas.’

‘Ah, I’ve got a couple in the fruit bowl. They’re one of my favourite snacks,’ Hattie said. ‘I’ll show you the way.’ She set off up the hall to the staircase as if she thought that Marcus didn’t know the way, whereas he had climbed these stairs many a time, often with a hot meal in his hands when Albert had been bedridden with the flu.

Marcus tried not to notice Hattie’s cute bum in those clinging denim shorts and her long, long legs as she went up the narrow staircase ahead of him – he was way past the stage where looks were the most important thing to him – although, yes, he was a red-blooded male and a pretty face and gorgeous figure were appealing, but personality was what mattered most to him, and he wasn’t impressed with what he’d seen of Hattie’s character so far.

‘He’s in there.’ Hattie pushed the door of Albert’s bedroom right open, and Marcus stepped inside. He had to swallow and compose himself for a couple of minutes, as the memory of the old man lying desperately ill in bed came flooding back to him. Albert had been so weak and helpless and had had no one to depend on but him. Marcus’s anger at Albert’s selfish, absent, vulture family came flooding back.

‘Are you all right?’

Hattie’s question jerked him back to the present. He turned to her and, to his surprise, saw genuine concern in her brilliant-blue eyes.

‘Yes. It’s just . . . being in this room reminds me of when your uncle was ill,’ he said gruffly.

‘You used to come up here, you mean? Was he ill in bed and you looked after him?’

‘Yep. Too ill to do anything for himself. It was me who called the doctor in to him. I tried to look after him, but he got worse and had to go into hospital. He never came out.’ Marcus knew that he sounded abrupt and cold, but he was actually fighting back the tears that sprang to his eyes as he remembered how ill and alone the old man had been.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’ Hattie’s voice was a whisper.

He didn’t dare look at her face. He was just about holding it together as it was.