‘Dusty, Panda and Nibbles,’ said Elliott as he pointed first at the white one that looked like it had grubby knees, next to the black and white one and then the brown one with a white line down its face. ‘And these . . .’ he pointed at the three predominantly black ones ‘. . . are Curly, Larry and Moe.’
‘Sorry I missed which was which.’
‘I don’t know exactly. And if I’m honest, I don’t think Horace did either. But it’s okay because they’re not like dogs – they don’t respond to names.’
‘Good, then at least I won’t offend anyone. Any sign of Winston?’
‘I was coming to ask you the same thing.’
‘Elliott, I’m sorry. You must be so worried about him.’
Elliott gave a quick shrug but Darla could see the concern on his face. ‘He is a wanderer but he’s never been away this long before. He has a favourite food, maybe I could drop some down to you in case he’s hanging around here somewhere.’
‘Sure.’
Elliott checked his watch. ‘I’d best get back.’
‘Of course,’ she said.
Elliott turned to leave.
‘Oh and Elliott, thanks for the advice,’ she added.
He nodded before walking away.
***
It wasn’t warm but for early April it was sunny and in between fluffy clouds, the sky was an unexpectedly brilliant shade of blue. It gave Darla an idea. If she could set up her phone to film her with an upstairs window behind her, she could pretend to be literally anywhere. As she hadn’t video-called her parents for a while she decided it was worth the effort of rigging something up. A phone call with them was nice but she missed them. It would be good to see them even if it was only on a screen, and they were always keen to see her too and worryingly they were increasingly interested in her surroundings.
It took her quite a while to work out what she could stand her phone on. She could have held it but that wasn’t ideal as she was prone to gesturing with her hands and she needed to be careful not to reveal too much, so a carefully angled shot was safest. Also she had decided to elaborate on her genius idea and go for a full costume change to aid the deception. She’d been lugging around her beachwear for six months. She’d packed a few nice bikinis and some colourful sarongs, none of which had seen light of day, thanks to her not getting any further than Southampton docks.
Darla got changed into a pretty purple bikini and a floral sarong. It was a bit chilly in the upstairs back bedroom but she could tough it out for ten minutes to reassure her parents that she was somewhere sunny and having the time of her life. She dug out her sunglasses and popped those on her head so it looked like she’d just come in from the pool.
She checked the angle was right. They would get a good view of most of Darla plus a good splash of blue sky behind her – perfect. She pressed the button to dial her parents.
There were excited shouts and a blurred view of her parents’ kitchen before the image settled and her parents’ smiling faces appeared in front of her. It squeezed at her heart, she missed them so much. Of course they irritated her, as all parents do, but she loved them and as an adult she’d also realised that she actually liked them as people, which was an added bonus.
‘Hiya,’ she said and they both waved as they greeted her.
‘Where are you?’ asked her mum, bobbing from side to side as if trying to see around Darla. ‘Are you still in Italy?’
She’d thought this through and she’d checked the map so she could sound authentic. ‘No, I’m done with eating pizza. I’m now in Corsica. It’s a beautiful little island between Italy and France. They speak French here. It has some stunning beaches and is quite mountainous in places so I’ve been doing some hiking. Look it up on Google after this call.’
‘What do they eat there then?’ asked her mum.
Bugger, she’d not looked that up. ‘It’s a bit French and a bit Italian. I’ve been eating salads, which are basically the same wherever you go.’ She made the last bit up but her parents had only been as far as Jersey so they nodded in agreement.
‘Must be warm if you’ve got your bikini on,’ said her mum. ‘Have you got sunscreen on?’
‘No need,’ said her dad, waving his phone. ‘It says it’s twelve degrees there today.’
Oh great, now they decided to get smart and start checking up on her. The last time she’d checked temperatures it had been for Turkey and that had definitely been warm enough for sunbathing. She’d not expected such a temperature change with such a short jump on the map. Darla tinkled a laugh. ‘It definitely feels warmer than that and can you see that blue sky?’ She leaned to one side and pointed over her shoulder. Her parents both squinted. Darla had a glance out of the window and it was looking a lot cloudier than it had five minutes ago. The British weather was really unhelpful sometimes.
‘Are you okay for money?’ asked her dad.
‘I’m fine. I’ve got a job as a cleaner.’ At least that bit was true.
‘That’s good honest work,’ said her mum. ‘Where are you staying?’
‘I’m—’ But Darla didn’t get to tell them because all hell broke loose outside. It was as if all the animals had decided to kick off at once. She could see from her dad’s expression that they’d heard it too. ‘Sorry. Gotta go,’ she said with a forced smile and she dashed to end the call. She puffed out a breath – that was a close one. Darla’s sigh of relief was premature because when she looked out of the window all she could see was flapping feathers. She had no idea what was going on. She dashed downstairs and out the back door. She’d have to conjure up an explanation for her parents later. Now she had to see what had unsettled the animals so much.
As she ran outside she felt the first spots of rain on her skin and the chill breeze whipped up across her bare shoulders and up her sarong, but the noise the animals were making was her priority. They definitely looked and sounded in distress. As she went through the gate the door to the chicken pen burst open and the chickens poured out. ‘Shit!’ she said, running too late to close it. That was when she saw what was causing the problem. There was a weird-looking brown and white creature racing around the coop and now it was heading her way. It had a long body and she’d not seen anything like it before. When it saw her it darted in the opposite direction, making the ducks increase their noise and flapping.
Darla wasn’t sure what to do but getting the chickens back inside seemed like a priority and she opened the hen enclosure door fully. What Elliott had said about them not flying flashed through her mind. But she’d been pretty sure he’d been joking. She turned around to begin coaxing the chickens back inside but they had all disappeared. ‘What the hell?’ She spun around full circle as the rain started to fall harder. ‘Chickens can’t fly, my arse,’ she said to herself as she looked skywards, but there was no sign of them.
While she was searching everywhere for the chickens she did spot the strange brown and white furry creature scurry past, which signalled calm in the other animals. The goats were still a bit skittish but she figured they’d been set off by the birds because whatever the invader was the goats could easily have stomped on it. To be fair, she couldn’t see it was that big of a threat to any of them. It was no longer than a ruler. But then there was a reason that people used the phrase bird brain. Not that she was feeling particularly clever as she peered into bushes, with the rain now lashing down making her sarong stick to her thighs and legs. She looked around. This was hopeless.
She decided to go inside and quickly get into dry clothes and a coat and then resume the search. As soon as she stepped in through the open back door things became clearer. The chickens had invaded the house.
There was one on the kitchen table pecking at the cupcake and three on the floor pecking up the resulting crumbs. ‘Hey!’ said Darla but to no avail. It seemed the chickens were scared of the small furry brown creature but not of her. At least that was four hens accounted for. But where were the others? She raced through the kitchen, dripping water as she went, and into the hall, shutting the door behind her. She found three more in the living room; one scratching at the rug, one pecking at its reflection in the television screen and The Captain pooing on the windowsill. She reopened the kitchen door and shooed them from the living room into the kitchen. She’d deal with the poo situation later.
She ran upstairs where she found one chicken pecking at her phone where she could see she had a number of missed video calls from her parents. At least the chicken hadn’t managed to answer one. She had no idea how she would have explained that. She ushered the hen out. She had one more chicken to find. The last hen was one of the fluffy ones that looked like it was wearing trousers and she found it snuggled up on her bed between the pillows.
‘Come on,’ she said, pointing at the door. The chicken didn’t move. Darla walked over and picked it up and escorted it downstairs. In the kitchen her cupcake was no more than a pecked paper case. She shooed all eight chickens but now they seemed to realise they had the numbers advantage and they looked at her quizzically, jerking their heads about. Elliott had said she had to stand up to them. ‘I mean it.’ She put her hands on her hips. They ignored her.
She had another idea. She went to the sacks in the cupboard by the back door, filled up a jug and returned to the kitchen. She sprinkled a little grain on the floor and that got their attention. She laid a sparse trail as she reversed outside into torrential rain. She was bent over with the rain hammering on her backside and the sarong sticking to her when she heard someone burst out laughing. Elliott.
‘I see you decided to let the hens out then?’ He grinned at her. But in her bedraggled state she found it hard to see anything amusing.
