Black Feathers: Dark Avian Tales: An Anthology(106)

I pull papers from the box. It’s an accumulation of crap. Receipts from electrical appliances, their warranties long outdated, bills, invitations and old business diaries.

It’s so quiet. I lie back. There’s not even the slightest breath of a breeze. I shield my eyes as I look up. The trees are full of Corvidae.

Birds don’t roost at eleven in the morning, yet the rookeries are full. Sunlight reveals them as oil on water creatures with amethyst green on their foreheads and purple garnets on their cheeks.

Rooks, weather diviners with voices full of grit who sat on Odin’s shoulders whispering of mind and memory in his ears.

How Elsa’s lessons come back to me.

She taught me long ago to distinguish rooks from crows by their diamond shaped tails and the bushy feathers on their legs. I find these the strangest of all Corvidae, with their clumsy waddles and the warty, great patch around the base of their beaks. It’s reptilian, Jurassic, even. A reminder that birds are flying dinosaurs, miniaturised and left to feed on insects and carrion.

I turn my head. Crows have gathered too, on the patio furniture, the bird baths, the roof and, of course, the crow palace. The washing line sags under their weight.

I daren’t move for fear of scaring them. Perhaps I’m scared.

Ash walks through their silence. They’re not unsettled by his presence. He’s still wearing the same suit. His stride is long and unhurried.

He doesn’t pay attention to social niceties. He falls to his knees. I lean up, but I’m not sure if it’s in protest or welcome. It’s as if he’s summed me up with a single glance when I’m not sure what I want myself. He presses his mouth against mine.

He pushes my hair out of the way so he can kiss the spot beneath my ear and then my throat. The directness of his desire is exhilarating, unlike Chris’ tentative, questioning gestures.

He pulls open my dress. I unbutton his shirt. He pulls down my knickers with an intensity that borders on reverence.

His body on mine feels lighter than I expect, as if he’s hollow boned.

When he’s about to enter me he says, “Yes?”

I nod.

“Say it. I need to hear you say it. You have to agree.”

“Yes, please, yes.”

I’ll die if he stops now. The friction of our flesh is delicious. It’s as necessary as breathing.

When Ash shudders to a climax, he opens his mouth and Caw, caw, caw comes out.


I wake, fully dressed, lying on a heaped-up blanket beneath the crow palace. There’s a dampness between my legs. I feel unsteady when I get up. The shadows have crept around to this side of the house. It must be late afternoon.

When I go in, Elsa’s in the kitchen. She’s cleaned up after yesterday.

“I’m sorry. I was going to do that . . .”

“It’s okay.” She doesn’t turn to greet me.

“Where’s Pippa?”

“Having a nap. We’re all quite done in, aren’t we?”

She turns to wipe down the worktops. She looks so at ease, here in Dad’s kitchen.

“What happened to my mother?”

I have to take the damp cloth from her hand to make her stop and look at me.

“It’s all on record.”

“I want to hear what’s not on record.”

“Then why didn’t you ask Michael while he was still alive?”

I’ve been expecting this but the anger and resentment in Elsa’s voice still surprises me. I take a deep breath. Retaliation won’t help my cause.

“Because he hated talking about her.”

“Then it’s not my place to tell you, is it?”

“Of course it’s your place. You’re the closest thing to a mother that either of us have ever had.” I should’ve said it long ago, without strings. The tendons at Elsa’s neck are taut. She’s trying not to cry. I didn’t just leave Dad and Pip. I left her too.

“You were born in this house. The midwife didn’t come in time. Your father smoked cigarettes in the garden. Men didn’t get involved in those days. I helped bring you both into the world. I love you both so much. Children fly away, it’s expected. I just didn’t realise it would take you so long to come back.”

“I know you loved Dad too. Did he love you back?”

“He never loved me like he loved your mother.” Poor Elsa. Always at hand when he needed her.

“You sacrificed a lot to be with him.” Marriage. A family of her own.

“You’ve no idea.” Her voice is thick with anger. “It’s utterly changed me.”

Then she bows her head. The right thing to do would be to comfort her. To hold her and let her weep on my shoulder. I don’t though. It’s a crucial moment when Elsa’s emotions are wide open.

“The papers said Mum had postnatal depression and psychosis.”

An illness that follows childbirth. A depression so deep that it produces bizarre beliefs.

“They were desperate for children. They would’ve done anything.”

“Anything?”

“Fertility treatments weren’t up to much back then.”

“So what happened?”

“Well, you happened. A surprise, they told everyone. I remember holding you in my arms. It was such a precious moment.”