There was a flash of grey, followed by, “CHERRY!”
Without even thinking, Pember bolted outside, horrified to find the goddamned parrot pecking chunks out of his new strawberry plant.
“Shoo!” he said, sprinting onto the patio and waving his arms. “Go away! Go on! Go!” Bailey came running out after him, barking and snapping at the bird. “Down, Bailey! Down!” Pember held out a leg in an attempt to stop her from having a bellyful of African Grey for dinner.
The parrot squawked and thrashed about, its gappy wings seemingly unable to lift its body into the air. It was still trying to peck at the strawberries, clearly having no sense of self-preservation as Bailey nipped at its wings. In the end, Pember did the only thing he could think of, and that was to grab the bird around its frail body and yank it out of Bailey’s reach.
“Bloody hell,” he growled, holding it at arm’s length as he sped through the house, out the front door and along the path to his neighbour’s.
Propping the squawking bird under one arm, he knocked and waited. And waited. Andwaited. When there was no answer, he peered through the front window and saw her sitting in a recliner watching the TV. He knocked on the window, but there was still no sign of movement, so he resorted to waving the parrot in front of the window like a fucking lunatic.
“H-hey! Excuse me!” he called, which finally drew the attention of the old woman.
She flung her arms in the air and hobbled towards the door. It opened with a click, and Pember finally came face to face with his middle neighbour.
“Hello,” he said, holding out the parrot. The old woman shook her head, letting out an exasperated breath.
“Cherry, you mad bitch, where’ve you been?” She shouted it so loudly, Pember had to lean back as she took the bird in her liver-spotted hands.
She gave him a watery smile, making two weathered fangs appear from behind her wrinkled lips. They were no longer sharp, and were surrounded by what appeared to be poorly situated false teeth.
“Thank you, poppet!” she shouted, ushering him inside. He fretted momentarily about getting back to the stew, but then the old woman started muttering something about lemonade and bonbons so he felt obliged to follow.
The house was a carbon copy of his own, albeit with a lot more doilies, net curtains and dozens upon dozens of family photos. It also had the signature talcum powder smell of the elderly. Cherry wriggled free of the woman’s grasp, making a beeline for the open back door.
“Oi!” the woman cried, and Pember lurched forwards to slam it shut.
They both sighed with relief.
Hovering in the kitchen, Pember waited for her to finish rooting around in the fridge, which was taking so long he was beginning to wonder if she’d forgotten he was there. Eventually, however, she re-emerged with a glass of lemonade in one hand and a punnet of grapes in the other.
“Here!” she said, pulling back a seat from the kitchen table and indicating for him to sit. Which he did, as the cold glass was pressed into his hands. “Sorry about that. Cherry’s an escape artist.”
Pember nodded, sipping the drink. He noticed that there were two empty glasses next to the sink, and a pair of earphones lying on the countertop.
“I’m Valerie. But you can call me Val.” The woman beamed at him, her eyes bright and full of life, despite her wrinkled cheeks.
“I’m Pember,” he replied, shaking her grizzled hand when she offered it to him. He could feel the bumps and nodules of arthritis beneath his touch.
“How sweet. You’re the new lad from next door, yes?”
Now they were sitting across from one another, the volume of Val’s voice was much more reasonable.
“Y-yes. I officially moved in last week, but I’ve been on the lease for the last couple of months.”
Valerie nodded. “You’ve been moving in all cloak and dagger-like.”
Pember flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Something like that.”
Sighing, Valerie pulled up one of her sleeves and withdrew a tissue. She wiped her nose before giving Pember a pointed look. “You’ll have a quiet life here. If there’s any trouble, you let me know. My grandson’s a policeman.” She jabbed a thumb in the direction of Blake’s house, nodding approvingly.
“O-oh, I didn’t realise he’s your grandson.”
Valerie gave a wicked grin, making her look much younger than she really was. “Not officially. But he doesn’t have much choice in the matter.”
Pember chuckled and took another sip of lemonade; it was surprisingly delicious.
“My actual grandson hasn’t visited for a long time, and my daughter emigrated to Thailand with her wife. It’s just me and the bird.”
