Chapter 5. Secrets Freely Given
Whilst Tom Gently was sharing his story with Heledd in Golden Grove’s conservatory, Vicky was running back from the bus stop in the rain.
For a summer storm, this was exceptionally nasty, the gusts of wind blowing the rain almost horizontally into her face. She was soaked and shivering by the time she reached the front door, so she ran upstairs and threw her wet clothes into the laundry basket before wrapping herself in a soft towelling dressing gown. A coffee in front of the gas fire was what she needed, but she had left her bedroom window open, and it was letting the rain in. As she reached over the bed to close it, she realised someone had been in her room. Not a very big someone, by the look of it, but he had left a trail of wet mud across the pillowcase and her dressing table, which ended at the basket her Aunty Gwen had given her one Easter. It had been presented with a crocheted hen brooding on a pile of chocolate eggs, with a wonky yellow chick adorning the handle. Vicky had kept the basket because, despite its naffness, it reminded her of her much-loved aunt, and it was ideal for storing cotton wool balls. And, it seemed, ideal for sleeping in if you were only a few inches tall. The bird cape was stretched across the mouth of the basket, dripping dirty water onto Vicky’s belongings, but she could see the fairy freeloader inside, curled up and oblivious.
She was furious. Not just at the mess and damage, but the invasion of privacy. She’d been standing in her underwear moments before, and, okay, he’d been asleep and hadn’t seen her, but she couldn’t tolerate him just wandering in and making himself at home whenever he felt like it. And what was he thinking anyway? Anyone could have found him there!
The bird cape dropped away as she lifted the basket in both hands. He didn’t stir.
‘Comfortable in there, mister?’ she growled. Again, no response. She shook the basket roughly. As his eyes slowly opened, and blinked unfocussed at the world around him, she realised there was something seriously wrong. He was even paler than usual, and much more confused. She noticed he was shivering.
‘Blackbird? Speak to me. What’s going on?’
But he just stared at her, and gasped, ‘Help me’, and she knew he would never have asked if his life hadn’t depended on it.
She scooped him gently out of the basket. His clothes were wet through, and his skin was cold and clammy. Hypothermia? she wondered, and tucked him inside her dressing gown, holding him against her warm skin whilst dabbing his back with the dry towelling. There was no-one to ask for guidance, and she was terrified she would do the wrong thing and kill him. She hated being responsible for other people, hated having to make important decisions so quickly. Trust her instincts? She was an IT specialist, not a wild vixen.
She racked her brains for the information she’d been given on treating hypothermia. Slow and gentle, get him dry and wrap him in warm blankets. Use your own body heat. Give him high energy food, a drink to warm him from the inside – nothing too hot, no alcohol or caffeine. She thought of putting him in a bowl of warm water – or was that the wrong thing? Could the shock kill him?
‘Blackbird? Can you get these clothes off? I need to get you dry before I warm you.’ He didn’t respond, although he was still shivering. It seemed as though he’d shake himself to pieces. She lifted him up and looked at him. His eyes were still unfocussed.
‘OK, I’m gonna cut these wet clothes off you and wrap you in something dry. I know you’ll hate me for it, but it’s the only way to save your life.’
She put him back in the basket while she rummaged for her nail scissors. She spotted a silk scarf, another present from her wonderful aunty, which would be ideal for wrapping him up in.
‘I’ll get you some new clothes,’ she promised, as she cut away the ragged T shirt and combats. ‘Clean ones. And, I’m sorry, I can’t look away right now, I’m worried I might cut something off.’
She lifted him out of the basket again and wrapped him in the silk scarf. As she did so, she caught sight of his naked back, and saw something that made her heart turn over. On his shoulders, where his wings should have been, were two ragged, badly healed scars.
Holding him against her, she walked downstairs to the kitchen, moving as steadily as she could.
‘Blackbird?’
‘Hngh?’
It wasn’t more than a grunt, but it was something. He was still shivering, but not continuously, and his skin felt a little warmer.
‘I’m going to make you some honey tea. It’ll warm you up and give you some energy. I think you’re gonna be okay.’
She left him in a nest of warm tea towels as she part-filled the kettle, measured coffee into the cafetiere then dolloped a couple of spoonfuls of honey into a Pyrex coffee cup.
She noticed he perked up when he saw the honey. She wiped the drips off the spoon onto her finger and offered it to him, saying, ‘Lick this.’ But the touch of his tongue against her finger was too intimate, so she offered him the spoon instead, which he licked greedily. He still shivered occasionally, but his eyes were focussed now, and he was responding to the world around him.
‘Good to see you coming back to life. You were as cold as a little frog back then,’ she said.
‘Thanks Vicky.’ He shivered. ‘A thousand thank-yous’
Wow, thought Vicky, some gratitude. Savour the moment. She looked at him, so proud and defiant, so tiny and helpless, and didn’t know whether to admire his guts or laugh.
The kettle was boiling, so she switched it off, counted to five, then poured the steaming water onto her coffee. She stirred hot water and honey together in the cup, then added cold from the tap until it seemed the right temperature. But what could the fairy drink from? There were no thimbles or dolls’ tea sets in this house. She settled on an eggcup, thinking she could fill it to the brim. ‘You’ll have to stand up and sip from the edge. Sorry. Can’t think of a better way to do it.’
She heard her mother’s car pull into the drive.
‘Sorry Blackbird. Gonna have to put you in my pocket now.’
She slipped him in as gently as she could, then picked up the eggcup and the mug of honey tea. She made it to her bedroom just as the front door opened. Quietly she fished the fairy out of her pocket and put him in a corner of her dressing table, beside the mug and the eggcup, which she filled up for him.
Then she went downstairs to push the plunger on the cafetiere and congratulate her mum on her impeccable timing, all the while wondering if her nerves could ever stand another half-hour like the previous one.