‘Have you got a little box?’ asks Ken.
‘Huh?’
‘A little box. We need a little box to put the robin in. I’ll help you pop it in if you like.’
‘Umm, no. I don’t think I do.’
‘Can you check? We really need to rush him to the vet in something.’
Oh no, this is just awful.
I rush into the house and look around. On the table, I spot the box that the snow globe came in. It is the only box I have. Aunt Grace loved birds, and I think she would probably approve of the emergency use of the box.
I make little holes in it and hand it to Ken.
‘Oh, that’s perfect. Big enough, but small enough that it should feel safe in there.’
As I change upstairs, Ken carefully arranges the robin in the box.
I quickly search in my wardrobe for ‘going out’ clothes. A onesie just won’t cut it for a trip to the vet. I eventually find a thick woolly jumper and jeans, then grab a scarf and jacket from the peg on the wall in the hallway.
‘Oh, how nice to see you dressed,’ says Ken.
His cheeks suddenly look flushed, and he seems absolutely horrified.
‘Oh, I didn’t mean it funny, like. It’s just, you know… I’ve only ever seen you in a onesie.’ Since Ken is the most married of married men, his comment doesn’t offend me. His family and that golden retriever they have are his world.
‘It’s okay. I understand. Where’s the bird?’
‘Here.’
Ken picks up the box ever so carefully and hands it to me as I open the car door. The windscreen is frosted over. The last time I drove the car was for Aunt Grace’s funeral. I am surprised that it starts the first time. I had hoped it wouldn’t, and then I could have pleaded with good reason for Ken to take the bird.
I let the window defrost as Ken drives off and mentally prepare myself for driving into town. I am tempted to switch the ignition off, remove the robin from the box and set him free. But I realise that would be incredibly selfish of me. I could never do that. I have to help the bird and take it to the vet, no matter how hard it is for me. I look at the box to give me the strength to start driving.
I take my time heading through the country lanes. I have precious cargo and certainly don’t want to hit black ice. I pop on some music to calm my nerves. The Christmas songs are already on the radio, but I suppose it is only a few weeks before Christmas. I start to sing along to an old Kim Wilde Christmas song when I stop myself. I almost forgot that I don’t ‘do’ Christmas any more. As I remember the season of goodwill, my throat almost contracts. I swallow down as if there is a golf ball blocking my windpipe. I take a deep breath to calm down and rub at my chest as though it would help the pain. This is no indigestion though; this is what heartache feels like. I try to remember that it isn’t the time of year that’s the problem. It’s what occurred then.
Thankfully, the roads are clear to the vet’s surgery, and I am surprised that I manage to park okay. I couldn’t bear the thought of driving around for ages trying to find a parking space with an injured bird in the car. In fact, the trip has been much less effort than I imagined.
I walk into a reception filled with tinsel and Christmas advent calendars for pets. It reminds me that it has been years since I had an advent calendar. Craig always bought me one, except for our last Christmas together. It was the only time he said he had forgotten to pick me one up. I used to love opening those compartments to find a nice milk chocolate behind them. Lucky pets to get one filled with Christmas treats. They never had these when I had my childhood hamster, or I’d have had to buy one for my beloved Roland.
A receptionist wearing an elf’s hat greets me cheerily as I tell her about my appointment.
‘Oh, you’re the one with the injured bird, are you?’
‘Yes, that’s right. It’s a little robin. I hope it’s okay.’
‘We have the best vets, I’m sure we can help,’ she smiles.
Ken was right about the clinic being super-efficient.
A vet comes out in a white uniform wearing coordinating Crocs. I look closer to see if she is wearing socks in this cold weather. Surely, she must be with all those holes in them. Her feet would be freezing otherwise. I always believe in being warm and cosy.
‘Hello, I’m Simone. Do you want to come with me?’
My palms start sweating, and I make an odd whimpering sound. I get this sudden sense of dread as I start to panic. I don’t feel as though I can go into the room with the bird. What if the bird got worse, and the vet says something terrible? I honestly couldn’t cope.
‘Sorry, do you mind if you check it alone? I’m a bit emotional at the minute.’
