‘That’s puffin headquarters.’
‘And that is?’
‘It used to be Pete’s veterinary practice before he retired. He still uses it from time to time to rescue injured puffins and still cares for any injured domestic animals on the island if the tide is in.’
Watching the group of people standing on the cliff top outside Pete’s cottage, Verity asked, ‘What exactly are they doing? It all looks very official.’
‘It is. They take their puffin counting very seriously. The puffin census starts tomorrow but they’re a ranger down. I noticed this morning they’ve appealed for someone to step in and help out, but most of the islanders have their own businesses, which would mean closing for a few days.’
‘And what does the ranger do?’
‘Counts the puffins.’ He grinned.
‘I suppose that was a stupid question.’
‘Not at all,’ Nathan said kindly. ‘Now, I should probably crack on under this bonnet.’ He wiped his hands on an oily rag. ‘Then we can see if I’m writing a death certificate for that van of yours.’
Still watching the rangers, Verity found her thoughts tumbling over in her mind, and before she could stop herself, she began walking towards them. Pete was towering over the map, which was held down at the corners by four stones.
‘Hi,’ said Verity, wondering what sort of welcome she was going to get this time.
‘You again. You keep popping up everywhere,’ he said, nodding goodbye to the rest of the rangers, who were just leaving. They both watched as the small group headed down the path.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.’
‘You didn’t.’ Pete rolled up the map and secured it with an elastic band. ‘We’d just finished.’
‘I might be able to help you. I’m Verity.’ She extended her hand and Pete hesitated before shaking it. ‘And you’re Puffin Pete, though obviously that’s not your real name,’ she prattled. ‘And I meant what I said, I could help you.’
Pete didn’t answer, just watched her carefully. Verity was on a mission to at least make him crack a smile, but she didn’t like her chances.
‘I hear you’re a ranger down for the puffin census.’
Pete tilted his head to one side.
‘I’m your girl, I can be your ranger.’ Verity smiled. ‘What do you think?’
‘And what do you know about puffins?’
Verity grinned. ‘I don’t know where to start.’
‘At the beginning,’ came his reply.
She nodded. This was her opportunity to dazzle him with her knowledge. ‘They’re about this high.’ She lowered her hand to the ground.
Pete raised both eyebrows.
‘A puffin’s beak changes colour during the year. In the winter the beak is a dull, greyish colour but in spring it blossoms to an outrageous orange.’ She pointed to the puffins standing on the cliffs, but Pete continued staring at her. ‘That bright colour helps puffins assess potential mates. I’ve often thought about wearing an orange lipstick to increase my chances of attracting a decent male, as I usually attract losers,’ she joked, watching Pete closely. She was sure she’d seen a tiny twitch of his mouth. He might just be about to crack a smile.
‘They’re carnivores, live off small fish, herring, hake and sand eels. And they’re fab flyers; I believe a puffin can flap their wings up to four hundred times a minute and can speed through the air up to eighty-eight kilometres an hour. So, they’re pretty fast. Not only fab flyers, but swimmers, too. They use their webbed feet as a rudder and can dive below sixty metres. They usually pair up with the same partner as in previous years. It’s amazing, isn’t it, how they actually know who their puffin partner is? I mean, they all look the same. Anyway, some puffins have had the same partner for over twenty years. Unlike me, I didn’t even get him up the aisle, though I know now that was a blessing in disguise. Once a cheat, always a cheat. Hence why I’m here. I’m on a journey to find myself and become a strong, independent woman. To be fair, it’s been a hell of a start.’
Pete smiled.
Job done.
Verity was secretly pleased.
‘Oh! And when starting a puffin family, they dig out a burrow using their sharp claws and beak, then build nests lined with feathers and grass, and that’s where the female lays her eggs. Thirty-six to forty-five days later the baby puffling hatches.’
