‘Bigger than a crow, smaller than a goose. Pretty big.’
I stood at the bottom of a stranger’s garden, still in my travelling clothes, side by side with the fantastic-smelling, beautiful man and stared into the branches, willing the hawk to come into sight. But there was nothing. The longer we stood there, the more certain I was I’d caught him spying on Suzanne’s house and instead of confessing, he’d lured me down here with a ridiculous story about a giant hawk so he could laugh at me later with his friends. It was like Thomas always said; I was so gullible, I would believe anything if someone said it with a straight face. My jaw tightened, my hands formed tiny fists and just as I was about to make my excuses and leave, I heard a rustling high in the trees. Up above me, was a beautiful bird, bigger than a crow, smaller than a goose, with a snowy white chest, speckled with tawny-coloured spots, and rusty red tail feathers. She opened up her brown wings and shook them proudly for her audience.
‘Oh wow,’ I gasped, placing my hands over my heart. ‘There really is a hawk.’
‘Yeah,’ the man replied. ‘There is.’
‘And she’s gorgeous.’
‘Yeah,’ he said again. ‘She is.’
I looked back at Suzanne’s neighbour and saw he was no longer staring at the trees.
‘I’m Ren, by the way.’
He held out a hand and after a moment’s pause, I took it in mine. Dry palm, good strong wrist, firm graspbut not too aggressive. Too many careers teachers had convinced too many men their masculinity would be questioned if they didn’t break at least three fingers with every handshake. Ren had it just right.
‘Wren like the bird? That’s convenient.’
‘Without the “W”,’ he replied. ‘It’s short for Efren, Efren Garcia.’
‘I’m Phoebe. Phoebe Chapman,’ I replied, reluctantly letting go of his hand and quietly wondering whether or not anyone had ever actually blushed themselves to death. ‘My sister owns the house up there, I’m visiting for a couple of weeks.’
Before he could respond, the hawk stretched out her wings and rose from her perch, circling above us for a moment before swooping low then flying off up the hill, her namesake tail feathers on full display. The little hussy.
‘Good to meet you, Phoebe Chapman,’ Ren said. He rested his hands on his hips and his index fingers slid neatly into sharply chiselled lines below his waist I thought only existed on men called Chris who made action movies. ‘So you’re here on vacation?’
‘Yep,’ I confirmed, realizing how naked he was all over again. He seemed perfectly fine with it but in fairness, if I looked like him, I’d probably stop wearing clothes altogether. String bikini for the post office? Why not. A thong and pasties to pop to the bank? Almost too much coverage.
‘First time in LA?’
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘A wild guess,’ he grinned. ‘Allow me to welcome you to Los Angeles. Spotting a red-tailed hawk has to be a good omen; they don’t come that close to people too often.’
I turned my attention away from the treeline and took a look around his garden instead. It was so different to Suzanne’s place, no hot tub, no outdoor kitchen, no gas grill or wall-mounted TV, just a quiet, peaceful little tree-lined enclave. He did have a pool but where Suzanne’s was long and rectangular, Ren’s was much smaller and shaped like a kidney bean. There was more grass too and so many different kinds of flowers. The back of the house was covered in dark green wooden planks which gave it the look of a rustic log cabin rather than a swanky Mediterranean resort. Past the pool I saw a shed, one side opened up to reveal a work bench covered in chunks of wood and well-used tools. Maybe he had been building an armchair naked in the forest after all. The mental image alone would be enough to keep me warm through the cold winter nights.
It was so odd. Two such different homes sitting so close together on the same street, Suzanne’s facing south and Ren’s facing west, down the hill and round the corner. They didn’t look as though they belonged in the same time period, let alone the same postcode.
‘So, you’re a big birdwatcher then?’ I asked, coyly brushing a strand of hair behind my ear and immediately getting it caught in my watch strap. Why did I even bother?
‘Oh, yeah, huge. I’m obsessed,’ he replied with all the confidence of a man who knew exactly how good-looking he was. I couldn’t think of anyone else on earth who would admit to it quite so readily without fear of at least gentle mockery, but people probably weren’t as inclined to take the piss when you were as beautiful as Ren. If I decided to take up trainspotting, I’d belaughed out of existence. If Scarlett Johansson did it, no one would scoff and call her an anorak. They’d be too busy nodding and stroking their chins and explaining why trains were actually incredibly cool on some pro-Scarlett SubReddit.
‘My abuelito, my grandpa, was a big bird guy,’ Ren explained, the Spanish tripping expertly off his tongue. ‘He would lie out here for hours watching them, always trying out different bird feed recipes, building his own bird houses. He kept logs, journals, I still have them all inside. They’re like his diaries, you know? So it runs in the family. Birds are fascinating if you pay attention.’
‘Can’t say I’ve ever really thought that much about them,’ I confessed, still trying to work my watch out of my hair without scalping myself. ‘They’re just there, aren’t they?’
Ren shrugged. ‘They are until they’re not.’
Right as I freed my watch from my hair and opened my mouth to reply, a huge flock of great big, noisy green birds swooshed overhead, cawing loudly. Instinctively, I ducked, covering my head with my hands, eyes tightly closed. What was going on? Why hadn’t Suzanne mentioned she lived on the set ofThe Birds?
‘Wow, OK, you can stand up,’ Ren said with an astonished whistle. ‘They’re not coming for you.’
‘Is it me or was that a bunch of parrots?’ I asked, opening one eye at a time, still far from convinced that I could trust him.
‘Traditionally we say flock but yeah. The story goes that they started out as pets until someone released them in the sixties and they’ve been living wild ever since. Now they’re feral.’
I stood slowly, prepared for another attack, and opened my mouth to ask another question, but instead an enormous, unstoppable yawn escaped, shaking my whole body from head to toe.
