Spitting Feathers. Kelly Harte

right next to the window, which was, as usual, misted over with condensation.

      Her statement was a perfectly true one but I didn’t see why it mattered. ‘Food’s food,’ I told her blithely, ‘and I’m as happy to take pictures of the humble fish finger as I am of squid à la Up Yer Posh Bum.’

      ‘So,’ she said as she lifted the lid of her bap and squeezed brown sauce over the pile of golden glistening chips, ‘how did you manage it? I’ve heard that the parrot is a hard bird to please.’

      ‘Which I note that you failed to mention,’ I said sternly when I’d slipped into the seat opposite her.

      She smiled at me slyly. ‘I thought if you knew in advance you’d have chickened out.’

      ‘I would have done if I’d known how vicious he can be if he takes a dislike to someone. Mrs Audesley said that three of the previous applicants are threatening to sue.’

      ‘So what is your secret?’ Sophie asked me curiously. ‘I didn’t know you had a way with parrots.’

      ‘African Greys,’ I corrected her as I, being a tomato sauce person myself, coated my chips accordingly. ‘Which his proud owner assures me are a cut above your average parrot.’ To be honest I was just as bewildered as Mrs Audesley had been as to why Sir Galahad had liked me so much. But there was no denying that he did from the way he’d clung to my shoulder and nuzzled into my neck as he made shockingly perfect imitations of all manner of sounds, from an old-fashioned telephone ringing to a toilet cistern being flushed. He also had a lot to say for himself, in Mrs Audesley’s own imperious tones. ‘Do take a seat,’ was one of his favourites, as was, ‘One lump or two?’

      ‘Maybe I was an African Grey in a previous life,’ I suggested wildly, at a loss for any more reasonable explanation. Then I remembered something—the something that had been bothering me. ‘Mrs Audesley said that he was being very polite today, but that he had a much wider vocabulary which, and I quote, “includes some very extreme vulgarities”, that she blames entirely on her great-nephew.’

      ‘Who? Jerome?’

      I nodded as I pressed down on the butty to make it easier to put in my mouth.

      ‘She doesn’t seem to like him much,’ I said as I looked over at Sophie now. ‘In fact she was at pains to make sure I understood that he wasn’t to be admitted into the house while she was away.’

      ‘I can’t think why,’ Sophie replied indignantly. ‘He seems very pleasant to me.’ Which I happened to know was Sophie-speak for, I fancy the pants off him.

      ‘And she’s not alone in her opinion. As soon as his name came up Sir Galahad announced that he was a “ghastly young man”,’ I said, impersonating the bird’s impersonation of Mrs Audesley’s disapproving tones.

      Sophie was munching now, and managing to look defiant at the same time. ‘You don’t expect me to accept that a parrot actually knows what he’s talking about?’ she eventually said. ‘He’s obviously been brainwashed.’

      I shrugged as I swallowed. ‘You’re probably right,’ I said, even though she was plainly missing the point. But it didn’t seem wise to labour the point that Mrs Audesley might have had good reason for brainwashing her bird. ‘And if he’s so “ghastly,” why is he trying to be so helpful? Good point,’ I said, deciding to let the matter drop. ‘And you must really pass on my thanks to him.’

      Sophie began to thaw a little now and promised she would. We ate in lip-smacking silence for a while then, until we got to the empty-plate, finger-licking stage.

      ‘I’m so glad you decided to change your life,’ Sophie said thoughtfully then. ‘For a while there I thought you would fade into suburban oblivion.’

      ‘Me too,’ I said, and for a while there this had indeed been a very distinct possibility.

      For years I’d been trying so hard to rebel against the mantra-chanting, Zen-aspiring upbringing provided by my well-meaning but flaky mother that I’d gone too far the other way. This had not only involved seven years’ hard labour in the bank, but also a series of decent, hard-working boyfriends and, finally, the joint purchase of a semi-detached starter home in a respectable neighbourhood with an insurance salesman named Malcolm—Mal, to his friends and former fiancée. It lasted almost a year, until I suddenly came to my senses and told Mal it was over. He was bewildered and angry, of course, but I was determined, and with my share of the money we made from the sale of the semi—there had been a small property boom during our time together—I paid for the photography course and kept a bit back for emergencies.

      I know that Sophie still worked in a bank, but it was different for her. Quite apart from her ample chest, she had Snow White looks, with milky skin and raven-black hair, and a game plan in which starter homes had never figured.

      ‘Oh, God,’ she said. ‘Don’t look now, but I think someone’s heading our way.’

      He arrived before I had a chance to ignore her warning, shoving past me to get near to Sophie.

      ‘Room for a little one?’ her landlord said, briefly showing a set of teeth that would make an orthodontist twitchy. He had on trainers and a grubby grey jogging suit that I’d bet had seen little of the action intended.

      ‘We’re just finishing up,’ Sophie said, which was thankfully true. She was wearing her smart charcoal work suit, and I was still in my African Grey-beguiling garb, and I suddenly felt that we were a bit overdressed.

      He squeezed himself into the space at our table with his rear end spread well over the sides of the chair. He didn’t have any food with him, and when I glanced up at Felix he gave me a wink of encouragement. ‘John will be bringing Mr Parker’s order when it’s ready,’ he called out.

      ‘Mr Parker?’ I queried with a frown, before I had time to engage caution and prudence. I knew that his first name was Peter, so was this the explanation for the spider’s web tattoo on his face? Did he think he was Spider-Man? I was about to laugh, but I felt a sharp kick on my leg from under the table, and when I glanced at Sophie I realised that pursuing this particular line of enquiry might be a mistake.

      He dragged his attention away from Sophie’s Double-D chest and looked at me questioningly.

      ‘Oh,’ I fumbled, ‘it’s just that my mum’s name is Parker, but I don’t expect there’s a connection.’ It was completely untrue, and a very poor effort as cover-up stories go, but he seemed to swallow it whole. He had very thick, very black hair that I’d never been this close to before. Now that I was it seemed strangely unnatural, and I was finding it difficult to take my eyes off it as he turned his attention back on Sophie. If I distorted my focus by narrowing my eyes it looked exactly as if a fluffy black cat had curled up and gone to sleep on his head.

      ‘There’s Karaoke at the Peeler Saturday,’ he said to her now. ‘Coming?’

      The Peeler was a local dive that you’d only dream of going into if you were especially drunk and happened you have in your company several prize-fighting escorts, and I was curious to see how Sophie would handle turning down such an attractive and beautifully extended invitation.

      ‘I’d love to,’ she answered sweetly, ‘but I’ll be helping Tao move into her new place, I’m afraid.’

      He glanced at me dangerously, as if I was personally responsible for all the troubles of the world. I was tempted to say that I could manage without her help, but I could feel the daggers being aimed at me across the table.

      ‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘but I’m depending on her.’

      There was an almost audible sigh of relief from Sophie, who stood up now and gave me the nod. ‘Another time, maybe,’ I heard her say, and after wishing Felix a fond farewell we left the place, trying not to giggle till we were well out of sight of the café.

      ‘Is that a wig he was wearing?’ I eventually asked, and it set her off all over again.

      ‘Of