High Island Blues by Ann Cleeves Read Free Book Online Page A

in the tree next to where Rob was standing and from the undergrowth all around came the mewing calls of the catbirds, competing with the sound of the rain.
    In the roof of the Cathedral there were flashes of black and orange and Rob was calling to his group, ‘Look! A flock of northern orioles!’
    But in the excitement of the fall the group seemed to have scattered, responding to shouts from all over the reserve:
    ‘Cerulean warbler. Down by the pool.’
    ‘Who needs Blackburnian?’
    So he was pointing out the orioles to strangers and when he turned to see who he was talking to, the wood was full of birders straining to see the forty red-eyed vireos on the willow by the pond, the black and white warblers against the trunk of an oak. In the end he gave up responsibility for showing the birds to his group and he went with the flow, along the boardwalks and the trails, taking care not to tread on the birds which had landed exhausted, at every step adding a new species to his day list. And all the time he was looking for the big one. Swainson’s warbler which he had never seen in the world before, never even come close to. But while he was listening to the babble around him in case the shout went up that one had been seen, he was frustrated, thinking that half these birdwatchers wouldn’t know a Swainson’s warbler if it bit them.
    He pushed his way down a narrow trail to the Prothonotory Pool, a lake of stagnant water with dead, silver trunked trees, emerging from it. There Oliver appeared. Out of nowhere like the migrants, the rainwater glistening in his face like tears. He came up to Rob, laughing, and threw his arms around him.
    ‘Isn’t it magnificent!’ he yelled, and perhaps he was crying after all. Rob thought they had all gone crazy. ‘ Twenty years of waiting and it was all worth it.’
    They took the trail back into the trees and still the birds were arriving. Now they could hardly hear each other speak above the mewing of the catbirds.
    ‘Where’s Mick?’ Rob cried. ‘And Laurie? The four of us should be together for this.’
    ‘We came from Smith Oaks together. We knew you’d be here. But as soon as the rain started and things began happening we got separated. You can see what it’s like.’
    ‘We’ve got to find them. We’ll never get a chance like this again.’
    Rob saw that they were back by the entrance of the reserve, and that Oliver had reverted to type. The excitement had left him.
    ‘I can’t,’ he said.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I can’t come with you to look for Laurie and Mick,’ Oliver spoke calmly. ‘ I promised Julia I’d see her at Oaklands.’
    ‘Sod Julia!’ Rob was furious. ‘You said it yourself. This is what we came for.’
    ‘It’s not that easy.’
    ‘We’ve dreamed of this for twenty years and now you’re leaving?’ Rob realized he was screaming. He tipped back his head so he was looking Oliver in the face and rain dripped down his neck.
    ‘Tell me,’ he said more quietly. ‘What is it that Julia has on you Oliver? Why don’t you just piss off and let her get on with it?’
    ‘I’ve already told you,’ Oliver said. ‘ It’s not that easy.’ In his lightweight Barbour jacket and his green wellies he looked like an English county gentleman out for a day’s shooting. Rob looked more like a hunt saboteur.
    ‘It can’t just be the money,’ Rob persisted. ‘Tell me it’s not just that.’
    Oliver turned away and Rob could hardly make out his voice above the rain.
    ‘It’s important stuff, money,’ he said lightly and he strode away into the street as if he had a spaniel at his heels.

Chapter Seven
    When Oliver left, Rob supposed he should gather his group together but he could not face the chattering Lovegroves, even the good natured enthusiasm of the Mays. He realized that he had been expecting too much of this trip. He had thought they could recreate an old friendship which probably hadn’t even been important to the others. He was a sad