The Wedding Party by H. E. Bates Read Free Book Online Page B

box,’ Mrs Daly said. ‘Perhaps if I put the corn-flakes and the sugar inside and held the door open he might be tempted to—’
    â€˜I rather fancy I could reach him with the net. But we’ll have to be quiet. He’s an awfully temperamental thing.’
    While Mr Greenwood circled the telephone box with renewed stealth Mrs Daly put the bowl of sugar and the corn-flakes into the box and then stood outside, holding the door open. The air was breathless. The sudden clatter of a crate of milk bottles on the pavement farther down the road was merely one of the customary sounds of early morning and did nothing to disturb her at all.
    She could now no longer see Mr Greenwood, who had gone into stealthy hiding on the far side of the box, and though she longed to know what was happening she had sense enough not to call. Once or twice she heard Mr Greenwood feeding the air with sweet whispers but otherwise a long time seemed to pass with nothing happening.
    â€˜Having a bit of late supper, lady? Or is it breakfast? Do you mind? I’d like to use the blower. My milk van’s broken down.’
    On the face of the early milkman there was an odd look of disbelief, irritation and sheer astonishment that was almost spiritual. As he gazed at Mrs Daly, her wet bedroom slippers and her nightdress protruding some six inches or so from under her dressing-gown his lips seemed to be framing strange silent imprecations, as if in prayer.
    â€˜Oh! I’m so sorry. We’re trying to catch a budgerigar.’
    â€˜We?’
    The milkman, though accustomed to seeing incredible sights in the early morning, looked sharply round, rather as if expecting to see a crazy ghost.
    A moment later one actually appeared in the form of Mr Greenwood, madly running.
    â€˜He’s gone again! You frightened him off! There he goes!’
    With lean strides Mr Greenwood tore off down the road, waving the butterfly net. Mrs Daly snatching up the bowl of sugar and the packet of corn-flakes and followed in enthusiastic pursuit, to be watched with a sort of drugged patience by the milkman, who finally called out with some acidity that they should try putting salt on its tail.
    Three hundred yards down the road a heavily panting Mr Greenwood came to a halt under the last street lamp, on the arm of which the budgerigar was perched with the sly calm that both precedes and succeeds mischief. With little breath left Mr Greenwood could only shake a tremblingforefinger in admonishment, his eyes actually watering with fatigue.
    Presently Mrs Daly arrived, panting too. A certain archness, almost a smooth scorn, was now evident in the pose of the budgerigar, whose flight had left it both fresh and exhilarated.
    â€˜I’ve just thought of something,’ Mrs Daly said. ‘Doesn’t he have a mate? Don’t these birds pine if they don’t have company? I mean they’re love-birds, aren’t they?’
    â€˜No, he doesn’t,’ Mr Greenwood said. ‘We’re always meaning to get another, but somehow – Winkie, do come down now. Do be a good boy and come down.’
    â€˜Yes, Wee Willie Winkie,’ Mrs Daly said, ‘you’re really very naughty. Why didn’t you stay in your nice cage? You’ll get eaten by a cat.’
    â€˜Oh! dear, don’t say that. That would be the last straw. My wife would go mad.’
    â€˜Did you notice how sharply he looked at me when I called him Wee Willie?’ Mrs Daly said. ‘He looked quite shaken. I believe he
knows
– I mean I think he’s aware of me as a person. Do you know what? I somehow believe he’d let me catch him. Give me the net.’
    â€˜It’s far too high. You’d never reach.’
    Mrs Daly set the packet of corn-flakes and the bowl of sugar on the pavement and then suddenly kicked off her bedroom slippers.
    â€˜I could if you’d let me stand on your back. That would give me another yard. I’m not