The heron whod offered me a lift to my parents house turned out to be dreadfully cross-eyed. The moment he tried to deliver me, he dropped me at the orphanage gates like a ruffled hen would her least favourite chick.
From there, things zigzagged sideways.
Still, by the time Id reached forty, Id managed to climb out from the pit that foolish bird had tossed me into. Id built myself a house, found myself a proper English wife, bought a cara used one, but still. All that remained was to plant something and raise someone.
One, I reckoned, Lucy and I could manage to rear. Wed never even considered a second.
It was thoughts of planting, growing, and a miserable rain-soaked morning that drifted through my mind as I made my morning tea. The family-sized boxer shorts swayed on the washing line, tugged by a draught curling in from the window. Those same boxers Id acquired long before a family ever appearedhow perfectly absurd.
Then, someone rapped on the windowpane of the balcony. Was it the local kids lobbing stones at pigeons again? Wheres a heron when you need one to scare off these little hooligans?
Another knock. Then again. Who on earth is it? Its on the third floor, for heaven’s sake.
I swept back the curtainand there, hopping back and forth, was that very same cross-eyed heron from my childish dreams.
Off with you, beast! I shouted, panic spiking my words. My slice of toast performed a dive, marmalade-side down onto the carpet.
Sorry, mate, truly am, the heron poked his knobbly head through the gap in the balcony door, my fault, I know, admit it. Go aheadhave a peck! Take it from my right wing, it’s the juiciest.
Do one, I muttered, shoving his spindly neck back outside, gripping it with both hands.
Come on, Pete, dont be daft, he coughed, just listen to what Ive got to say.
You can talk now? I snarled, Right. Ill tie your neck in a Windsor knot, you great pillock.
I came to apologise! Honest.
Bit late for apologies now, big nose.
Just then, the door buzzer rang out like a fire drill. Lucys back.
Off you go! I hissed at the heron, managing to boot him out onto the tiny balcony. Disappear before I get back.
Out of habit I spun on my heel, scampering to the front door.
Sorry, Pete! the heron called as he reached for the window latch, Sorry! Ive set everything right!
Lucy burst inside, dripping wet and beaming. Her dark hair pasted itself against her cheeks, and her eyes shone clearer than the rain outside. Had she bumped into the heron too?
Before I could utter a word, she hurled her umbrella across the hallway and wrapped her arms round my neck.
Four! Four! she shrieked across the living room.
Four what? I stared at her, utterly flummoxed.
Were having quadruplets! Lucy squealed, Four tiny little bubs!
And thats the moment the herons words tangled up with our own impending foursome. I shot out onto the balcony; the cross-eyed heron had just launched himself skywards. I lunged for his tail feathers.
Too slow.
Wait, you devil! I hollered after him, Wait, you beaky old menace!
Sorted it out! he called down from above.
I turned to find Lucy behind me, tears of pure joy running down her cheeks.
