‘I’d guess it’s either us or the crows, so there’s no choice,’ he called to Wendy. ‘A man has to do what a man has to do.’ He positioned his rake.

‘Luke…’

‘If I hook it I’ll be able to pull it up.’

‘I don’t think so-’

No. Suddenly neither did he. The rake caught the edge of the nest and, once one side was dislodged, the entire thing caved in and plummeted down to rest on the damper below.


‘Yuck.’ Wendy was as covered in soot as he was. They were back in the kitchen, hauling bits of nest out from the slit between damper and chimney. It was foul work, and it took for ever. ‘This is disgusting, and any minute now I’m expecting to grab something that moves,’ she said. ‘Are you sure there were no baby birds up there?’

‘Do I look like I’m the sort of man to empty babies from their nests?’ he demanded, affronted. ‘After all the work I’ve done in the interest of babies…’

‘The crows up there looked worried.’

‘I am not worried about worried crows.’ He hauled a stick sideways through the crack, it resisted and then came with a rush of soot. Gabbie squealed as a shower of blackness coated all of them. ‘Good grief.’

‘They’re making such a fuss!’

‘There were not any birds in that chimney,’ Luke confirmed. ‘Just ancient nesting material.’

‘It was the birdies’ home,’ Gabbie said solemnly.

‘They can relocate.’ Luke glowered. ‘Just as long as it isn’t into the front seat of my car. Don’t you dare leave the top down while…’

He didn’t finish the sentence.

There was a terrified squawk from the inside of the chimney, a rush of scrambling wings and claws, and a cloud of soot bigger than all the rest showered over them.

What the…?

The squawking didn’t stop. It grew louder and louder as, inside the chimney, a bird descended as if it was heading into the room.

The bird didn’t come into the kitchen but it wasn’t for want of trying. It couldn’t. The damper stopped it in its tracks, just above the stove.

‘It must be a young one that’s just left the nest.’ Wendy was sitting back on her heels, staring in horror at the feathers and soot fluttering through to the hearth. The noise was deafening and she had to practically shout to make herself heard. The trapped bird squawked as if there was no tomorrow and, above the roof, every crow from a ten-mile radius had come to lend a hand. Or wing. Or whatever.

‘How do you know?’ Luke’s heart was sinking. Of all the stupid things. Now what? Gabbie’s normally pale face was turning ashen. The child was expecting the worst, and Luke was starting to feel the same.

‘If it’s just left the nest then it would have flown back in without realising there was a problem,’ Wendy told him. ‘But instead of a platform of twigs, it’s found thin air. It’s fallen right down.’ She stared at the fireplace as if it could give her some clue. ‘Do you think…? Will it be able to claw its way back up?’

‘No.’ They’d been listening to the creature struggle for five minutes now, and the more it struggled the more hopeless its position became.

‘Can we get the damper out?’ Wendy whispered, and Luke had to bend forward to hear. ‘It seems firmly wedged.’

It was. Luke remembered the arrival of the damper. Twenty-five years ago, fed up with a kitchen full of blow-flies, his grandmother had arranged a man to fix it. It had taken the fix-it man two days to set the damper into place and secure it firmly with concrete.

Luke braved another look now, got a face full of soot for his pains and had his opinion confirmed. ‘It’ll take me hours-if not days-to get rid of the damper and I’d need special tools to do it,’ he said slowly. Heaven knew what tools, but he had to say something. ‘The bird would be dead by the time I got it out.’

‘The birdy’s going to die,’ Gabbie sobbed, and Luke grimaced.

‘It’ll never come though the damper,’ Wendy said. ‘It won’t fit.’ Every now and then a leg or a wing appeared in their line of gaze, but the two-inch-wide slit would never allow a crow to squeeze through into the room. ‘Do you think…? Could we somehow lasso it from the top and pull it up? There’s rope under the house.’

‘Yeah, right. My lassoing skills aren’t what they should be. How about yours?’

‘Luke…’ Wendy closed her eyes, despair rising. ‘I guess-’

‘You guess what?’

She guessed nothing while Gabbie was listening. ‘Honey, can you pop out to the veranda and make sure Grace is still okay?’ Wendy said, and gave the child a gentle push door-wards. Gabbie went, but at the doorway she stopped and looked back.

‘You’ll save the birdy?’ she asked, and her troubled eyes were directed straight at Luke.

What was a man to do with a look like that?

‘I’ll do my best,’ he said, but something in the way he said it must have worked, because her look settled and became one of trust.

‘Uncle Luke will get you out,’ she called to the bird, and then walked out, the door swinging closed behind her.

She left them to silence. Apart from crow noises-which meant there wasn’t any silence at all. It just felt like silence because neither of them could think of a thing they could say.

‘We’ll have to put it out of its misery.’

‘Sorry?’ Luke was staring uselessly at the fireplace, his mind heading off on one tangent after another, all of no use whatsoever. Then he realised what she’d just said. He blenched. Kill it? No! ‘For heaven’s sake…’

‘Well, think of another idea, then,’ she snapped. ‘I’m not leaving the creature to suffer for days while it slowly starves to death-and we can’t dismantle the chimney. Can we?’

That was a bit much.

‘Well, think of something. You pushed the stupid nest down.’

‘Wendy-’

‘Do something!’ It was too much for Wendy. Birds trapped in chimneys were apparently not enclosed in her folio of crises-to-stay-calm-in.

Do something. But what? What?

Maybe… Luke found himself watching the crow’s feet appearing and disappearing. As the creature struggled, its claws sank below the damper. They disappeared as it hauled itself up again, but after a while they appeared again. The crow couldn’t always hold its claws above the level of the damper, so…

So maybe…

‘Did you say we have a rope?’ he demanded.

Something in his voice got through, and Wendy’s face changed. She took a deep breath and fought for calm. ‘Yes. I saw one under the house with the ladder.’

‘If I could attach it to the claws…’

‘And pull it out?’ Once again she veered into panic. ‘It won’t fit through the damper no matter how hard you pull. You must see that. Luke, don’t be stupid. It’d be squashed as you pulled it out, and I so much don’t want it dead.’

‘Neither do I,’ he said, still frowning. Wendy’s face was white, and suddenly it wasn’t just the crow’s fate at stake here. ‘I don’t know whether I can do this, Wendy, but let me try.’

‘What?’

‘Just go and get me the rope. Please. And let me think.’

He needed gloves.

Crows’ claws were ripping instruments of destruction. To catch them he needed to protect his hands.

While Wendy searched for rope, he went on a fast tour of the house. The blankets he found were thin and would shred. The quilts were thicker, but they were handmade and gorgeous. They’d rip and he wouldn’t sacrifice them.

What then? The carpets? No. They were far too thick and unwieldy.

Surely his grandmother had had gardening gloves. Somewhere…

She hadn’t. Sigh. Wendy’s face stayed with him, white and fearful. Hell! He didn’t feel like hero material, but if he was all that was available…

There was only one thing to be done, and he didn’t like it one bit. If he’d known, then the Italian designer would have had kittens, but it seemed he had no choice. To sacrifice all for one bird…

So when Wendy returned to the kitchen he was kneeling before the stove, ready and waiting. She stopped and stared at the sight that met her in stunned amazement. Luke had tied knots in the cuffs of his jacket, and he had his hands in the leather sleeves, testing how much flexibility he had in his fingers.

His gorgeous leather jacket… She handed him the rope in stunned silence.

‘Luke, your jacket…’

‘It’s nothing.’ It wasn’t nothing at all-he loved it-but the thought of Gabbie’s face was haunting. And Wendy’s. Maybe especially Wendy’s. If he could get the damned bird out of the chimney without killing it, then maybe it’d be worth the sacrifice.

‘Luke…’

‘Let’s just see if it works.’ He gave her a reassuring grin and then tried his first plan of attack. With his hands safely encased in leather, he reached forward and caught a claw as it plunged forward. The crow gave a terrified squawk, but the leather protected his hands and he held the claw for long enough to know that he could do so again.

Great! There was no point in holding it for longer-yet-and he didn’t. Released, the crow clattered its way a few inches up the chimney and then fell to the damper again, defeated.

But Luke wasn’t. Far from it. Silently he lifted Wendy’s rope and tested it by twisting it around his fingers. It was old and soft, and not too thick. Great! With luck, this could just work. Then, without saying a word, he headed outside. Wendy was left to follow.

Which she did, her face a picture of confusion.

‘Just watch,’ he told her. ‘This might not work, but it’s our best shot.’

So Gabbie and Wendy stood hand in hand, uncomprehending, while Luke climbed again onto the roof. Once more he hauled his ladder up after him. He tied one end of the rope to the ancient television aerial, and then he climbed to the chimney top with the other rope end in his hand.

And now there were maybe thirty crows whirling over his head, all squawking their distress at the top of their lungs. This was all he needed. It was so hard to keep his balance…