The bird was coming out of Africa, almost two thousand miles – Swift by name and swift by nature. She’d been impatient to come. A longing that had prompted an early start before any of her family and friends were ready. She was alone. There had been no mating and now, for the first time, there would be no chicks. For some hours she’d been tracking a storm, managing to avoid the worst of it, but suddenly it was all around her. Spiteful air currents tore into her as she fought to stay on course. Torrential rain beat on her, relentlessly dragging her down. Gasping for breath, she searched for shelter, a place to cling to – somewhere safe. An ear-splitting crash of thunder, coupled with a sheet of blue lightning, knocked her off balance and spun her around. Stunned, deafened and blinded, the Swift plummeted towards the ground.

*

Overnight the stream had been fed by heavy rain, and Cory could hear the noise of rushing water as they approached. The ground underfoot became soggy and there was a dank, malodorous smell. Cory laid his paw on Spike’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about Scumble. There’s more to him than you think.’
Spike shook Cory off. ‘What do you know about it!’ he muttered bitterly. ‘How would you like to be tied to an idiot? Expected to look after him every day.’ He turned away from Cory and shook off tears of frustration. ‘It’s all right for you. Everyone likes you. They listen to you.’
                Cory laughed. ‘That’s not true. You don’t listen for a start!’ Before Spike could reply, a movement in the stream caused Cory to lean forward and peer more closely. ‘Great Pan! What’s that?’ The dead body of a rat, caught in the current, was lodged against the reeds. Patches of fur were missing, revealing a pallid wrinkled skin that was blistered and scarred. More horrifying was the sight of its face, frozen in a death mask of fear, its paws clenched tightly into fists of pain. As the two hedgehogs moved nearer, an eddy released the rat, spinning it slowly around in front of them, before carrying it further downstream, where it eventually disappeared from view.

    *

Clowes placed Vincent on the bare bark and they all stood back to watch what – if anything – would happen. At first, it appeared as if the caterpillar had gone to sleep. Spike raised his spines in irritation. But gradually they saw the grub’s little body begin to vibrate and secrete a liquid that slowly slipped into the cracks and crevices of the tree bark. After a while, Heaton pointed out an ant crawling towards Vincent along the length of the trunk. As soon as the little visitor was noted, more emerged from the cracks, until dozens of ants had converged upon the caterpillar and he disappeared from view. All they could see was a writhing mass of dark brown bodies that bubbled and boiled like an erupting lava flow.

   *                          

 Earle descended the cellar steps and strode across the floor by the altar. He stopped for a moment and appraised himself in the Spirit of Self-perception. He’d taken to wearing his ceremonial robe most of the time now; it gave him a grandeur he felt he deserved. He pushed the lifeless snout back off his face, smoothed his greying hair and stroked his whiskers. He was ageing well – eyes still bright and snout still black and wet. Quite distinguished; an imposing figure. Nothing wrong with his brain, either; still agile, quick to see the flaws in others’ arguments. He could easily outwit them when he put his mind to it. He smiled and his image smiled back at him.

*

1958

“Christine gave herself a rueful smile in the mirror. She opened her makeup bag, rummaged for the black eyeliner pencil and added an Elizabeth Taylor beauty spot to her right cheek. Before she could change her mind, she grabbed the bag containing one clean, folded handkerchief and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her. At the top of the staircase, she encountered George. Frank had told her all about the little bronze dragon. Lucky George, he was called, because his twin brother had met a watery fate on the ship Titanic. The plaque beside the sculpture explained his story. The hotel staff encouraged guests to meet George. ‘Stroke him, make a wish and it will come true,’ they said. Even so, Christine felt awkward. She glanced around but no one was there. She gently cupped the dragon’s face with both hands and looked into his green eyes. Her fingers traced the silky smooth, muscular curves of his body and she whispered her wish in his ear.”

1958

“The upper room contained one enormous bed. Above the headboard hung a Degas print of a naked woman combing her long dark hair. Christine stared at the painting and slowly sat down on the bed. Did Frank know about this room? Had he been here before? And who was Dee Dee? The name he’d called out in his dream. Did Dee Dee come here too? Her fingers smoothed the lace coverlet. It looked inviting. She lay back on the pillows and stretched out. There was a curtained closet in the corner of the room; probably hanging space, she thought. She needed to unpack her case, but it could wait for a few minutes. Frank wanted to take her to visit Monsieur Barnard, the wig maker. He’d said he would meet her in reception in half an hour – there was time enough to relax. Her eyes strayed upwards. She froze. There, on the ceiling directly above the bed, was a large smoke-glass mirror.”

1955

         “...‘I’m Mr Franke,’ he said. ‘Tell me why you want to be a hairstylist.’ He smiled encouragingly.

         Christine stared into her lap. The whole experience this morning had been overwhelming and she scrabbled desperately to find something worthwhile to say. She focussed on trying to remember the advice in Harriet Hamilton Boyd’s, library book – The Do’s and Dont’s in Polite Society, but nothing suitable came to mind.

         Mr Franke sighed and continued. ‘It’s hard work you know. Lots of standing. No glamour to it.’

         She forced herself to look up and meet his gaze – look enthusiastic. ‘Oh yes I know. I’m used to it. I’m not afraid of hard work.’

         He nodded. ‘An apprenticeship lasts three years. Pay is minimal but you can make it up with your tips. They have to be earned mind, people won’t tip if they’re not satisfied with the service.’ He waited.

         ‘I like to do things properly,’ Christine said. ‘I always want to do the best I can. People say I’m very thorough.’ She tried to cross her legs, then realised she couldn’t without the risk of revealing the hole again.

         ‘Good. I understand you’re fifteen? I usually like to speak to parents about indenture costs.’ He saw Christine frown. ‘Payment for the apprenticeship,’ he explained. ‘We charge one hundred pounds. You’ll find this is the same with all the best Mayfair salons and Matthew Franke is one of the very best. Have you got any other interviews arranged?’ He leaned back and stroked a lapel of the mohair suit jacket.

         Christine’s tongue explored the inside of her lip. ‘I’ve got an interview with Steiner next week and at a place called Vidal Sassoon, which has just opened. But I didn’t know about those costs. My mother’s not well...she can’t afford a hundred pounds.’ Why hadn’t she found out about the money. Mr Franke must think her an idiot. She bit down on her lip to stop the tears.

         He crossed his legs and pinched the crease of his trousers along the length of his left thigh. She sensed his uncertainty. Was he going to terminate the interview? She caught sight of her reflection in a mirror hanging opposite. The wide velvet Alice band suited her, it kept the thick damp curls under control. She tried out an encouraging Elizabeth Taylor smile and looked up at him through long, dark blonde lashes. 

         He met her gaze. ‘We could discuss an alternative...another, better paid job perhaps, one that doesn’t require an indenture payment.’

Christine looked at him eagerly…”