Evie Wyld: All the Birds, Singing

‘I’d like to report a trespasser,’ I said, and the policewoman busily entered something into her computer. She looked up again.

‘Can I have your name please?’ She looked me up and down in a way I don’t think she expected me to notice. ‘And, er, your age?’

A policeman came out of a door behind the reception. He had grey hair at his temples and a comfortable-looking jumper on over his regulation one. ‘I’ll take care of this, Gracie,’ he said, with a swagger. A frown passed over the woman’s face.

‘Yes, Sarge,’ she said and tapped more buttons on her keyboard, very quickly.

‘This way please.’ The sergeant opened a perspex gate that said NO ENTRY and ushered me through. The policewoman watched out of the corner of her eye. I felt my bum controlling my legs again.

‘Terrible this cold, isn’t it?’

I nodded.

‘Have to double up on my jerseys.’ He smiled and plucked at the collar of his jumper. ‘It’s been a busy old month,’ he said as he showed me down a corridor, ‘what with Christmas and New Year, and just before that the real-ale festival — literally coach-loads over from the mainland.’

Faces looked out from each doorway we passed, people leaning back in their chairs to look up at me.

‘Oh,’ I said.

He opened the door to his office and gave me a small frown and a chuckle. ‘The problem’s more logistics than anything else.’ He gestured at a chair for me to sit in, and he sat in his behind the desk, and leant back. I noted the window and its view of the edge of Hurst Forest, and the spiny telecom receivers that flagged the prison, hidden deep in the woods. ‘See, the festival organisers don’t provide maps to the place, and I have to send my team out there to direct — to tell the coaches where to park, to answer questions, to direct the whole thing really.’

‘I see,’ I said.

‘If you ask me, it’s the fault of the funders — do not have a festival if you cannot afford the proper and requisite means to staff it.’ He chopped his hand on the desk firmly and I shifted in my seat. There was a pause.

‘I’d like to report a trespasser.’

A look came over him. ‘Now there’s an accent we don’t hear round these parts much,’ he said. ‘I didn’t quite hear it before, but it’s there, isn’t it?’

I smiled and showed my teeth then drew breath to carry on, but he cut in:

‘My son-in-law’s an Australian,’ he said, nodding. ‘They met at a conference in Singapore, would you believe. HR she works in.’

I tried to gauge how long a gap was polite to wait before changing the subject back.

‘Over in Adelaide now — course the wife’s always on that we should go, but my thinking is they can come over here — got a thing about spiders me, you see — know how many different types of spiders you have out there?’

‘I—’

‘Close to three thousand. Know how many people get bitten each year? Close to four thousand.’ The policeman sat back in his chair and regarded me. ‘You do the maths,’ he said.

‘Look.’ I smiled. Teeth. ‘It’s just that I live alone and—’

‘Ah. Lonely place to be, on your own,’ he said. ‘Young woman like yourself ought to be with someone. Cheers you right up.’

‘That’s not the problem,’ I said, trying not to stiffen too much. ‘It’s that someone has been killing my sheep, and now there’s some bastard creeping around on my land.’

‘You a farmer then? Sheep is it? Well, don’t hide your light under a bushel, that’s a hard job.’

‘Yes, look, could we…’ I felt unreasonably hot.

His face took on an entirely different look. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let’s get a report done, and that way you’ll feel better and we can get you back to your sheep, quick smart.’

‘Great. Thanks.’

He took a pen and paper out from a drawer in his desk. ‘Never could get the hang of computers — I’ll throw this over Gracie’s way and she’ll type it up no problem. Now, what is your name, pet?’

‘What did you call me?’

The air in the room stilled.

‘Eh? What’s that?’ Someone next door coughed. Probably they were listening to us. The sergeant looked at me with mild surprise and a little smile. ‘I just need your name.’

I bit the end of my tongue. ‘Jake Whyte.’

‘Address?’

‘Coastguard Cottage, Millford.’

He looked up, as I knew he would. ‘Ah, it all makes sense now, doesn’t it? You live in old Don Murphy’s place.’

‘Yes. I bought it off him.’

‘Never see you about. We was all wondering when you’d pop your head out.’

I smiled. More teeth.

‘Should take yourself out down the pub, make some friends, that’ll stop you feeling lonely.’

‘I’m not lonely.’

‘Well, if you say so.’

‘Two of my sheep have been killed.’

‘Rogue dog you think?’

‘No — they’ve been gutted, sliced about.’

‘Well, it’s amazing what dogs can do — I seen a lurcher go at a fox one time, and just the force alone of the dog’s snout on the fox’s ribs, ripped him right open — no teeth at that point, but fox is a goner. Didn’t last much longer after that I can tell you, more or less spat his own stomach out. I don’t mind telling you, it was a rough thing to witness.’

‘Kids have been hanging round the place.’

‘It’s not a great place for kids, the island, I’ll give you that — past a certain age anyway. They get bored. Real-ale festival is about all they have to look forward to, and even then they’re not supposed to be there.’ He pointed his biro at me. ‘Tell you what though, I’ll have a word, get them to stop haranguing you.’

‘How will you know which ones they are?’

The sergeant tapped the side of his nose. ‘I’ve a pretty good sense of who’s a troublemaker round these parts. Where’d you find them?’

‘On the Military Road.’

‘Military Road? I thought they were trespassing?’

‘No, it was someone else, down on the bridleway down to the sea.’

‘Well, that’s not trespassing, is it?’

I fought the urge to knock over his tea, gripped the arms of my chair instead and spoke clearly and slowly:

‘It was dark and he shouldn’t have been there.’

The sergeant narrowed his eyes. ‘What were you doing there?’

‘Going for a walk, but I live there! Look—’

He leant back in his chair. ‘Listen, Miss Whyte, thing is, no one’s done anything.’

‘My sheep.’

‘Sheep die all the time — it’s like they’re trying to get killed, that’s what my uncle always said and he should know, had a hundred-acre farm in Wales, blackface lambs, he bred, you never tasted a thing like it.’

‘I don’t think you’re taking this seriously,’ I said and it felt like the limpest thing I’d said in my life.

The sergeant’s face went soppy. He spoke softly. ‘I am taking this seriously, Miss Whyte. I’m taking your happiness and your health seriously. Living alone with all that responsibility? A woman your age? It’s not right. You need to get yourself into town once in a while, you need to make friends. Pity the festival’s past, because despite my grievances with it, it can be a real laugh.’ He closed his notebook and smiled broadly at me.

I blinked and closed my mouth. I stood up and tried not to fall over my feet as I walked back up the corridor. The sergeant walked quickly behind me.

‘You can always call on us if you just feel a little worried — and if you see the chap again — and he’s on your property — let me know.’

The policewoman turned to watch me fumble with the catch on the perspex gate, which the sergeant had to help me with. He tried to guide me by touching my elbow, and I jerked away from him.