The Crow Talker

Find anything interesting? said Glum.

Caw shook his head. “Let’s go.”

“Don’t be depressed,” said Lydia. “Miss Wallace might come up with something.”

Caw kicked a stone down the pavement. “Maybe. Thanks for helping, anyway.”

“Hey,” said Lydia, “do you think the spider could have something to do with a gang? It could be their symbol, like Miss Wallace said. Were your parents in any sort of trouble?”

Best to forget about it, said Glum, landing ahead of them. Get back to normal.

“I don’t think so,” said Caw. “I don’t know.” There was a lot he didn’t know about them.

They reached the edge of the park at about midday.

“Listen,” said Lydia. “I have to go now. But why don’t you come to our house for dinner tonight?”

No way! said Screech.

Bad, bad idea, Glum added.

“Erm …” said Caw.

This has gone far enough, Glum cut in. First this girl sneaks into our nest, then she drags you halfway across the city, and now this!

“Come on!” said Lydia. “It’s the least we can do after you saved us from those prisoners. Think of it – a hot meal! You look like you could do with one.”

We don’t need her, said Screech, flapping. Caw noticed the splint on Screech’s leg. The crow hadn’t complained once about the injury since Lydia had put it on.

“Let me think about it,” said Caw.

Lydia rolled her eyes. “All right, think about it. Then come at seven o’clock.” She gave him a wave and hurried off towards her house, pausing to call back. “Oh, and you might want to take a bath.”

“I don’t have a …”

But she was already gone.

Caw climbed the park gates, breaking a spider web that glistened between two bars. The silk strands clung to his fingers. On his own again, he felt a little strange. He was used to being alone so if anything, he should feel relieved. But somehow he couldn’t get himself to be glad that Lydia was gone. He brushed away the webbing.

Thank goodness we shook her off, said Glum. Let’s get back to the nest and have a nice nap, shall we?

As Caw reached the bottom of his tree, his eyes caught a movement, something scurrying away into a bush.

Was that a rat? said Screech.

“I think it was a mouse,” said Caw.

Same difference, said Glum. They’re all dinner.

Caw pulled his T-shirt collar up to his nose and sniffed. “What did she mean, ‘take a bath’?”

You’re not going to go, are you? said Glum, already settling on a low branch.

“No,” said Caw, as he started to climb. “Well, maybe.”

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lum perched up ahead on the wing-mirror of Mr Strickham’s car. It’s not too late to turn back, he said.

Caw steeled himself and kept walking. In the distance, the bells of Blackstone Cathedral were ringing out seven o’clock. The sun still peeked above the trees, throwing Caw’s long shadow ahead of him, but already the foxes had started prowling. Caw saw one darting through the bushes as he approached the Strickham’s house.

We could go and raid the bins, said Screech. Rich pickings!

“I want to do this,” he told them.

You don’t look like it, said Glum. You’re all pale.

Caw tried to ignore them. It didn’t matter whether he wanted to come or not – he felt like he owed it to Lydia. She might be a bit pushy, but she’d come to the library with him and she’d mended Screech’s leg.

As he reached the doorstep he saw his reflection distorted in the huge polished knocker. He gave his armpit a quick sniff. He’d washed as well as he could in pond-water, and flattened his hair with an old comb, but he still felt like a fraud. At least he’d managed to find a new pair of shoes. Someone had thrown them into a skip. They were a size too small, and one had a hole in the toe, so Caw had cut the end off the other one to make them match. From his suitcase he’d selected a black T-shirt, only slightly torn at the collar. It had a paint stain on the back, but as long as he didn’t take off his long black coat, no one would know.

He lifted the knocker, heart beating fast. Then froze.

What was he thinking?

“I can’t do this,” he muttered. He let the knocker down gently and backed away.

He’s seen sense! said Screech, tapping his talons on the top of Mr Strickham’s car. So what’s it going to be? Indian food? Chinese?

The door opened suddenly, making Caw’s heart leap, and there stood Lydia, wearing some sort of green woollen dress. She looked smart. Much smarter than Caw. “I knew you’d come!” she said.

Before he could say anything, she grabbed his arm and tugged him into the house, leaving the squawking crows outside. Immediately Lydia’s dog, Benjy, began sniffing around his ankles. Benjy was white with brown patches, and had bulgy eyes and floppy ears. Caw found himself at the bottom of a wide staircase, standing on a thick pale carpet. He saw in horror that his shoes had already left a black smudge of dirt on it. “I’m sorry!” he said. “I’ll take them off.”

As he slipped his feet out, a memory of the dream came back, and the carpet at his parents’ house – bare skin sinking into luxurious softness – until he noticed Lydia looking down at his shoes and fighting a smile. “Come on!” she said. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

She led him down a hallway lined with framed photographs, Benjy trotting alongside. The pictures were all of the Strickham family. There were beautiful porcelain and glass lamps giving off a soft green light. But it was the smell that Caw noticed the most. The aroma of food made his mouth water so much he was scared he might drool on the carpet.

At the far end, a set of double-doors opened on to a huge table with candles in the middle and plates laid out. Caw could hardly believe, after watching so many times through the window, that he was finally inside. The warmth and softness seemed to draw him forward.

Sitting at one end of the table reading a newspaper, a pair of spectacles perched at the end of his nose, was Mr Strickham.

“Dad?” said Lydia.

Mr Strickham turned, then started. “What the …” His mouth opened and closed and he stood up, staring at Caw. “Lydia, what’s this boy doing here?”

With a horrible sinking feeling, Caw’s eyes swept over the table. It was set for three.

“I invited him,” said Lydia. “To say thank you.”