S MAGAZINE ★ 11 AUGUST 2019 55
FICTION
Mike from the owl sanctuary
arrived just after 3pm in response
to Geeta’s call, apologising for the
delay and complaining about the
traffic. Geeta led him to the shed
and he galvanised into practised
action, carefully scooping up the
terrified bird and putting it into a
carrying box. “What will happen to
it?” asked Geeta anxiously.
“She’ll be alright, she’s just
frightened and disorientated,” said
Mike. “I’ll look after her now,
hopefully get her back out into the
woods in a couple of weeks. She’d
hurt her wing, see,” he said,
indicating a raw spot under the
feathers. “The old fella must have
been trying to nurse her back to
health. Not done a bad job as it
happens.” Geeta watched him
stroking the bird, who had visibly
calmed under his touch, and
smiled at his gentle yet self-
assured manner.
“Will you call me and let me
know how she gets on?” Geeta
asked, seeing the pleasant
surprise on Mike’s face that a
police officer should be concerned
about the fate of an owl. He
nodded and took a note of her
mobile number. Two weeks later,
an hour after dusk, Geeta found
herself standing on top of a hillock
in the middle of the woods behind
Ted’s house, wrapped in a thick
coat and scarf and full of
anticipation. “Ready?” asked
Mike, who was standing by the
large covered cage. Geeta gave
him the thumbs up. “Here she
goes,” said Mike, pulling up the
wire door. The owl surged out with
a loud cry, extending her wings to
their broadest point and sailed
elegantly up over the winter trees.
“That’s right. That’s the place
for her,” said Mike. Geeta reached
tentatively for his hand and he
squeezed it back as they stood
together and watched the owl’s
silhouette grow smaller against
the grey sky. The little owl was free
to live her life now, no longer
afraid or trapped, and Geeta
laughed with relief.Jane O’Connor’s debut novel,
Needlemouse (Ebury, £7.99),
is out now. To order, see Express
Bookshop on page 77.inside, the shed receiving only
scant light through its cobweb-
covered window. A rustle from the
corner made Geeta jump and she
moved the torch in time to catch a
brief movement in the far reaches
of a rabbit hutch in the corner. Her
heart thumping, she crouched
down and shone her light into the
space. She gasped as she saw
two round bright yellow eyes
staring back at her, surrounded by
dark brown feathers. It was some
sort of owl, Geeta was sure about
that, but what it was doing in here
she had no idea. A creature as
beautiful and wild as this surely
did not belong in a rabbit hutch.
Geeta and the bird gazed at
each other and tears sprung to
her eyes for the little owl who had
been trapped in this dark shed,
alone and afraid for goodness
knows how long.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered,
“I’m going to get you out.”orders of her sergeant, who was
busy finding out if Ted had any
relatives who needed to be told
that he was going into hospital.
Geeta hadn’t been in the force
long and was still finding her feet.
She had battled so hard with her
family to be allowed to join the
police, wanting desperately to
have a different life from that of
her mother and older sisters, that
now she was here, she felt she
had no right to admit she was
lonely, lost and scared almost
every day. She put a brave face on
it and always tried to use a strong
voice and confident body language,
the way she had been taught on
the training course, but she was
full of doubts about whether she
had taken the right path.
Geeta tried to ignore the familiar
tremble in her stomach as she
pulled open the splintery shed
door. She fumbled for her torch
© JANE O’CONNOR 2019 / ILLUSTRATION: GETTY IMAGESas she squinted to see what was●SWhat on earth had been going on
in there? Short story by Jane O’Connor
T
he garden was a tangle
of overgrown shrubs and
tough clumps of grass.
There were empty bird
feeders hanging from
the trees and the cracked patio
was scattered with broken coconut
shells. PC Geeta Singh made
her way gingerly towards the
dilapidated shed at the far end
of the lawn feeling even more
nervous than usual, wondering
once again why on earth she had
ever thought she was cut out to be
a police officer.
It was Mrs Cook, who lived in
the bungalow next door, who had
alerted the emergency services
when she realised she hadn’t
seen old Ted pottering about in his
garden for a while, and that his
curtains weren’t being drawn
at night. Ted was an eccentric,
everyone in the cul-de-sac knew
that, a harmless widower who
loved birds. He fed them in his
garden and had cages of canaries
and budgerigars inside the house.
But Ted had become increasingly
scruffy over the past few months,
Mrs Cook had told sergeant
Williams, and his garden had gone
to rack and ruin.
“Perhaps I should have checked
up on him earlier?” she had
asked the policeman, seeking
reassurance that she hadn’t
been remiss in her neighbourly
responsibilities. Her question was
met by a dry silence that made her
pull her cardigan around herself
defensively and purse her lips.
“I think he was looking after
something, some poorly animal or
another in that shed,” she had
told the sergeant, trying to make
up for her previous lack of action.
“He was always shuffling in and
out of there, carrying bits of meat
and jugs of water.”
Sergeant Williams frowned and
made a note in his book. “Alright,
Mrs Cook, we’ll look into it,” he
said, turning to leave. Mrs Cook
waited for him to thank her for her
help, but he didn’t and she tutted
as she made her way back into
her front room, not wanting to
miss seeing the paramedics carry
Ted out into the ambulance.
It had fallen to the reluctant
Geeta to check the shed, on theTe d’s Sh e d