Twitch Read online

  Table of Contents

  1 ROCK DOVE

  2 WORMS FOR FOOD

  3 AVES WOOD

  4 A SILVER KINGFISHER

  5 CLARTY CAT

  6 THE TEAPOT TREE

  7 BIRD BOX BED

  8 MAIDEN FLIGHT

  9 ALARM CALL OF A PEREGRINE FALCON

  10 SCABBY’S REVENGE

  11 SWALLOW DIVE

  12 DAWN CHORUS

  13 FOOTPRINTS IN THE SILT

  14 TWO BIRDERS IN A BUSH

  15 WHAT’S EATING GILBERT?

  16 GONE FISHING

  17 BE MORE GOOSE

  18 PIGEON POST

  19 TRAPS AND SNARES

  20 AMITA’S ALLOTMENT

  21 ROBBER RYAN

  22 BARGE IN

  23 FLIGHT OF THE KINGFISHER

  24 GIVING A HOOT

  25 MESSAGE IN A CAPSULE

  26 NIGHT OWL

  27 THE PEACOCK ROOM

  28 BIRDBRAIN

  29 MURMURATION FORMATION

  30 HOME TO ROOST

  31 THE TWITCHERS

  AUTHOR’S NOTES AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  About the Author

  Copyright

  In loving memory of

  Jane Sparling,

  1948–2020

  “I hope you love birds too. It is economical.

  It saves going to heaven.”

  — Emily Dickinson

  “Kill it!”

  Twitch stopped dead on the path to the main school building, ignoring the spots of rain landing on his cheeks. He listened.

  “Go on. Do it!”

  The feverish voice belonged to Jack Cappleman, a charismatic boy with caramel-coloured hair who’d moved to Briddvale a few months ago. From the moment he’d sloped into school with his city boy manner, everyone had danced to Jack’s tune, following him like the Pied Piper’s rats.

  “My dad says if you crush a pigeon its eyes’ll pop out,” said a deep voice that could only belong to Vernon Boon. Vernon was the size of a grown-up and as sensitive as a sandbag. Outside school he always wore wellies, and his dad ran the local abattoir. Vernon rarely spoke to Twitch, although he shoved him on a daily basis, laughing if he stumbled or fell.

  Twitch heard a chorus of “Ewww!”, “Let’s see!”, “Do it!” and “I can’t look!”

  Bending down, he picked up a flint from the barren flower bed that ran alongside the chemistry block and slipped the stone into his blazer pocket, hurrying to the corner of the building. Peering round at where the big silver dustbins were kept, he saw four boys crowded around something on the ground.

  Terry Vallis, a skinny boy with dark curly hair and braces, was babbling. “Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, it’s the eye-popping thing. It’s making me feel sick. I’m not going to puke or anything, but…”

  Jack started to chant. “Do it! Do it! Do it!”

  “Do what?” Twitch asked loudly.

  The boys were startled by his voice.

  “Ozuru, you’re supposed to be keeping watch!” Jack scolded the short boy standing at the edge of the group.

  Ozuru Sawa shrugged and looked away.

  “Ooorrrhh! Ooorrrhh!”

  Twitch recognized the alarmed calls of a bird, saw the brick Vernon clutched in his fist, and folded his arms to try to contain the anger that blazed in his chest. “You’re going to kill a rock dove?”

  “No.” Vernon sniffed. “Gonna kill a pigeon.”

  “A pigeon is descended from a rock dove.” Twitch glared at the boys through his brackish-blond fringe. He was a bit taller than Ozuru and stronger than Terry, but the odds of him surviving a punch-up with either Jack or Vernon were slim, and he had no chance against all four of them. “That bird has as much right to live as you do.”

  “It’s vermin.” A mean smile twisted Jack’s face and he stepped forward. “We’re performing a public service by exterminating it.”

  “It isn’t.” Twitch’s forehead throbbed as Vernon’s fist tightened around his brick and the terrified bird kept calling. He blinked furiously, trying to calm down.

  “Are you going to stop us?” Jack made a show of looking past Twitch. “On your own?” The three boys gathered behind Jack, who was blinking theatrically, mimicking Twitch’s nervous habit. “Tell me, birdbrain, what’s it like being such a loser that your only friends have feathers?”

  “Yeah, feathers, heh-heh,” the others echoed.

  Jack called out to the pigeon. “Hey, birdie, don’t worry, your best bud is here to save you.” He mimed counting the boys. “Oh, wait. There’s only one of him and four of us.” He pulled a mock sad face and the other boys laughed. Jack grabbed the brick from Vernon, raising it as if to strike the bird.

  “NO!” Twitch lurched forward, driving his hand into his pocket, grasping the flint and hurling it hard. The stone sailed through the air, hitting Jack on the side of the head.

  Jack cried out, dropping the brick and clutching his hand to his temple. The brick landed on Vernon’s foot. He roared, hopping about as Twitch ran head first into Terry’s stomach. Terry fell over with a yelp. Twitch felt Vernon grab him around the middle and whirl him away. He saw Ozuru staring at him with a stunned look on his face.

  “I’m bleeding!” Jack cried, staring at a red smudge on his hand.

  Twitch felt a flash of satisfaction, but it was cut short by Vernon throwing him backwards. He slammed into the bins. As he hit the ground, all the air was walloped out of his lungs. His eyes snapped wide as he desperately tried, and failed, to breathe in. He felt the fire of a kick to his ribs and saw Ozuru standing over him.

  “I’m going to need stitches,” Jack cursed as a trickle of blood ran down the side of his face.

  “I think my toe’s broken,” Vernon remarked, apparently unbothered.

  “You’ll regret this, Twitch!” Jack barked, marching away, shouting over his shoulder, “This isn’t over!”

  “This isn’t over,” Ozuru repeated as he helped Terry to his feet. He was bent double with his arms wrapped around his stomach.

  As Ozuru and Terry stumbled after Jack, Vernon grinned and Twitch flinched, thinking he was going to punch him, but instead he snorted and lumbered after the others.

  Twitch lay still, waiting for his breath to return. His ribs were sore, but it was nothing he hadn’t felt a hundred times. The main thing was the bird was alive. Getting to his knees, he crawled towards the panicked cooing. Tucking his fringe behind his ear, he saw an unhappy rock dove trapped between the brick wall of the chemistry lab and the side of a silver bin.

  The pigeon’s head jerked back, emerald bib shimmering, its orange eyes staring out of the puffed-up ball of storm-cloud grey. The bird had one healthy foot, but the other leg ended in a lump of gristle, and one of its ashen wings was injured, feathers ragged.

  “What did they do to you, eh?” Twitch whispered as a tremor of emotion shook his body. “You’re scared half to death.” He slid off his rucksack and blazer, pulling his jumper off over his head and laying it on his knees. He inched towards the bird. Then, in a swift move, he tenderly cupped his hands around it, lifting it onto the jumper. “There you go,” he cooed as he pulled up the sides of the sweater to make a dark cocoon for the frightened pigeon.

  Rising to his feet, Twitch cradled the bundle of bird with one arm. He peered over the top of the open bin. There was a stack of flattened cardboard boxes inside. He took one and put it on the ground, folding in the flaps and building the box with his spare hand. Then he lowered his bundle into it, peeling back the jumper.

  Lunchtime was nearly over, but Twitch couldn’t leave the bird behind the chemistry block. Jack and his gang would be back, and this time they would kill it. If he took the bird home, he’d never get back in time for afternoon registration. He wondered
if there was anywhere in the school that he could hide it until the end of the day, but couldn’t think of anywhere.

  “You’re not safe here,” he said to the distressed bird.

  “Bcrrooo-bcrrooo,” the pigeon replied.

  Twitch stuffed his blazer into his rucksack, no longer aware of his bruised ribs or the falling rain. He knew he’d be in trouble, but some things were more important than double PE. Picking up the box carefully, he walked out of the school gates and headed for home.

  Three months had passed since Twitch had saved the injured pigeon. Walking out of school with the bird in the box had cost him a week of detentions. He’d made an enemy of Jack Cappleman and become more of a social outcast than he already was, but it had been worth it.

  Twitch had named the pigeon Scabby, on account of his numerous grisly injuries, and built him a pigeon loft from a tall thin wardrobe he’d found at the dump. The pigeon’s wounds healed and he was happy to hang around as long as he was being given free food and shelter. To Twitch’s delight a female pigeon took a shine to him and they began courting, eventually building a nest in the loft. She was a pretty bird with a slender white neck and dark eyes set in a charcoal face. He called her Maude, after his grandmother. Within a week of Maude moving in with Scabby, their nest boasted two eggs.

  From Scabby and Maude’s eggs hatched Squeaker and Frazzle, two chicks that began life dodo-shaped and pink with a fine yellow down. Twitch had watched with amazement as, over ten days, they grew bigger, darker and stronger. Now, more than a month after they’d hatched, the squabs looked pigeon-shaped.

  Today was the last day of school before the summer holidays and the sun shone white-hot. The tarmac under Twitch’s feet felt sticky as he hurried out of the school gates, the deep green of the distant hills calling to him. The air was charged with the electricity of freedom. The summer holidays rolled out before him like a magic carpet of perfect possibilities. No school, no homework, and pigeons to train.

  “Oi, Twitch. DUCK!”

  Something hit his back. Twitch looked round to see what it was. On the ground was a silver takeaway container; beside it lay scattered bones and charred flakes of brown skin. Peals of laughter instinctively made Twitch drop his chin to his chest, letting his hair cover his face. He picked up his pace, jamming his hands into his pockets, his shoulders rising to his ears, knowing if he ran, they would chase him.

  “You hungry, Twitch?” someone shouted. “Wanna eat a friend?”

  Another silver container hit his leg and bones flew.

  A girl, her name was Pamela Hardacre, made quacking noises, and then they all joined in. A mean choir of ducks, honking and hooting at him.

  “Duck! Get it?” Jack called out. “It’s duck, Twitch, so you’d better DUCK!”

  Another silver missile hit the back of Twitch’s head. He felt the scratch of crumbs slipping down the collar of his school shirt and shivered.

  “Yeah, I get it,” he called out, putting one foot in front of the other, telling himself that each step took him closer to home.

  “Then why aren’t you laughing?” There was a hint of menace in Jack’s voice. “It’s a joke! Where’s your sense of humour?”

  “Leave me alone,” Twitch replied wearily. But he knew Jack wasn’t going to let him walk away from year seven without punishing him one last time for the pink scar above his cheekbone.

  “Aw, is Corvus sad?” Jack taunted. “Does the dead birdie make him want to cry?”

  There were murmurs and titters as other children caught the scent of blood. A crowd was building.

  It was jarring to hear Jack use his real name. People only did that when he was in trouble. “Twitch” was a nickname he’d earned because he had a nervous habit of blinking, but he’d always liked the name because his grandad had told him a twitcher was a birdwatcher with an interest in rare birds. Everyone called him Twitch; he even thought of himself as Twitch.

  Someone grabbed his rucksack and yanked him backwards.

  Jack stepped in front of him. “You should thank me.”

  “What for?”

  “For bringing you a snack.” Jack held the remains of a duck leg in his right hand. He threw his left arm around Twitch’s neck, grabbing him in a headlock. “Eat it,” he growled, thrusting the leg in Twitch’s face.

  Twitch turned his head away, struggling. “I’m vegetarian.”

  Jack pushed the scaly duck leg against Twitch’s lips. “Eat it!”

  “Get off,” Twitch muttered through clenched teeth. The smell of the meat was making his stomach turn. He didn’t want it near his mouth. “I’ll puke!”

  Jack let go as Twitch retched.

  Someone swiped at his feet and Twitch fell to the ground. He rolled away, ending up on the grass verge beside the pavement, trapped between Jack and the peeling silver trunk of a birch tree.

  “Aw, Twitch loves the birdies too much to eat them.” Jack stood over him, sneering.

  “If he loves birds so much,” Pamela’s mocking voice called out, “why doesn’t he eat what they eat?”

  “Yeah!” Jack’s face lit up. “Worms!” He glanced over his shoulder at the watching faces. “Find me a worm. Twitch is hungry.”

  Twitch tried to get up, but Jack put a foot on his chest. “Oh no. You’re not going anywhere.”

  Vernon kneeled, pulling a wooden ruler from his bag, and started digging in the turf. Terry dropped to his knees beside him.

  “Found one!” Vernon said, yanking a wriggling pink spaghetti string from its cool dark hiding place.

  “Yummy yummy,” Jack said, holding out his hand for the worm. “Open your mouth, Twitch, there’s a good baby bird.”

  Vernon handed the worm to Jack. Everyone leaned in to see if Twitch would be made to eat it. A girl called Tara Dabiri, who was stood beside Pamela, went pale. “I can’t watch,” she murmured, her hand over her mouth. “This is cruel.”

  “To the worm,” Pamela laughed.

  With his free hand Jack grabbed Twitch’s chin and tried to prise his mouth open. Twitch shook his head from side to side.

  “Vernon, hold him,” Jack instructed, and Twitch felt hands lock his head into position. “Terry, sit on his legs.” Jack smiled, pinching Twitch’s nose and dangling the worm over his tightly closed mouth. “You’re going to eat this worm, birdbrain.”

  “HEY!” a man’s voice rang out. “What’s going on?”

  And like a flock of startled starlings the children scattered.

  By the time Twitch had sat up, Jack, Vernon, Terry and the others were pelting away up the road. A man wearing a white tee under an open blue chequered shirt and a black leather trilby sauntered over. His knowing smile was framed by a close beard and his blue eyes twinkled. A chunky gold bracelet slid over his wrist as he reached down to help Twitch to his feet. “You all right, kid?”

  Twitch nodded.

  “They friends of yours?” The man had a lilt to his voice, which made Twitch think he was Scottish or Irish.

  Twitch shook his head.

  “Enemies?”

  Twitch shrugged.

  “Yeah, I got picked on at school too.” The man gave Twitch a sympathetic look. “Why the worm?”

  The man was definitely Irish. Twitch heard his mum’s voice telling him not to talk to strangers. But she’d never said what to do if the stranger had saved you from having to eat a worm. He figured he should be polite.

  “I like birds. I keep them.”

  “Really?” The man looked surprised. “What kind?”

  “Pigeons, and chickens, but others nest in my garden.” Twitch could feel himself blinking. He was uncomfortable talking about himself to grown-ups. “Right now, we’ve got a pair of blue tits in our nesting box and the swallows come back every year.”

  “Really? My favourite bird is the swift,” the man said, looking interested.

  “The scythe-winged flight sleeper,” Twitch said, then blushed. “That’s what I call them. Swifts. They can sleep and fly at the same t
ime.”

  “That’s the one. Lovely little birds.” The man gave him a look, as if the two of them understood something few people did. He made an exploding gesture with his hand. “They blow my mind.”

  Twitch grinned.

  “I’m just passing through Briddvale. I thought I might do a bit of birdwatching whilst I’m here. Are there any good spots you’d recommend? A wood, or that sort of a thing?”

  “Oh, yes.” Twitch was thrilled that his saviour was a fellow birdwatcher. “You should go to the nature reserve. It’s called Aves Wood. It’s got a mix of habitat and a big patch of wetland. It’s part of a green corridor.”

  “A green corridor?”

  “Yeah, you know, a route for migrating birds. There’s always a chance of seeing something good at Aves Wood. There are woodpeckers, bullfinches and kingfishers too.”

  “Great. That’s great, kid. Aves Wood. I’ll check it out.” The man looked over his shoulder as the sound of approaching police sirens interrupted his train of thought. “Hey, a newsagent’s.” He pointed. “I need a paper. How about I get you something sweet to take away the flavour of worm, in exchange for a few local tips?” He extended his hand. “My name’s Billy, by the way.”

  “I’m Twitch.” He awkwardly shook Billy’s hand as they crossed the road. “You don’t have to get me anything. I didn’t eat the worm.”

  Billy pushed the newsagent’s door open for him. “In you go, Twitch. Unusual name that. Grab yourself a chocolate bar, on me. Sugar is good for a shock.”

  “Wasn’t a shock,” Twitch replied. “They do it all the time.”

  “Even more of a reason.” Billy pointed at the rack of sweets.

  Mr Bettany, the newsagent, smiled at Twitch. The kindly man who wore a flat cap, indoors and out, employed him on Saturdays to do a paper round.

  Staring at the brightly coloured sweet wrappers, Twitch was torn between temptation and guilt. His mum would be cross if she found out he’d accepted sweets from a stranger. But, if he took them to his hide in the woods and ate them there, she wouldn’t need to know. And Billy seemed nice. He was a birder, like Twitch. Twitch missed having someone to talk to about birds. His grandad had taken him birdwatching when he was little, but since he’d passed away Twitch’s expeditions had all been solo.