The Lovebirds. Cressida McLaughlin

       Chapter One

       A bittern is a rare, beautiful bird, like a heron, only smaller and with golden-brown plumage. They hide deep among the reeds and are very shy, so when you get the chance to see one, it’s a big deal. A male bittern booms when it’s looking for a girlfriend, and it sounds really strange – a bit like someone trying to play the bassoon for the first time.

      — Note from Abby’s notebook.

      Abby Field looked out at the courtyard garden, at the row of terracotta pots that had no soil in them and the grey, leaden sky above, and felt her mood darken. She turned away from the unforgiving sight, and back towards the room that, in contrast, was soft and warm, with cream furnishings, walls and carpets, hints of gold from the gilt-framed mirror, the subtle pattern on the cushions and shimmering lampshades.

      ‘You could get some bird feeders,’ she said, as her mum walked into the room carrying a tray laden with tea things. ‘They would find them.’

      ‘Oh Abby, I can’t be doing with all that muck – those birds carry diseases, you know. If you’re not careful you can catch something horrible, I hope you wear gloves at that place of yours.’

      Caroline Payne, who had reverted to her maiden name after her divorce from Abby’s dad, was much like her living room. She was soft around the edges, her straightened hair expensively dyed platinum, her silky top and fitted trousers muted colours of beige and taupe, cream and dusky pink. Her gold earrings were almost a perfect match for the lampshades.

      ‘I’m as careful as I need to be,’ Abby said, self-consciously tucking a strand of her own, dark blonde hair behind her ear. ‘And you shouldn’t believe all you read, either. In terms of the world’s most dangerous species, UK birds come low down on the list. And they bring … doesn’t it make you happy, Mum, when you see a robin, or a great tit, or even a sparrow bouncing about on the bushes outside? Sparrows are in decline.’

      ‘I barely notice them,’ Caroline said dismissively. ‘Now, tell me what’s happening with you. How’s that husky of yours, and is he the only male you’re spending any significant time with?’ She sat back on the sofa, in it for the long haul, and Abby suppressed a sigh.

      It was New Year’s Day, and Abby was at her mum’s modern house in Lavenham. Her sister, Tessa, had meant to come with her, bringing her children, Daisy and Willow, whose presence would have distracted Caroline from asking Abby pertinent questions about Meadowsweet Nature Reserve, where she worked as activity coordinator, and the state of her love life, which was currently non-existent. Their absence was down to a sickness bug – not alcohol-induced after a raucous New Year’s Eve party, but one that had started with Neil, Tessa’s husband, and was making its way steadily through the family.

      It had meant that Abby was instructed to stay away and had spent New Year’s Eve at home with Raffle, the aforementioned husky, and a night of disaster movies on Film4. Not the best way to spend the last day of the year, perhaps, but certainly not the worst.

      ‘Raffle’s fine,’ Abby said. ‘And yes, he’s the only male I’m close to.’ She put a hand to her cheek absentmindedly.

      There was no way she was going to tell her mum about Jack Westcoat, who had moved into Peacock Cottage, the snug house that stood incongruously on the approach road to Meadowsweet, in September.