CHAPTER 32
He was pushed right up against the window, a camera with a stupidly-long lens to his eye, and every now and again I saw his elbow give a dig to someone who had just knocked his arm. He wore a Bluetooth earpiece, and the shape and weight of his satchel suggested a number of heavy books. I leant over to Rachel and whispered in her ear.

“I am going to bet that his bag is full of bird books, the expensive shit, aye? Not the AA pocket book of garden birds, more some hardback stuff with every age-related plumage of every gull in the world. He’s a twitcher, Rach. Come on, let’s get out before he sees us”

Too late. He turned from the window after a particularly heavy nudge, and I could see from his face he had seen us. His eyes dropped, and yet again I saw that sadness there. I hurried out onto the path to the Hawaiian geese enclosure, and he was lost in the crowd. So alone…

We caught quickly up with the others, and James was already using his home-made book.

“Eider. Frankie Howerd ducks, Dad. Rob. Rachel. Karen. Larinda”

Rachel had to ask the question, one I had long been tired of.

“Rob, what exactly is the difference between twitchers and birdwatchers? I mean, I got some idea of the trainspotter bit, but humour me, yeah?”

“It’s a fundamental thing, almost always male. Look, what do you think of steam trains? You know, compared to Southern Railway’s stuff?”

Her face lit up. “Love ‘em! I was always a fan of Thomas, yeah, and they are magic. Not like the modern stuff”

“Would you go out of your way to see one?”

“I go over to the Bluebell Railway now and again”

“Have a ride, listen to them chuffing away, smell the steam?”

“Of course!”

“Well, a twitcher would go there long enough to write down all the numbers of the engines, all the numbers of the carriages, and then bugger off somewhere else where there’s another lot he hasn’t seen. You know they do books which list engine numbers, so they can tick them off?”

“Sad bastards!”

“Well, you can now buy books of carriage numbers to tick off”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…so those anoraks, they’re just here to tick a bird off a list?”

“Yup. Once it’s ticked, preferably with lots of photos, they bugger off. There’s a text message service for them. Look, see the eider? Beautiful bird, makes silly noises, and I have seen thousands over the years, but I still love watching them. There’ll be butterflies along here, water voles, dragonflies; it’s all part of the delight of the place, you know, out in the country. They can’t see it”

She pointed to James, laughing at the eider. “They sound a bit, you know…”

I sighed. “Absolutely, Rach. Asperger’s, aye, part of the ASD, autism spectrum disorder. Lot of evidence to show that they are at the edge of it. Social skills often missing, or totally screwed up, like”

“You seem to know a lot about it”

“Aye, well, Larinda’s not the only reader, and with knowing James, like. He’s a sweet boy, and he is getting easier to interact with. Terry…I had my issues with him and Karen, but the way he looks after his boy I can’t fault, and she has done wonders with him. Look, follow our lead with him, aye?”

“Aye aye skipper. Better catch up”

Just as we closed the gap, a Cetti’s warbler blasted its song from a bush, and James laughed. Karen looked at me, with a mock frown.

“Do you know what he has called that one?”

James was clearly delighted. “Forte fortissimo, Rob! I called it forte fortissimo. Because that is for very loud in music, and because it has a symbol which is three Fs. And that is what the song says. Fight me---“

Karen interrupted. “Rob knows, darling. Have you got a name for that one over there yet?”

That one over there was a wren, and James paused for a second or two, before another smile lit his face.

“Shrimp cocktail!”

He pulled out a pen, and found a railing to rest his book against as he added the name. Larinda took my arm and whispered: “Where the hell did that one come from?”

In James’ usual way, he let us all know. “Shrimp because it’s so little, and cocktail because that’s what it does with its tail, it cocks it, so it’s a cocktail”

That brought a laugh, and the realisation that we had the other James with us for a while, the happy boy with the razor-sharp wit, and I sneaked a look at his father. If there had been any doubt that he loved his son, they were swept away by the expression on his face and the dampness in his eyes. Karen took the arms of both of her men.

“Well, boys and girls, we have come prepared. Everyone who wants tea, say Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch!”

“Mum, you know I can’t say that!”

Mum. Oh. The mother concerned smiled. “I know, James, and that is why there are cans of pop here as well because you don’t really want tea, do you? I made a list last night of what we needed, so I wouldn’t forget, and on it I wrote bring pop, because James can’t say Llanfairpwllgwyn–“

“Mum! You are being silly!”

We all joined in the laughter at that, and as the family sorted out our drinks, I took a seat on a bench with Larinda and Rachel. Larinda looked at Rachel and asked the question that was so, so obvious.

“What the hell did we two do wrong in our lives, that we ended up with a spare arsehole each? I mean, nice blokes exist, there’s two just there”

“I don’t know, girl. I keep telling myself the same thing, like the poxy X-files, yeah? They’re out there”

Larinda laughed. “Ah, girl, you got plenty of time. How old’re you; thirty-three, thirty-four?”

“Forty-two”

“Fuck me, you scrub up well!”

“Yeah, well, fat lot of good it’s done me. Anyway, you shouldn’t be looking around, you’ve got yours right there”

Larinda’s face clouded slightly. “Yeah, you’re right, I suppose. Just a tad more complicated than I really hoped for. But…yeah, you’re right. I got mine”

Karen handed out mugs of tea, and some fruity fizz for James, and I relaxed in the sun, happy amongst my friends. Rachel was still musing, though.

“So these twitchers, they don’t get to enjoy all this?”

“I don’t know if they could, pet. Bit like bee purple. Bees see it, we don’t”

“So they really don’t know what they are missing? Ah well, all the more room for us. I was just thinking about what you said, and about MAC, yeah? Social skills?”

“You’re regretting the party thing, aren’t you?”

“I did as soon as I saw him at the window, and now you explain all that shit, it sort of fits, doesn’t it? We need to put it right, Jill”

“Careful, you will confuse James”

“Sorry”

We made our way out through the ‘world of birds’ collection, Terry explaining the difference between captive and native species, and finally to the wild area, where I set up my telescope and waited to see what might happen by. It was a time I always loved, just sitting by the water, almost meditating, calm and at peace for a while. James was still in his lucid state, and I quietly explained to him what we might see.

“There are lots of kingfishers around here, James, so watch for the blue colour. There’s supposed to be a bittern about as well. Watch the edges of the reeds. Sometimes, here, they take a boat out for people to have a ride round in”

Just then, there was a loud bird call, and James just said. “Pinker. That’s my name for that bird. Pinker. What bird is a pinker, Rob?”

“Bearded tit, James. Ah. See, down there, on the reeds? Long tail? Oh, gone again”

“It flies silly! And there’s the blue! Bluewater, like the shops. That’s my name for that bird. You said Kingfisher, Rob”

He was on a roll, and after a while Rachel and Larinda went outside for a lie in the sun, just as a very large brown bird flew across the top of the reedbed before settling right at its edge.

“James…that’s a bittern. Very, very rare. See the streaks down it? Helps it look like the reeds, so it can hide better from things that might want to eat it”

“Bittern…reedwalker. It walks in reeds and it looks like reeds, so it’s a reed walker. Looks like reeds. That’s camouflage, Rob. That’s when something looks like something else to hide”

“Exactly, James”

Karen smiled at him. “We are going to have to print some more pictures off the net for you, James”

“Yes. I need a bittern, don’t I?”

He turned back to me, and there was a faint look of puzzlement on his face.

“Bittern. Camouflage. Are you a bittern, too? Rob, not the right name. They called you Jill”

Suddenly, a real teenager was there, just for a few seconds, and once more I was dazzled by who he might have been.

“Jill…what are you camouflaged for?”