Coming Home to Ottercombe Bay: The laugh out loud romantic comedy of the year. Bella OsborneЧитать онлайн книгу.
one side in unison as they watched the men’s muscles swell in anticipation. ‘Pull!’ The other team must have had a lucky first round because within seconds Jason and Max were inching backwards and the contest was over. Daisy was quite disappointed, she had been comparing muscles along the row and now they were all dispersing.
‘Best of five?’ shouted Daisy and everyone turned around including Max. He strode over, a frown etched on his forehead.
‘You’re still here then,’ he said.
‘Obviously,’ said Daisy, sensing the hostility emanating from him.
‘Thought you’d have run off by now.’ He indicated running with his fingers and chuckled. What had she done to him? It was him who had let her walk half the way home with two heavy boxes, she should be mad at him. And now she thought of it, she was.
‘I’m not stopping long though. I’ve far better things to do than hang around this provincial backwater.’
Max’s eye twitched. ‘Don’t let us simple folk keep you from your big ambitions.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, you won’t,’ said Daisy firmly. Why did Max irritate her so much and how did it escalate so quickly?
‘We should go and get seats for the falconry display.’ Tamsyn tugged at Daisy’s arm pulling her away.
Despite the altercation with Max, Daisy was enjoying the fête. It wasn’t what she had initially thought, or what the events schedule had led her to believe, it was far more entertaining. She chuckled as she passed a wheelbarrow full of cans of beer surrounded by disappointed men checking raffle tickets.
A little girl skipped past with a bright pink teddy bear, hugging it so tightly Daisy feared it might pop its stuffing. Her mind filled with a memory of being seven years old and at the fête with her mother, the last summer before she died. Her dad had been working and it had taken her mum many goes to knock over the cans and win her a teddy. Her teddy had been white with a large yellow bow and she’d loved it dearly. Daisy was cheered by the memory but a lump caught in her throat and she realised she was crying. Even her happy memories made her sad, that was why she couldn’t stay. Daisy hastily wiped her eyes.
The seats at the falconry display were a place on a hay bale, but Daisy wasn’t complaining. The cloudless sky was paint pot blue and the sun was gloriously warm. The falconry display was in a large arena and a series of T-shaped wooden posts had been knocked into the ground at various intervals. Daisy looked around, the ‘seats’ were filling up fast. An elderly man walked slowly into the arena dwarfed by a huge bird of prey on his gloved arm.
Daisy looked closer. ‘That’s never Old Man Burgess. Is it?’
‘It is,’ said Tamsyn.
‘Bloody hell, have they embalmed him already? He must be at least a hundred.’ Daisy remembered the man being seriously old when she was a child and he appeared to have shrivelled up further and become even more prune-like.
‘Ninety-five,’ said Tamsyn. ‘He had a party just after Easter.’
He had always reminded the children of a character from Scooby Doo and, true to their beliefs, he would regularly shout at the kids to get out of his garden, which only perpetuated the myth that he was up to no good. He looked frailer now, wobbling precariously when the large bird disembarked his arm and took to the first post.
‘Testing,’ came the Devonian voice with an added loud screech from the sound system. ‘Ahh that’s better. Good afternoon ladies … and gentleman, and welcome to the Ottercombe Bay … falconry display.’ He spoke as slowly as he walked. This could be a very long afternoon, thought Daisy.
‘Now, this is Nesbit … he is a sea eagle or a white-tailed eagle as they are sometimes called. The Latin name is … Haliaeetus albicilla. He’s six years old and … was bred in captivity. I have Nesbit’s favourite food here … I’m going to leave a little bit on each of these perches …’ Old Man Burgess continued to provide information about sea eagles as he walked the length of the arena placing what looked like bits of mince on each post. Nesbit was watching him closely and the audience was watching Nesbit, the children were enthralled. Old Man Burgess explained carefully what would happen next.
‘When I give the command Nesbit will fly to each perch in turn and then return to me here and that’s when you give him a … big round of applause.’
Old Man Burgess gave a whistle and right on cue Nesbit took to the sky. He was impressive in full flight and a few oohs went up from the crowd as his vast wingspan propelled him across the arena, narrowly missing a few spectators near the edge. They all watched Nesbit get higher and higher with each rhythmic thrust of his wings and also further and further away as he flew out of the arena.
Daisy leaned into Tamsyn and whispered. ‘Was he meant to do that?’
‘I don’t think so,’ came her hushed response.
Muttering spread throughout the crowd as Nesbit became smaller and smaller.
Old Man Burgess cleared his throat. ‘Well, I’m afraid ladies and gentlemen … that’s the end of the falconry display but don’t forget Percy Winkle’s … racing ferrets will be in this arena in about half an hour’s time. Thank you.’ There was a final screech from the speakers and a smattering of weak applause. Daisy clutched her sides finally giving in to the laughter.
‘That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.’
She had to pull herself together because Old Man Burgess was making a bee-line for them but she had a few minutes to compose herself given the speed he was walking. ‘’Allo Tamsyn, ’ow are you?’
‘Very well, thanks, Mr Burgess. I’m sorry about Nesbit. Will he come back?’ asked Tamsyn, anxiously biting her lip.
‘Don’t worry about Nesbit. He’s a little bugger, for sure, but he’ll be back when he’s … hungry. We’re still training him, my son and I. Still hopeful of releasing him one day.’
‘Around here?’ said Daisy rather loudly as she visualised what it might be like for a fish eagle to steal your chips or, worse still, poo on you from a great height.
‘No, no, no,’ chuckled Mr Burgess. ‘Isle of Mull, Scotland.’
‘Good. We have enough trouble here with the seagulls.’ She gave a grin but no one else was smiling. ‘Does he do this often?’ asked Daisy, trying hard to look serious.
‘Yes. He does bugger off quite a bit actually. But it could have been … worse.’ Mr Burgess nodded wisely.
Daisy looked about her, there were a lot of disappointed faces and no eagle. ‘How could it be worse?’ she asked and Tamsyn shot her a look.
‘I once took him to a fête near Lyme Regis and they had a local owl … sanctuary there with the wee little owls all tethered to perches. Nesbit took to the air but … this time he went for one of the little owls. Tore it to shreds he did in front of the kiddies.’ Old Man Burgess was shaking his head and Daisy and Tamsyn were both looking wide-eyed and terrified. It was an image Daisy would struggle to erase.
In the few days since the village fête Daisy had become restless. The wanderlust was kicking in, as it always did, and she felt the need to get away. So much so she even offered to take the dog for a walk before she went to bed.
‘Thanks,’ said Aunt Coral, grimacing as she lowered her sprained ankle onto a floral cushion. It wasn’t improving at the speed Daisy would have liked. She wanted to leave Ottercombe Bay as soon as possible, but she couldn’t leave Aunt Coral when she was still hobbling about.
‘No problem,’ called Daisy, clipping the dog’s lead onto Bugsy’s collar. ‘Have a rest