After half an hour, Ella decided the verandah was about as good as she could get it, short of oiling the old jarrah boards, and her DIY enthusiasm wasn’t quite up for that. Maybe if it hadn’t sold in a month …
Be positive, Ella. Just because the place is expensive by Chalk Hill standards doesn’t mean there won’t be someone in Perth, or even Sydney, who thinks it’s cheap!
Ella glanced around at the willows by the river, the white-painted bridge, and the zero number of cars on the street. So, Sydney to Chalk Hill was a stretch, but come now, sea-change/tree-change, it was a thing.
The place could do with a lick of paint too. She ran her fingertips over the balustrade, feeling the sharp lips of flaking paint. At the very least, sanding the weatherboards smooth would help. She could suggest it to the owner if he’d ever return her calls—
A commotion in the gum trees at the front of the cottage caught Ella’s attention. A flutter of small white wings and the snap of something larger chasing it. Magpie? No, not big enough. Honeyeater? She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t been here long enough to know the native birds.
Squeaks and squawks splintered the afternoon. The little white bird circled and wheeled, but the beating wings kept hammering back towards where Ella stood, rather than away from the house.
She leaned her broom against the exterior wall and trotted down the steps, looking up into the branches that stretched far above her head, shielding her eyes with her hand against the harsh January sun.
The white bird flew straight at her, making Ella duck at the last second with a squeak all her own. The bigger birds left it alone and when Ella turned to track the bird’s flight, she found it huddled on the balustrade, feathers puffed and twitchy.
‘What’s up, little guy?’ Ella crooned, close enough now to see it was a cockatiel with a yellow crest and a circle of orange feathers behind shiny black eyes. It was identical to Perkins I and Perkins II, although Perkins II had more yellow through his wings. ‘Poor little thing. You look all tired out. Were those nasty birds chasing you?’
Ella held out her index finger and inched forward, rotating her wrist as she moved, so that her finger made a horizontal perch. ‘Want to come and say hello?’
The bird cocked a shiny black eye at her and shuffled a couple of steps to Ella’s right. He didn’t fly off.
‘You’re used to people, aren’t you? I think you’re someone’s pet. How did you get out? I bet someone’s missing you, Mr Pretty.’ Ella stepped closer. She held her finger just above the height of the balustrade, in front of the white bird. Then she tried the command she’d used on her birds before. ‘Step up. Up.’
‘Mum? I’m finished.’ Sam’s voice cleared the corner of the old house, and a second or so later, her son appeared.
Ella put the finger she wasn’t holding out to the bird to her lips as she glanced at Sam. He didn’t get the message. ‘What are you doing, Mum? What is it?’
Startled, the bird dove from the verandah post and arced into the garden towards the road. Immediately, the two native birds harassed it and the little cockatiel cut in a hard circle and arrowed swift and true, back towards Ella and Sam. This time he flew to the window and perched on the sill.
‘Where did you find him?’ Sam said quietly, his gaze riveted on the bird. ‘He’s like Perkins II.’
‘Just like him,’ Ella agreed. ‘See if you can get him, Sam. Perkins II loved you.’
‘I’ll try.’ There was more enthusiasm in Sam’s voice than Ella had heard in a long time. As she watched her son climb the steps and approach the cockatiel, she willed the little bird to stay. Stay for Sam. Give him something. Give me something.
‘Hey, Perkins. Hey, little Perk. You look just like our bird used to. We called him Perkins. We call them all Perkins. Come on, mate. Come on. Step up. Up.’ Sam held his finger out just as Ella had.
The cockatiel didn’t shy away, but his beak lowered.
‘Don’t move your finger, Sam,’ Ella warned quietly. ‘Even if he pecks. It shouldn’t hurt. He needs to have confidence in you.’
‘I won’t,’ Sam said. ‘Up. Step up.’
Ella held her breath and, like magic, the bird stepped onto Sam’s finger.
‘Look, Mum.’ The smile on Sam’s face made every tantrum, every insult, every slight she’d suffered from him for the last six months worth it.
‘Careful, buddy. Don’t scare him.’
‘I won’t.’ Sam smoothed behind the cockatiel’s crest. ‘I think he’s thirsty, Mum.’
‘He will be. Especially if he’s been out for a few hours in this heat with wild birds chasing him. I wonder who owns him?’
‘Can we keep him?’ Sam said. Ella heard the yearning.
‘Not if he’s someone’s pet we can’t.’
‘If we can’t find his owner, we could keep him.’
She let that go. ‘We need a cage for him. At the very least we need a box or something or he might fly away again.’
‘There was an old bird cage out in the shed, Mum. I saw it.’
‘I’ll go look. You stay here, Sammy. Don’t take him out from the verandah or those other birds might scare him again.’
‘I won’t.’ Sam leaned so his back was on
