Page 7 of The Heart and the Hawthorn

She blinked up at him, confused. ‘What?’

‘Babe,’ he hesitated. ‘You just missed the most important event in Forest’s history. Cliff’s worried out of his mind. We thought you’d finally been eaten by Gorgonzola.’

Her brain was moving much too slowly, like molasses were dripping through her cerebral cortex. Once, Gorgonzola the grootneck had almost succeeded in consuming her left earlobe. Grootnecks were the size of hamsters, but their capacity for violence was remarkable. But she hadn’t been anywhere near the grootnecks tonight.

‘Most important event . . .’ she began, her eyebrows furrowing as she tried to piece it together. ‘What . . .’

Antony’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. Then it hit her. All the blood drained from her face, and she wanted to howl.

‘The dragon! Oh no.’ How could she have missed the dragon? ‘Is he here? Is he alright? Oh, Antony. No!’ She tried to stem the panic that was rising in her, but it was no use. Antony held her upper arms, his grip just firm enough to keep her from sprinting headlong towards Dragon’s Deep.

‘He’s fine, Fri,’ he was saying. ‘Lucky’s fine. He’s here, he’s safe, he’s still sedated but it all went off without a hitch. The storm passed just in time.’

Frida swayed. It took her a moment for the name to sink in. ‘Lucky?’

It was zoo superstition never to name an acquisition before they’d arrived safely. In a few months, Management would auction naming rights to a billionaire who’d probably name him after their favourite football player, but for now, she tried it out in her mouth. L-u-c-k-y.

Antony’s smile was a brilliant thing. Two dimples. ‘Good name, huh? Hamish was campaigning for Mr Darcy, the others for Barney – you know the purple dinosaur thing. But once Cliff gets an idea in his head . . .’ He trailed off, the sympathy on his face making her heart break.

‘It’s perfect,’ she managed, before her legs gave way. Antony lunged but wasn’t quick enough to catch her before she collapsed butt-first in a puddle of mud. There was a new dragon in the LEZ and his name was Lucky. Somewhere, she heard Antony speaking into his radio.

‘This is Swan1. Papa Bear, just letting you know that Swan2 has been located. She had a fall but she’s fine. Just going to take her home.’

There were a few moments of static before Cliff’s voice came through. ‘Oh, thank god!’ There was the sound of a scuffle, more static, then Cliff distracted, swearing, ‘Christ, no! Not that shovel, get me the longer one . . .’ Another pause. Finally, he came back, his voice clipped, in the throes of whatever shovel emergency was happening right now. ‘How fine is she? What happened?’

‘Uh . . .’ Antony began, his voice faltering as Frida’s hands flew up in a frantic, silent plea: Not. A. Word, she signed. He took his finger off the button of the walkie-talkie and hissed, ‘What do I say?’

‘Nothing!’ she exclaimed.

Antony looked pained. But she had no desire to tell Cliff what had happened. Her track record of incidents was getting longer and longer. Only three months ago, barely a few months after the stone-giant-buggy-crashing event, she’d tripped over a loose brick outside Ground Control. Any normal person would have sprained an ankle. She’d knocked herself unconscious and dreamed Brian and Stewie, the zoo’s griffins, had escaped to take up residence in the attic of their local, the Crown and Anchor, drinking all the best whiskey. She’d been so certain of it, Hamish had practically had to tackle her to the ground to stop her from announcing it over the radio. Ridiculous. If Brian and Stewie had escaped, they wouldn’t be caught dead in a dive like the Crown. However, Cliff had made her take two weeks off work. It had been torture.

‘Uh, she lost her torch,’ Antony stumbled as he read her panicked expression. ‘Then she took shelter in the Coffin . . . and then . . .’ He trailed off, shrugging helplessly as she waved her arms in emphatic warning, ‘. . . then she slipped. But I’ve checked – there’s nothing broken.’

Cliff’s voice crackled back, impatient. ‘So, is she coming?’

‘I’m taking her home,’ he squeaked.

‘She wants to go home? Antony – tell me straight. Is. Frida. Dead?’

‘Actually . . .’ Antony sighed, defeated, ‘something reminded her of her mother, and well, it’s just . . . It made her really sad.’

‘What?’ Frida signed urgently, eyes wide. Antony winced, raising his arms in despair.

Cliff’s tone softened. ‘Oh. Phew. Well, not phew, but . . . you know what I mean. Give her my love and tell her that tomorrow will be her Lucky day.’ Chuckling at his own joke he signed off.

Antony sagged, wrung out. ‘That was exhausting!’

Frida scowled at him. ‘You didn’t have to take it that far,’ she muttered. But when he shot her a look, she capitulated. ‘I mean, thank you.’

He tugged anxiously on both his ears. ‘Just never make me lie to Cliff again. Ok?’

She patted his arm, the corner of her lips twitching. ‘Until Hamish eats all the chocolate croissants, and Cliff goes on another rampage?’

‘Yeah, well. Until then, I suppose.’ He gave her a fierce, bone-breaking hug. ‘I was so worried about you. You’re ok? Really? I’m not going to regret this?’

She gingerly touched her head-tomato again. ‘You’re not,’ she said firmly. ‘Besides, you’d regret it more if I didn’t get to see Lucky tomorrow.’

With a long-suffering sigh, he rolled his eyes to the stars.