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Hadn’t that been his plan exactly? He heard it almost as an accusation.
“Yes, well, the bird’s cage was empty, and so here I am, looking for it.” He felt a twinge in his stomach being alone again with Darcy. He wasn’t sure if he was pleased to see him or if he wanted desperately to get away. This was the first time seeing him since their little excursion gone wrong. He felt uneasy and screwed his eyes shut, readying himself to wince through an apology, until Darcy said:
“In which case, I ought to help you look.” He took a swig from his tea and set it down with a light clank.
“Oh no, please don’t. There’s no need—”
“Have you found it already?”
“No, but—”
“Well then, let me help, Bron—I want to,” he said before Bron could protest any further. Darcy quickly began opening cupboard doors and lifting pillows from the sofa.
He wondered what had changed between them. Whether Darcy had chosen to forgive him. Had he thought it best to forget the episode altogether? Otherwise, what was it that induced him to help find this bloody bird? Bron looked impatiently at hissearching companion, and with an effort that seemed impossible to keep up, started searching behind the pillows too.
They inched closer together through their search. At one point Darcy lowered to his knees, explored the same spot that Bron had already searched under the sofa. Bron took this juncture to stare at him, hunkered down on all fours.
“I don’t think the bird is under there.”
“I know,” Darcy said, arching his spine and stretching his back out. “I just thought it was worth another look. You know, just to beabsolutelysure.” Bron stared at the firmness of his buttocks, at his underwear’s band slung at his waist now that the shirt had come loose. “Oh, bloody hell.”
Bron looked away, startled, as Darcy lifted back. Almost like a twerk. “What?”
“I think …” he started, standing up and righting himself, “I think I found the bird.”
“What?” Bron repeated, following Darcy’s line of vision. “Where?”
Darcy took five strides toward the TV stand and leaned over to brush the curtains away, lifting them from their tiebacks. “Um, here.”
“Oh God, is it dead?” he said before he had even seen the thing.
“I think it’s a bit more than dead. Executed more like.”
Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no.
He skirted away before forcing himself to move into the corner where, almost as though it had been hastily stuffed under the TV stand, was a bloody, feathery carcass.
“I can’t even look at it,” he said, a hand over his mouth to stop from gagging. “I wonder how long it’s been there for.”
“It couldn’t have been long. It hasn’t started to smell. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. Stupid dog.”
“What are you going to do with it?” Bron risked another look, then actually gagged.
“I don’t know. Throw it in the bin or something.”
“You can’t—Ada—she’ll find it.”
“Alright, alright. Well, I’ll bury it in the ground somewhere, a nice spot outside—
“You can’t do that either. Can’t we just tell her the truth? Sit her down—”
“Bron!”Ada’s voice, calling his name.“Bron, where are you?”
“Shit.” They glanced at each other, jumping quickly into a position that hid the bird from view. They stood together, arms touching.
“Ah, there you are,” she said, coming into the room. “Oh, Darcy, what are you doing in here?”
“Nothing, nothing,” he said. “I was just … helping.”
