The bird turned up at 7.35pm sharp, every single day since her grandmother had died. It perched on the window ledge, gazing through the glass at her with inquisitive eyes as she washed the dishes.
Perhaps it just wanted some company, she thought. She didn’t mind that; she could use some company herself. Her evenings had been quiet since she stopped getting her grandmother’s daily calls.
She didn’t like to read too much into it. People would call her all sorts of things if she did. But nonetheless, every evening she shared with the bird the details of her day.Follow Ellie Scott on WordPress.com