Have you looked in here? she said. What about here? Maybe there’s stuff hidden in the tyres?
A final look into Cressy’s large suitcase revealed nothing but a small selection of clothes – two open-neck shirts, underwear and vests, a flannel suit, a shaving kit, toothbrush and paste, knitting needles and wool, liniment, old boots and three books: The 1899 Baedeker ITALY: Handbook for Travellers, Bradshaw’s Complete Anglo-Italian Phrase-book, and a novel – a rare choice for facts-man Cress – E. M. Forster’s A Room with a View. First edition but with the back cover missing.
Cress? said Ulysses.
Cress was still talking to the officer about his last-minute dash for the car.
Cress? said Ulysses again. It’s done. You can put your stuff away, the bloke’s not interested.
Cress closed the lid of his large suitcase and secured the catches. The false bottom containing several hundred pounds of the Fanny win had remained concealed. And, more importantly, the small suitcase in his hand had gone unchecked.
What you looking so pleased about? said Ulysses.
Cress shrugged and walked zen-like towards the car. The kid clambered in the back and Cress sat down with the suitcase on his lap. The hours spent reading about psychophysical magic had been worth it, he thought. To render the visible invisible had been one of his greatest achievements.
Ulysses got in and started the ignition. Calais, here we come! he said and he threw his hat in the back and looked across at Cress. He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed Cress was cradling the suitcase like it was a baby.
On deck the horn blared and the wind whipped up something rotten. They waved goodbye to the white cliffs. Goodbye England! Goodbye forever! Ulysses thought about Peg, and Cress thought about Peg, and the kid thought about lunch. They went down into the warm and ate ham sandwiches and crisps as the grey water rolled hard against the side of the ship. Kid was glued to the sight of a man vomiting in the corner, and Cress held on to his cup of English tea as if it was to be his last.
They drove onto French soil at four in the afternoon and the sky was dark and low and making rain. Unfamiliar signs rushed past and cars drove on the wrong side of the road. When Betsy was clear of the terminal, Cress asked Ulysses to stop as soon as he could and thinking Cress had been caught short, Ulysses pulled over sharpish onto a grass verge. But Cress didn’t move. Cars passed by and a whip of rain hit the windscreen. You OK, Cress? But Cress remained silent and focussed like a monk. Cress flexed his fingers and breathed loudly through his mouth. He flicked the catches on the small suitcase and opened the lid. On top was an orange Shetland sweater, which he carefully lifted out. Underneath, either asleep or dead, was a large blue Amazonian parrot.
Claude! said kid.
Jeez, Cress, how—？
Shh, said Cress. We’re not clear of death’s door yet, and Cress felt for a pulse. Nothing, he said gravely. He lifted the parrot to his ear. It’s faint but he’s breathing, and he began to massage the bird’s chest. You see a pipette of water in the case, Temps?
I do. Here you go, said Ulysses, and Cress slipped the pipette into Claude’s beak. He’s drinking, he said. That’s a good sign.
But how the hell did you—？
I read a veterinary book about dosages, said Cress. Mostly about the transportation of chickens. But I figured pound for pound I was probably dealing with a similar genetic structure. I took a chance, Temps. Couldn’t leave him alone with Col, could I? That bird would never’ve survived another moult. If I was coming, so was he. That’s the reason I was so late. He wouldn’t go under.
Can I hold him, Cressy? said the kid.
Course you can, and Cress wrapped the bird in his sweater and handed the bundle over the back seat.
Gently now, he said. Keep him upright and give him the water. That’s it. And a gentle rub on his chest now and then. There we go.
Claude opened his eyes and blinked, bewildered. The slow dawning he was about 120 miles from the pub without having taken flight. And that, for a parrot, was a lot to take in. Are we nearly there yet? he said, and the three of them laughed, and Ulysses winked at him in the rear-view mirror. Claude felt loved up with a sudden propensity to rub. He had a flashback to the fermented seeds he and his mates used to imbibe in the Amazon. Good times, he thought. He fell back to sleep, imagining he was covered in a light pink fuzz.
They drove for three hours down through the plains of Picardy. Nearing Laon, Ulysses told Cress and the kid to keep an eye out for the village of Soutigny, a place Pete had promised wouldn’t disappoint. But by the time they reached the outskirts of that nondescript French village, the rain hadn’t eased, and the deserted streets were awash, and it was hard to imagine the place doing anything other than disappoint. Ulysses pulled over and peered through the windscreen as the wiper whipped back and forth.