Our problems started with the sparrow. Cynthia and I were in Sainsbury's doing our best impersonation of healthy, body-conscious shoppers. She always loaded the trolley with summer fruits, yoghurts, multi-grain something or other. Personally I was happy with picking up a pizza on the way home, but I wanted to show willing, you know, pretend that we'd be fighting fit and flat-bellied when fifty rolled around.
- The sparrow was odd because it didn't whirr aimlessly like birds tended to do in a confined space. It didn't flutter into things, squawking. It perched on a cornflake box and stared at us, head cocked to one side. When we moved to the bread aisle it lifted and swept over the divide to rest on a trolley stacked with wholemeal bread. I said to Cynthia that it was trying to direct us to the healthy food; it was our G.I. index guardian angel. Cynthia frowned.
- "Not even this healthy stuff will save you from a middle age spread," I said. "Especially once we have children." The sparrow twittered. Cynthia jerked her head around and her face went ever so lightly white. For a moment she looked utterly exhausted, and then she grabbed my arm.
- "Let's just go," she said.
- I insisted we went to the checkout first. She stood to one side, silent, as I paid and then loaded the car. All the way home she was quiet. We weren't one of those couples who struggled to find things to say to each other, not like those people out to dinner desperate to stay awake in each other's company. So I started on the weather, and then the charity stuff I was doing for Children in Need, and I reminisced about our caravan holiday in Wales, but nods and girly grunts aside, she all but ignored me.
- "Cynth," I said, "If you don't lighten up then I'll make you actually eat all those raspberries we bought." Nothing. "What's happened? Was it something I said?"
- She looked at me then, and I swear there was something in her eyes, something cold, irrational. I tried to smile, hoping it would be infectious and she'd smile back, but she just turned to the window and stared at the afternoon getting darker.
- Cynthia began to mope around the house. She used to clean a lot, not that I'm particularly untidy or demanding, but now the vacuum cleaner sulked in the cupboard. The bathroom no longer smelt of bleach. She took time off from work. One day I came home, a couple of pizzas under my arm, and she was in the kitchen emptying the fridge into a bin bag even though most of it was still way before its sell-by date.
- "None of it," she said, emptying a bottle of mayonnaise into the sink. "We don't need any of it."
- I grabbed her arms and told her she was being irrational, we paid good money for that food. There was this twittering and I noticed a sparrow on a branch outside the window. I banged on the glass to make it go away, but it just cocked its head and stared at me.
- "Leave it alone," said Cynthia. "It's not hurting anyone."
That night I tried to sit her down and explain how worried I was. She didn't eat anything all night. I noticed for the first time how thin she had become and said she needed to get some help.
- "It's you that has the problem," she said. "You used to go jogging. Now you just gorge on pizza. Look at you. It's disgusting."
- Her father came down from Wales for a few days. As we sat on the bed with her, each of us holding a hand, I realised how fragile her hand was. I could feel the bones through her palm. She said we were worrying over nothing; she was fine. It was just a virus or something.
- Soon she stopped getting out of bed. A doctor visited and took some blood. The tests couldn't find any illness. I even considered having her taken to hospital or something, but she refused to go. She only ate occasionally, wheat crackers and Marmite, not much but enough to sustain her. By then I'd stopped working too. I'd sit on the bed and try and to engage in conversation, like we used to do. When that failed I put on funny voices and pretended to be someone from the Hausa tribe who'd come to London and only spoke pigeon English. All the time the sparrow sat on the windowsill, day and night, watching us. It twittered and Cynthia smiled.
- "It's unusual," Cynthia said, "but I like it being here. Please try to understand."
- I asked here what there was to understand. I just wanted it to go away. I wanted everything back how it was. She sighed and rolled onto her side. Her body was a thin ridge under the duvet. I kissed her forehead and said goodnight. Downstairs I trawled the Internet for information about sparrows, but it was all too general, and none of it applied to our situation. Nothing could tell me why the sparrow was there.
- I fell asleep on the couch in my clothes. The next morning I went up to the bedroom with a cup of tea for Cynthia. My heart sank when I saw the empty bed. Frantic, I lifted the sheets, looked under the bed, checked the other room. And that's when I noticed the window slightly open. Perched on the sill was the sparrow. It looked at me and twittered sweetly. I tried desperately, but I still couldn't understand.
