Exhausted after this. I phoned Carla and Sabrina. Sabrina was useless. She had just found some Stiltskins half price in pink and couldn’t think of anything else except should she buy them. “Toss a coin,” I told her. Carla was at least sympathetic. “Help!” I told her. “I’m being stalked by a flutter that keeps sending me birds.”
“Are you sure it isn’t one of Liam’s practical jokes?” Carla asked. Shrewd point. He probably rang with that nonsense about his watch just to make sure I was home. “And haven’t you told your Housebot thingy not to let any of this livestock in?” Carla said.
“I have, I have!” I cried out. “But the darn thing takes not the blindest bit of notice!”
“Reprogramme it,” Carla advised. “It must have slipped a cog or something.”
Or Liam reprogrammed it, I thought. So I spent an hour with the manual, pushing buttons, by which time I was so livid that I rang Liam. Got his answering service. Typical! I left an abusive message-which he probably won’t hear because of Housebot trying to clean up feathers and making the howling noise it does when it chokes-but it relieved my feelings anyway.
December 28, 2233
I SPENT A GLORIOUS morning at the Sales and came back with six bags of Wonderful Bargains, to find I have four parrots now. Plus one more partridge (and tree), two more pigeons and three more of those unspeakable hens. Housebot has ignored my attempt at programming as if I’d never tried. The patio is now a small forest full of droppings. The pigeons sit on the trees and the hens rush about below. Indoors are four scuttling partridges and four of those large rings on sticks where parrots are supposed to perch, not that they do. The red one has taken a liking to my bedroom. The green one flies about all the time, shouting swearwords, and the multicoloured two perch anywhere so long as it isn’t their official perches. I have put those in the closet because Housebot stops whenever it runs into one. I have ordered a twenty-kilo sack of Avian Feed (parrots), which is actually different from the others and which the parrots mostly consume from saucers on the kitchen table. I walk about giving a mad laugh from time to time. I am inured. I am resigned.
No I am NOT!
Someone has taught those damn parrots to shout, “Samantha! I love you!” They do it all the time now.
I put on my most austerely beautiful clothes and my Stiltskins and stormed round to Liam’s flat. He looked terrible. He was in his nightclothes. He hadn’t shaved or combed his curls and I think he was drunk. His flat was just as terrible. I saw it because as soon as he opened the door I marched in with Liam backing in front of me, shouting at the top of my voice. I admit that the nightclothes made me angrier still because it was obvious to me he had a woman in there. But he hadn’t actually. He was just lying about. He said, “Just shut up and tell me what you’re yelling about.” So I did. And he laughed. This made me furious. I yelled, “You are stalking me with birds!” and to my great surprise I burst into tears.
To my further surprise, Liam was almost nice about it. He said, “Now look, Sammy, have you any idea how much parrots cost?” I hadn’t. He told me. It was a lot. “And before you get suspicious that I know,” he said, “I only know because I did an article on them last month. Right? Since when did I have enough money for four parrots? And I don’t even know where you buy hens, let alone partridges. So it’s somebody else doing this to you, not me. He has to be a rich practical joker, and he has to know how to get at your Housebot to make it ignore your orders and let these birds in. So think about all the rich men you know and then go and yell at the likely ones. Not me.”
I gave in. “So I’ve walked all this way for nothing,” I said. “And my feet hurt.”
“That’s because you wear such silly shoes,” he said.
“I’ll have you know,” I said, “that these are the very latest Stiltskins. They cost me thousands.”
He laughed, to my further indignation, and told me, “Then go home in a taxi.”
While I was waiting for the taxi, Liam put his arm round me-in an absentminded way, as if he had forgotten we weren’t still together-and said, “Poor Sammy. I’ve had a thought. What kind of trees are they?”
“How should I know?” I said. “They haven’t any leaves.”
“That is a problem,” Liam said. “Can you do me a favour and let me know if what your stalker sends next is something quite valuable?”
“I might,” I said, and then the taxi came. I don’t like these latest taxis. A mechanical tab comes out of the meter that says TIP and it’s always huge. But it was probably worth it to know that Liam hasn’t been doing this to me.
December 29, 2233
WHATEVER IDEA LIAM HAD, he was quite right! The usual tree and avians started arriving, one more partridge, more hens, more pigeons and four more parrots, noisy ones. I left Housebot, who had traitorously let them in, to deal with the damn creatures-although I have to feed the things because I can’t get Housebot to get it through its circuitry that living things have to eat: Housebot simply goes round clearing up the piles of birdseed unless I order it to stop. Anyway, I left it shunting coops and the latest tree onto the patio and set off for the Sales. I was halfway down the steps outside when a courier arrived and made me sign for a smallish package.
Someone’s sent me a book now! I thought disgustedly as I went back indoors. I nearly didn’t open it, but, because of what Liam had said, I thought I might as well. What are valuable books? I thought as I tore off wrapping. Antique Bibles? First editions of Winnie the Pooh? But it wasn’t a book. A book-size jewel case fell on the floor. I picked that up quickly before Housebot could clear it away. I gasped a bit when I opened it. There were five rings in it, all of them very flashy and valuable looking. One bulged with diamonds-or what looked like diamonds-and the rest looked like sapphires, emeralds and equally valuable stones, all in gold settings. And there was a note on top, not in real handwriting, if you see what I mean, but in that kind of round, careful writing that shop assistants use when you ask them to include a message. It said: “From your ardent admirer. Marry me.”
“Blowed if I will!” I said aloud.
The rings are all too small. I think that proves it wasn’t Liam. He once bought me an engagement ring, after all, and he knows that my fingers are rather wide at the base. Unless he’s being very cunning, of course. Whoever sent the rings seems to have very flashy taste. They all reminded me so much of the kind of glass-and-plastic rings that people give you when you are a little girl that I took the whole case of them with me when I went out to the Sales and had them checked out by a jeweller. And they are real. I could buy five more pairs of Stiltskins if I sold them. Well!