The Lubetkin Legacy

Berthold: Birdcage

Violet had disappeared. Though we’d barely exchanged a word, I’d walked behind her all the way to the Town Hall, carrying Flossie in her cage, which was bloody heavy I’ll have you know. I don’t really know why I brought her, but she’s good on slogans, and women I’ve noticed are often drawn to fluffy things. However, Violet was stuck in conversation with that weird kid, of whom more later. I planned to approach her when it was over and walk back together, stopping at Luigi’s for a coffee and neighbourly conversation. After our sweet, romantically chaste night of the rose-silk pyjamas, I knew I must take things slowly if I wasn’t to scare her off. A lovely girl like that is always surrounded by men wanting to get her into bed. Not me. I was different. I was caring, sensitive, a big soul, a good conversationalist, a good listener, a good neighbour and friend, a good … whatever it took.

But then I had a crisis with Flossie. I was sitting on the wall waiting for that donkey, Councillor Desmond Dunster, to plod to a halt. The rank insincerity of his speech reeked of all that is wrong with politics today, all the scurvy self-flattering, gut-grinding, media-mouthed crap they peddle in the belief that we, the people, are too stupid or irresponsible to be trusted with the truth. I wished Mother was there and we could have lobbed a few heckles together. My injured eye was bothering me, and Flossie was stressed by all the whistling and banging of the tambourines. Suddenly the kid who’d been walking beside Violet came up and poked her with a stick and sent her flapping around, beating her poor wings against the bars of the cage. I could have strangled the little sod, but all I did was clip him around the ear. Like Sid used to clip me. Never did me any harm. But the kid made such an outcry — don’t they teach them self-control nowadays? — and said he was going to report me for child cruelty. Everyone joined in: Mrs Crazy said the parrot needed its neck wrung; Inna called the kid a hooligan element; Legless Len called me a child abuser. By the time the kid and Flossie had both calmed down — he apologised to Flossie, and I had to apologise to him — Violet had vanished. And so had Inna.

I walked back to the flat alone lugging the cage, which seemed to have doubled in weight. It was almost supper time and I was getting hungry. Why did Inna choose the most inconvenient bloody time to disappear on one of her walkabouts? Where had she got to?

Flossie had recovered from her earlier trauma and was snoozing on the perch in her cage. Rather than waiting for Inna to come back, I decided to take this opportunity to nip down to Luigi’s, have a decent cup of coffee, and meditate on the ghastliness of life. I’d just slipped my jacket on when the doorbell rang. Ding dong!

My heart thumped. Violet? The postman? Inna who had forgotten her key? Mrs Penny?

I steeled myself and opened the door.