Page 56 of Before You Say Goodbye

They scoured the entire garden in their search for Miranda, but there was no sign of her anywhere. Autumn was starting to panic. If they’d left her out in the field all night, she could be anywhere by now. She might slowly starve to death. She could have wandered for miles, feeling lost, scared and alone. She might have been eaten by a fox. Autumn felt sick.

The Whittles’ chickens were the first chickens Autumn had ever known personally, and she had grown to care for them. They’d come into her life at exactly the right time. She’d been writing her new book all wrong, depicting her chicken characters in a way that was flat and monotonous. Now, she could see that chickens were bursting with personality. They were funny and sweet. She especially liked it when Emma scrambled their eggs and crushed up their eggshells to feed back to them, something Autumn had learned gave them nourishment. They’d smell the eggs cooking and peck eagerly at the front door, clucking noisily and jostling one another out of the best spot. She’d once helped Ben chase them around the garden after they’d stolen a bunch of grapes from the fruit bowl on the kitchen windowsill. Whenever anyone sat on the swing in the garden, the chickens jumped up next to them, fluffing up their feathers expectantly and cawing gently if they were stroked. Emma was pleased to hear Autumn’s second book was focused on the plight of caged hens, as it was a cause very close to her heart. She would never keep pets, she insisted, it wasn’t vegan to do so, but she would rescue animalswho had nowhere else to go. She told Autumn these four had very sadly had a tough start in life.

“Pip and I sometimes visit the slaughterhouses nearby and join protests against them. One day, we managed to sneak a few of the chickens out of the lorry on their way in. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, because I could only grab hold of a few and I had to leave so many others behind. We managed to bring six home between us, but two passed away pretty quickly. They had no feathers and were terrified of us. When we put them on the grass for the first time, they obviously hadn’t seen anything like it before.”

As far as Autumn was concerned, Emma was a goddess. A hero. She’d once spent almost an hour out in the rain removing slugs from the driveway so that she didn’t drive over them on her way out. She’d parked out on the road on her return, mortified by the idea she might kill one. To her, there was no difference between running over an insect or hitting a dog. The chickens had become like family to her. If Miranda was dead, she would be devastated. Autumn knew Emma would blame herself for not double checking when Marley had insisted he’d locked up the chickens the night before and they were safe. She wanted so desperately to find Miranda and put Emma’s mind at rest.

“One more look around the field, do you think?” Marley asked. They’d been out for almost an hour now and Autumn was beginning to feel a bit off-colour, but she caught sight of Emma, watching them from the kitchen window, and nodded.

She knew less than a minute later she’d made a mistake. There was something wrong with her chest. The borrowed raincoat was sticking to it and she could barely breathe. She tried to pull it away from herself as she walked, but she couldn’t close her hands around it. Her strength had gone. She was dying.

Marley reached their rehearsal spot a few seconds before she did, and she was planning on telling him as soon as she reachedhim that she felt lightheaded, unsteady on her feet and might be dying, but when she saw him search an area of undergrowth and then pick up a lifeless lump of feathers, she felt like she might lose her mind first, instead. She started to screech.

“No, no, no, no, no!”

“I’m sorry, Autumn,” he said gently.

“This is all your fault!” She screamed the words at him. “You and your fucking tribute. You said you’d locked them up and they were safe. This is all your fault, Marley.”

“I know, Autumn. Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down.” She put her head in her hands and walked in a circle. Where had all the oxygen gone? There was no oxygen anywhere. Through her fingers, she saw Marley lay the chicken on the ground and come towards her, and felt her body flood with sudden and overwhelming panic. Irrational fear washed over her and she shoved him away.

“Autumn! Stop!” he cried.

“Don’t put her on the floor!” She pushed him again.

“Autumn, it’s going to be all right. Come here.”

“Leave me alone, Marley!” She hit out at his outstretched hands, stepping back away from him. She felt as though her chest might burst. She tore off Emma’s raincoat and threw it onto the ground, doubling over in an attempt to stop her lungs exploding. Her face felt red raw, her neck as though it might tear open. No matter how hard Autumn tried, she couldn’t drag enough air into her lungs to make herself feel better. She was terrified.

“Autumn, you’re going to be OK,” Marley said. She saw him take a step towards her.

“Fuck off!” She held out her arms to protect herself from him. She wanted to be left alone until whatever was happening to her had passed her by or killed her. She didn’t have it in her to care which.

“Autumn, listen to me.” Marley was suddenly kneeling on the floor in her eyeline, his hands held out towards her, palms up. “You’re having a panic attack,” he said.

“Pick the chicken up!” As she shrieked at Marley, still doubled over, she could see Miranda’s frail, soggy body, her feathers waterlogged with rain. How dare he leave her like that when she was dead and he was to blame?

“Autumn—”

“Fucking pick her up!” Marley got to his feet and, taking Miranda’s tiny body in one arm, went to stand beneath the trees. He held out his free hand to Autumn.

“Come out of the rain.”

Feeling a little better now he had the chicken in his arms, she wanted to be near him. She was too scared to stand, convinced she would have a heart attack if she did, but she moved towards him in the only way she felt able, still bent double, and with her hands on her knees. She knew she must look utterly ridiculous, but was too freaked out to care. When she was close enough that he could reach her, Marley asked for her permission to touch her. She nodded and he grabbed her by the top of her arm, dragging her towards him, and pulling her in close. She fell against him and burst into tears.

“It’s OK, Autumn,” he said. “You’re going to be OK, I promise.”

“I think I might be dying.” She gasped, gripping his duffle coat with both of her hands. She buried her head in the soggy fabric, desperately seeking the heat of his body. She could feel no warmth at all through his coat, so her fingertips searched out his neck. She lay her hands against his bare skin.

“You’re not going to die.” He held her tighter. “It’s going to pass in a minute, I promise. Take deep breaths.”

He stood holding her — and the chicken — beneath the trees, murmuring reassuring words. Autumn felt her heartrate returnto normal. The pain in her chest eased. She could breathe again. Eventually, she felt safe enough to stand, but not strong enough to hold her own weight. She peeled herself away from him and sat down on the grass. Marley lay the chicken gently on a tree stump, took off his coat, wrapped it around Autumn’s shoulders, and then sat down beside her. She stared at the discarded bird.

“Would you rather I held her?” Marley asked. Autumn nodded. He picked up the hen’s body and sat beside Autumn, cradling Miranda in his arms. He watched her, concern written all over his face.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. The anger she’d felt towards him had evaporated.

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