Gull Guides

The screech from above was the only warning I got. A second later something small but hard hit my head and bounced off. I was grateful the offering had not gone splat through my hair, but I rubbed the point of impact.

The object which dropped on me now lay about a metre away to my right, in the sand. I looked up at the gull wheeling close. It waited for an opportunity to dart in and reclaim its treasure.

“You dropped a bloody barnacle on my head,” I yelled at the bird.

It squawked like a baby at me.

Instantly, I felt guilt contract my chest. That was not how I was brought up to talk to animals. “Sorry Gull. But it hurt and you shouldn’t expect my skull to be hard enough to crack shells on.”

The gull cawed and landed just ahead, right in the middle of the sandy track to the beach. I observed the bird with no more than a lay person’s interest. It was a red billed, grey winged gull and it was in my way.

“Did you do that on purpose?”

I stopped watching the gull and turned my attention to the missile. The was a niggle in my stomach as I stepped across to pick the object up. I, Mallory Robertson, did not talk to seagulls or any other kind of bird. The cat biscuits in my pocket were just silly treats I liked to scatter on the sand.

I, Mallory Robertson, was not a freak.

I was still looking ahead as I scooped the item up. The moment I held it I knew this was no shellfish that the gull had dropped from a height to crack open. Cold, smooth metal bit my palm. I uncurled my fist to take a look. Gold glinted back at me.

“Oh.” Words had never come easy.

I raised my eyes and gazed back at the gull.

“Thank you.”

It responded in typical seagull language. “Squawk.”

I took the hint and, with the hand not clutching the treasure, I searched my capris pocket for a cat biscuit. The gull waited for the treat to land before darting forward and gobbling it up.

Was it a fair transaction? One cat biscuit, cheap, supermarket brand, for gold? The gull seemed to be satisfied. It half flew, half hopped along the track. The black on its tail looked like a fancy ruff. I followed slowly so I did not startle it.

The sound of the sea filled my ears as I topped the rise. The tide was high and the waves were crashing. A sharp southerly wind snatched at my t-shirt. I should have worn something warmer.

A log, above the tide line, silvered by the elements, became my destination. The gull seemed to think the log was a good place too. It beat me there. I sat and nodded to my companion. The birds always hoped for more than just one treat. This one, though, was causing me goosebumps up my back. But maybe my reaction was just because of the cold wind.

“I don’t have conversations with any animals. Not cats or dogs and certainly not seagulls.” I sniffed back sudden tears.

 I sat, legs out straight, my old sandshoes showing the world my toes. Once again, I uncurled my fingers. Lying in my palm was a grey pebble. The pebble was wedged through a ring.

A square cut emerald shone from within a cluster of diamonds.

“Wow,” I breathed as I studied the ring.

My heart sped up. If I knew anything about jewellery, which I only did from watching Antiques Roadshow, if this was genuine, it was worth a fortune.

I could afford to pay my finder an extra cat biscuit. I stood up to grope in my pocket for another treat. The gull hopped back a metre or so when I flicked it its reward.

“It’s all good, little friend. You earned this.” Damn. I did not talk to animals.

The gull gave a caw then picked up the biscuit. It held the biscuit in its beak but did not swallow.

“What’s up?”

It looked at me. I felt it was looking at my hand.

“What about it? It’s an amazing find. I’ll take it to the police. There might be a reward.”

The gull’s stare unnerved me. I looked back down at the ring. I saw that two of the little diamonds were missing. The others shone and sparkled in the sunlight. Their brilliance convinced me they were the real thing. The two cavities were like a smile of missing teeth.

I blinked as a memory from my distant past popped up. A beloved voice speaking of a subject my immature mind could not grasp. Grandma once asked, “Can we, please, get the stones replaced?”

I stared and I sniffed. The tears that gathered in my eyes were from deep grief. Grandma never laughed at my animal friends. I glanced at the gull, back to the ring, to the gull, back to the ring, and finally to the gull again.

“Can you show me where you found this?” My voice cracked.

The gull swallowed the cat biscuit and shook out its wings. If a gull could look smug, this one was doing so.

The bird hopped away from me, going south, into the wind. I was compelled to follow. My T-shirt was no protection from the chill air. I wanted to run but had to allow the gull to set the pace. It was a wild creature. It was always best to let the wild creatures do things their own way. They panicked when put under pressure.

It flew in short bursts, then hopped. It kept a distance of about five metres ahead. In my peripheral vision, I noticed other gulls, both the little ones, like my guide and the bigger ones, with black wings and stunning white chests, flying around. There were several of them, about the number I would expect to see squabbling over a dead fish. They were wheeling and diving and keeping pace. The one thing they did not do was argue. Their silence was uncanny.

I knew the beach from one end to the other. I grew up here and never felt capable of leaving the area. There was no sense of surprise when my gull led me to where private properties backed onto the sand.

It was inevitable that the gull, and the others who accompanied us, guided me to the path that went up to the back of number 12 Raglan Road. Strangers lived there now. I had often gone there, back when my grandparents owned it.

Then Grandma disappeared. The police scoured the area for her. They never found the ring. Granddad pined away. He died two years after she vanished. The family sold the house.

“Can I trespass?” I asked the gull.

It tilted its head and gave me a look that reminded me no wild creatures ever asked permission.

The other gulls came in closer. Many of them landed. Suddenly I was surrounded by caws, squawks and clucks. Then they were silent again.

I took a couple of steps up the path to number 12. A black-backed gull hopped directly into my path. I halted, confused by the creature’s behaviour. Another gull, one of the smaller ones, perhaps even my guide, gave a single squawk from the left of me. I turned. It hopped a couple of my strides into the dunes. I left the path to follow.

Whoever now owned this land had let nature reclaim it. Lupin, rank grass and broom barred my way. Straggly yellow flowers twisted up the stems of the broom.

“You’re kidding, right?”

The clucked reply sounded like laughter. Some of the other gulls cawed too.

I looked over my shoulder, to see if I was visible from the house. More unkempt bushes hid me. Still, I was expecting the angry owner to come rushing out, yelling. Then I would slink away. They would not believe I was obeying instructions from the gulls.

My foot went down and the sand below gave way. I slid beneath the rough foliage. My hands went up to protect my face and I felt branches scratch my skin. When I stopped, I was in a dim, narrow ditch.

Half buried in the sand, but staring at me with empty eye sockets, was a skull.

I screamed and struggled backwards, trying to get purchase on the sand so I could escape. I whimpered my way up to daylight.

Once out of the ditch, I got my breath under some kind of control, and balanced on some sturdy tufts of grass. I searched my pockets. My fingers were shaking as I pulled my phone out and turned it on. It took me three attempts to hit the right sequence to call the emergency services.

“Police, please,” I gasped.

“Sergeant Bowen here. Please state your emergency.”

“David Bowen. Fuck.” I managed to hold the bile in the back of my throat.

“Who is this?”

“Mallory. It’s Mallory. I’ve found a skull.”

Why did it have to be Dave Bowen I landed up speaking to? I bit back a sob. He was the one who called me a freak.

“Mallory Robertson?”

“Yes,” I was whimpering again.

“What nonsense are you wasting my time with?”

Had I really dated this dick, wanting his approval?

“A skull, Dave. A human skull in the sand dunes.”

“Breathe Mallory, we’re coming.”

“I’m going to be sick.”

“Okay. That’s normal. You’re doing fine. Just don’t hang up. Mallory, hold in there. We’re coming.” Dave’s voice sounded soft and kind, a million miles away from that last, abusive screamed conversation.

I scrambled further away from the ditch. I did not want my vomit to contaminate the scene.

“Mallory, are you still there?”

“Yes.” I sniffed and tasted acid in the back of my throat.

“Good, great. We’re using the GPS on your phone.”

“It’s Raglan Road. Number 12.”

Dave chatted with me in a way I once dreamed he would. I listened, enjoying his voice even though I knew it was purely professional charm. While I listened, I held my other hand over my stomach. If I didn’t look, didn’t see, didn’t remember, maybe I wouldn’t throw up.

Dave and his partner were noisy in their arrival. I heard Dave swearing about sand in his shoes. The man with him laughed.

The gulls heard the noise and, as a single unit, they all lifted into the air and fled the scene.

Dave led the way over to me. He gave me an ugly grin. “No witnesses, I see.”

I felt my features pinch. This was the Dave who had hurt me so badly. “Who would want to stick around?”

“Just show us what you found, Mallory.” He put so much exasperation into his command, the other officer coughed.

“I’m officer Fenton,” the other, older man said.

I pointed. “Under there. Beneath the broom. A skull.”

At least Dave had the honour of being the first to brave the scratchy branches.

A moment later, he popped back up.

“Fuck! Call the team. She’s not joking. We’re going to need to secure the area.”

My walls crashed. Tears formed in my eyes. My stomach finally revolted. I backed and stumbled away so my vomit would not fly everywhere. A poor lupin flower got covered with orange bile.

The two men left me to my misery. They were busy on their phones. I watched them as my stomach settled. Relief flowed through my body. Calling the police had been the right choice.

“Okay, Mallory.” Dave strode over to me. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

I whimpered at the tone he used. “What? I found a skull. I called you.”

Queasiness returned to my belly.

“It’s a body,” he corrected.

Not that it mattered. A skull or a full body; it marked that someone died.

“Mallory.” Dave was stern. “How did you find it? What led you to explore here?”

The ring was still gripped in my fist. If I showed Dave, he would take it off me. It was Grandma’s ring. He was not going to believe me anyway.

“A seagull, one of the little grey winged ones guided me. Then the others arrived.”

“Oh, Mallory.”

My affinity with birds was what caused Dave to call me a freak.

“Leave her Bowen,” Fenton spoke up. “Weirder things have happened.”

Dave changed tracks. “Do you know this area? You gave a precise address but you must have come up from the beach.”

I nodded. “My grandparents lived here.”

Knowledge settled into my bones. “I’m guessing the skeleton is Grandma. She went missing when I was a kid.”

“Gladys Robertson?” Fenton asked.

I nodded again.

Fenton turned to face Dave. “Your father, Bowen, he was in charge of that investigation.”

Dave pushed his chest out and arched his back, standing tall but he was afraid. “What are you implying?”

Fenton shrugged. “Perhaps it’s not Robertson. Someone else missing, washed up by the sea. Or the body wasn’t here at the time of the search.”

Dave turned to me and I’ll swear I saw a flash of terror in his eyes.

“Was she like you, all creepy?” He actually squeaked the question out.

“Bowen!” Fenton snapped but Dave was staring at me.

I nodded yet again. I felt at peace finally with my ‘creepiness’. “Yes, I guess she was. I was only little, but I remember there were always heaps of birds, all kinds, around her.”

“Fuck.”

Behind the two policemen, I noticed an audience. The gulls were back and more were flying in. They were quiet. They, like Fenton and I, were waiting for Dave to speak.

“Dad said, he was at the hospice then.” Dave stopped to try and catch his breath. “He said, ‘Suffer not a witch to live.’ I think it’s from the bible.”

I heard it all but only one word rang clear. “Dave, has your dad passed away?”

It was his turn to nod. “Yeah. Three years ago. Cancer.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Maybe I had walked into an alternate reality. Here I was, offering sympathy to the man who destroyed my self-confidence, while we were standing over the disinterred bones of my grandmother.

Fenton took charge. “Bowen, I have to take you off this now.”

Dave sighed. “I know. Yes. If you do find it was Mrs Robertson and there’s any sign of foul play, I think we can say, my father had a hand in it.”

He turned away from us and trudged back through the dunes. His back wore the posture of a broken man. There were gulls in his path. As he neared, they squawked and took flight. As soon as he was past, they all landed again.

I no longer felt sick. My face was sticky with tears. I faced Fenton. “We dated for about three months. He hated all the birds.”

“I understand.” It was the correct thing for him to say even if he had no idea what I was talking about.

Fenton looked at the ground. “If we need to, would you be okay with a DNA test? To establish for certain, who we have here?”

“Yeah.” I could do that.

A couple minutes later, once Fenton collected all my current information, I set of on my trek back home.

“We can organise an officer to take you.”

“It’s okay. I need to walk. I have an escort.” I pointed to the gulls. “They’ll look after me.”

When I returned to the beach, I felt the weight of a lifetime lift off me. The gulls were keeping me company but they were acting naturally again. Their squawks and cuk-cuk-cuks filled the air. A couple even let loose liquid missiles which were near enough for me to know they were teasing.

I still held Grandma’s ring. “It’s mine,” I told the gulls. “Maybe I will sell it and buy my ticket out of here.”