11
Gradually the pub filled up, lunchtime revellers speaking loudly, laughing, calling out for more beer. Richard and his dad managed to find themselves a table, squeezed in a far corner.
“Enjoy your walk?” asked the barmaid, pushing her way through the throng, notebook in hand, pencil poised.
“Yes,” said Stirling enthusiastically. “We also managed to have a word or two with Mr Penwright.”
She nodded, “Ah, that’s good. He’s in here somewhere.” She looked around.
“There were no birds,” said Richard, ignoring his dad’s sharp look.
“No birds?”
“It’s just something he’s keen on,” put in Stirling.
“No, I’m not,” said Richard a little angrily. “There were no birds on our walk. None. There’s always birds singing, wherever you go. But here, there was nothing – and everywhere seemed dead, o
