The warden, an elderly man near to retirement, shut himself in his office and tried to ignore the succession of battered cars which arrived all day, and the aggrieved drivers who wanted to know where ‘ it’ was. At last he stuck a notice on the gate—“There is no rare bird on this reserve”—and went home early.

Rob Earl, Peter, Adam and Tina heard the news of the blue-cheeked bee-eater on the Friday evening, when they made their regular phone call to their contact in Norwich. The news came as a welcome relief. It had been an aimless day, yet no one had felt able to take the decision to go south. They had watched a pair of slavonian grebes on a small puddle of a loch, and Adam especially had found the experience dissatisfying. He longed for the expensive telescope and binoculars left behind at home. He had borrowed an old pair of binoculars from Pete Littleton for the trip to Scotland, but they were heavy and unfamiliar. He had used Rob’s telescope to look at the grebes, and although Rob had insisted that there was nothing wrong with it, Adam found it impossible to get a clear image of the birds.

It seemed that the whole world was out of focus. The previous days had been pleasant but they had been dreamlike, unreal. Now he had to come to terms with the fact that he was at risk. More than that, he had to do something about it. Tina and Rob had begun to bicker about the practical details of the trip. There was a quarrel about who had paid for the last tankful of petrol. Only Peter seemed content, unwilling to consider returning south before the Sunday night.

Rob made the phone call from a public box outside a small bar in the village where they were staying, while the others waited inside. The landlord and the locals had not responded to the young people’s overtures of friendship, making it quite clear that they disapproved of Tina’s presence in the place. When Rob came in chanting and singing like a football supporter, waving his arms above his head, indifference turned to active hostility and they were forced to make their plans sitting in the car.

Of course there were few plans to make. Despite Peter’s initial lack of enthusiasm it was inevitable that they would go for the bird. Peter drove and Rob and Adam sat in the back of the car, consulting the field guide by the light of a flickering match. Tina could not sleep. She was feeling increasingly irritated by these men with their futile hobby, their insane enthusiasm. She had enjoyed the stork, but Rob had been wrong; she did not share their obsession. When they arrived at the reserve early on the Saturday morning she was too tired even to leave the car. They waited until nine o’clock when the warden arrived, and it was obvious that nothing had been seen. Then they went to Peter’s cottage to sleep.