Stephen didn’t know what to do. He knew this was his fault, totally. In the excitement of getting ready to go to the disco last night he’d forgotten to shut the hens up. It wasn’t like he had a whole lot to do, here, but he’d failed even in the small task that he’d been given. He’d let them down.

Still with the bird under his arm, he went to look for Nick, who’d vanished into his studio as soon as Celia had driven off. He felt too sheepish to walk straight in and knocked instead. Nick didn’t call out to come in, but appeared at the door and stood in front of him. Seeing the concern on the older man’s face made the guilt unbearable. Stephen began to sob as he tried to explain what had happened.

‘No, no – you mustn’t be upset. It happens at least a couple of times a year. We’ve all done it,’ Nick assured him. ‘Fucking foxes! They only ever take one, two at the most. They just kill the rest for the fun of it.’

‘Yeah, but I … I never shut them up last night,’ Stephen wept.

‘Honestly, we only asked you to do the hens because we’re so hopeless about remembering ourselves. Between you and me, the noise drives me mad in any case, right outside my studio. It’s Celia’s thing, really: she likes hens because her parents kept them. Why they have to make such a bloody commotion every time they lay an egg! They may as well be serenading the fox to come and get them.’

‘Look, I’ll get you replacements if you tell me where I can find them. I’ll clean up the mess,’ said Stephen, calmer now.

‘No need, honestly. Our friends Bruce and Carolyn’ll give us some more. They’ve always got a glut. Be great if you would dispose of the evidence, though. You could get one of the girls to help you. Celia will mind, otherwise.’ He smiled at the boy. ‘She liked that bigger brown one, I suppose it didn’t escape? No?’

‘Just this little guy. Girl,’ said Stephen.

‘Lucky she’s not here. You’ve got plenty of time to tidy up the carnage before she gets home.’