She turns around and her cheeks are all flushed, her hair frizzy from the steam. ‘Can you not see I’m busy here. Cooking a roast dinner’s a delicate balance and it’s not like I get any help.’

‘Come on!’ he says, ‘I’m telling you. It was staring at me with its beady little eyes.’

‘For goodness’ sake!’

I cover my mouth so he won’t catch me laughing. Push the chair back across the lino. Mum wipes her hands on a tea towel.

‘You can stay here and clear that mess off the table,’ she says with her hand on the back of my chair, then pushes past and opens the door.

I ignore her and follow them both into the hall. Dad grips my wrist with his big rough fingers and I’m about to tell him to get off but the bird is there. Black and white and bigger than I expected. Not an ostrich, but solid enough and totally out of place. It’s walking in circles on the carpet in the hallway, just stalking around, taking everything in.

‘I told you,’ he said.

‘It’s just a magpie.’

‘Well get it out.’

There’s a flash of metallic blue as it turns towards us. I laugh. Finally, something interesting happening in this bloody house. Dad lets go of my arm and stands behind me.

‘Must’ve come down the chimney,’ Mum says.

‘I don’t care where it came from. Get it out before it shits on the sofa!’

‘Arthur! Go and open the back door if you want to help.’

I can’t stop now, I’m laughing so hard no sound is coming out. My stomach hurts with it. My eyes are starting to water. I take a breath and manage to speak.

‘Good morning, Mr Magpie,’ I say and salute the bird.

Mum’s walking strangely, hunched and slow like a cowboy, like she’s squaring up, getting ready to take it on. ‘It’s the middle of the afternoon,’ she says, ‘and stop hovering behind me, you’re not helping.’

‘It’s coming for you, Dad,’ I shout, and Mum herds the bird past my legs through the doorway into the kitchen. It flaps up on top of the cereal cupboard and the sound of its wings, the size of it’s too much. A breeze from the back door cutting through the heat from the oven. Dad’s holding a chair out in front of him in self-defence. The bird settles there for a moment, unconcerned, just having a good nosy around.

‘Look at its eyes,’ he says, ‘just look.’

‘What exactly do you think it’s going to do to you?’

‘I don’t know. Nothing good. Where are your rings, May? It’ll be looking for treasure.’

And then it leaves. Just like that. Flaps down and saunters out the back door.