‘Oh sure, the kids.’ He casts an eye further into the car as if only just noticing their absence and once again I’m struck by his intonation. His words are shunted up together, the back end of one sentence bumping up against the next like freight carriages whose driver has braked suddenly.

‘That’s a big feather.’

‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’ I pluck the feather off the dash-board and again smooth down its tendrils. ‘I think it’s an eagle. A bald eagle, maybe?’ I muse, seeking to distract him. ‘It had a white head anyway and a huge wingspan.’

‘Nuh-huh,’ Winfred says. ‘May I see it?’

‘Sure.’ I pass it to him. He turns it over in his hand.

‘Eagles are protected around here, Mrs Coleman.’

‘Well quite right, so they should be.’

‘There are big fines.’

‘Good, great. I’m all for it.’

‘Thousand dollars, maybe more, maybe five thousand dollars. My sister Brunhilda, when she found a—’

‘I’m sorry,’ I interrupt, ‘you have a sister called Brunhilda?’

‘Yeah, and another called Moira, but she’s pretty fat. She doesn’t go out much.’

‘Oh ... I see.’

‘So, okay, when my sister Brunhilda found out about the fines, she buried her eagle feathers in the ground so she didn’t get caught.’

Finally, finally, I hear the muffled clang of a warning bell. ‘What exactly do you mean by caught,’ Winfred?’

‘It’s against the law to take eagle feathers, Mrs Coleman.’

‘Well I didn’t take this feather, Winfred, it dropped out of the sky.’

‘Mrs Coleman—’

‘Alice, please.’

‘You could be in big trouble.’

‘Really? Well you know what? Maybe it’s not an eagle’s feather, after all. Come to think of it, I may have exaggerated the wingspan. It was actually pretty small. More the size of a pigeon, I’d say.’

‘I’m not kidding, ma’am, I can impound your truck.’

‘Oh really?’ I’m beginning to get very annoyed with Winfred Tennyson. ‘On what grounds?’

‘The US 668 Bald and Golden Eagle Protection Act,’ he recites flawlessly. ‘All vessels, vehicles, aircraft and other means of transportation used to aid in the taking of any bird, or body part, nest, or egg or feather, shall be impounded.’

I look at him sceptically. Either he’s bullshitting or Winfred has a truly impressive grasp of obscure prohibition acts protecting migratory birds of the USA.

‘So what you’re saying is that this eagle feather is protected by and is in fact the property of the US government?’

Winfred nods. ‘Yes, ma’am, that’s what I’m saying.’

‘Well, Winfred, put this in your pipe and smoke it. This eagle feather landed on my truck. So the way I see it, this eagle feather is guilty not only of trespassing on, but also deliberately inflicting damage to my property and I’m going to have to seriously think about suing the US government, naming you as a co-respondent.’