The Fox of Richmond Park Read online

‘Neither do we,’ another voice said from the opposite side.

  A third – male this time – surprised him from behind. ‘We’re hoping to get this done without much trouble at all, Vince.’

  ‘Huh?’ Vince spun around, coming face-to-face with a male fox. The two vixens closed in from his left and right. ‘How do you know—’

  The male bared his teeth and lunged but Vince leapt sideways, paws landing on the damp grass. He turned to run but one of the females cut him off, her back arched, tail whipping back and forth. The other two moved in, backing him into a tree.

  He was bigger than all of them but it was three against one.

  And I guess a civil conversation is out of the question… What won’t they be expecting?

  They crept closer, ears up, snouts aimed like arrows. He retreated, the space between him and the tree shrank with every step until the claws on his back feet scratched on the roots.

  Yes.

  But, wait. Not yet.

  One of the vixens pounced, claws razoring towards his face; the other two went low, dagger-like teeth aimed at his forelegs and chest.

  Vince jumped backwards, twisted in the air and sunk his claws into the rough tree. His front paw found a foothold in a knot of the bark and he pulled his back legs up towards his belly, bracing them against the wood. For a split second he hung from the trunk as the foxes below snapped their teeth on the empty space his body had occupied moments before. Uncoiling like a snake, he pushed off with all four legs, sailing over their heads and landing behind them. A burst of pain erupted across his sore leg as the foxes snarled, already half turned towards him.

  ‘Get him!’ one of them shouted as Vince sprinted away across the grass. Adrenaline coursed through him, blocking the pain from his leg, as he weaved through the trees. The foxes’ threatening barks thundered over him. They were on his tail and the park was unfamiliar to him. They had the edge.

  A path appeared under his feet and he tore down it. In the corner of his eye he saw a pointed spire stretching to the clouds and a brief flash of gold, then it was gone again. He ran on. The park was unending, with nowhere to hide. Behind him, more claws than he could count drummed on the hard ground, but they were no longer as close. The foxes might have known every inch of the park but Vince was quicker. His legs were a little longer, his lungs a little bigger, his body a little fitter. Not by much, but enough. The lead vixen was falling behind, panting as she galloped, the others to her rear doing the same.

  The path curved to the left and he followed it, drawing on every ounce of his chicken-fuelled energy. Littering the grass, countless holes punctured the earth: the tell-tale signs of a rabbit warren. His panicked brain briefly considered diving into one but quickly dismissed the idea. No rabbit was stupid enough to dig a burrow large enough for a fox to squeeze into.

  His breathing grew shallow and his leg screamed, stiffening every few strides. He couldn’t let it ruin his pace. The foxes barked again but Vince saved his breath. He could shake them off. He just had to keep going.

  ‘He’s too fast!’ one of the rear foxes yelled.

  ‘He’s gotta get tired some time!’ the lead female replied.

  Not before you.

  Vince focused on his burning lungs, counting in his head, timing his breaths to his footfalls. Blood poured from his leg wound as his heart pumped double-time, but he ignored it. On his left, a red-brick building sat behind a tall, sculptural structure formed of large hollow blocks. It would have been the perfect hiding place if it were some other animal chasing him, but the foxes would smell him wherever he hid.

  The strange sculpture-building disappeared behind him. The foxes were slowing – four or five leaps behind him now – their barks ceased as they panted deep, rasping mouthfuls of air. He was flagging too. Lungs on fire, his leg was giving up, turning his steady stride into a jerking lollop. Suddenly, a fresh scent filled his nostrils.

  If that’s what I think it is…

  Wincing from the pain, he forced his leg back into formation and sucked up the last drop of his energy reserves. His feet pounded the rough ground, driving him forward. The gap between him and his pursuers lengthened, inch by inch. Up ahead, a large overhanging tree obscured the way. His nose told him to carry on, the rest of his body obeyed and the leaves sailed over his head. Then the path ended.

  A hard-left turn back into the centre of the park or a gate through to a road on the right? He took the latter, skidding on the wet concrete as he altered direction and bounded over the metal spikes. The surprise lost him a second and the foxes gained some ground, but the smell gave him hope. It was stronger now.

  Just as Laurie said.

  Water.

  Lots of it. The grass and trees fell away, revealing the dark expanse of a lake, stretching unbroken to his left and right. The road transformed into a bridge, a flat stone handrail on each side held aloft by a long line of stout pillars. Through the gaps, Vince snatched glimpses of the green-brown algae carpeting the lake’s gently rippling surface. Along the water’s edge, a path tunnelled at right angles through the first arch of the bridge. There was no way to reach it directly without a leg-breaking jump or back-tracking into the park, where the path had split off. The lake was his only chance.

  Now halfway across the bridge, Vince focused on the water and the thick, stagnant algae blooms. He was loath to become acquainted with it and he hadn’t been expecting such a long drop, but it was the only way he could potentially lose them. Of course, they might simply follow him and tear him apart in the water but, if they were like most foxes, unless there was a guaranteed meal they wouldn’t waste their energy. That said, they had just chased him almost a mile across a park for no apparent reason, so Vince was less than confident in his own half-formed plan.

  Slowing down so he didn’t slip, he leapt onto the handrail and looked over his shoulder. His assailants had already hurdled the gate and were about to reach the bridge, their jaws wide, saliva dangling from their lolling pink tongues. They looked exhausted but far from defeated. Whatever their reason for wanting him dead, it must have been a good one.

  ‘Get him! He’s… going… to…’ the lead fox yelled through gasps of air. They upped their pace for a final sprint, three sets of gleaming teeth bared.

  Vince took a deep breath, closed his eyes and jumped.

  *

  Laurie scrabbled at the tangled foliage and thrust her snout towards the damp earth beneath. The rain had washed away any scents she might have picked up but there was no doubt birds had been there. They’d trampled a path through the weeds, which ended suddenly near the fence. Laurie investigated, nosing through the broken stems and flattened leaves, until she found it. A feather. Black, with the faintest shimmering hint of electric blue, a wedge of white carved across one side. From the wing of a magpie.

  Laurie searched for more, for blood, for anything else, but the single feather was the only hint of Rita. Had she got away or been taken by the water birds and killed somewhere else? Laurie had no way of knowing without asking more animals for information but now wasn’t the time. The ruckus over by the water was reaching its climax, the swan’s panicked honks now almost drowned out by the crowd’s wild exhortations that he should drown. Just because those goslings were friendly didn’t mean everyone else was… yet. She was still an outsider, after all. If Rita was alive – and had half a brain – she would have got out of there at the earliest opportunity. Laurie could come back later and ask around, when things had died down a bit.

  She found another gap in the fence and squeezed through, then started to make her way home. As she strode along the dirt track, a noise from her left caught her attention. She stopped dead and listened.

  ‘Aaauuuuuck!’ The feeble wail came from the long grass. Laurie’s head whipped around and she spotted the dark shape instantly. It moaned again.

  ‘Hello?’ Laurie ran to it. Sprawled in the grass, with one wing tucked up against her white belly and the other splayed out to her side, it was unmis
takably a magpie. All over, her feathers were ruffled and torn. ‘Rita?’

  The bird slowly opened one eye and let out a short, rasping breath, before murmuring, ‘Vi… Vin…’

  ‘Vince is fine, don’t worry. I’m going to help you, don’t move.’ Laurie scooped Rita up in her jaws and clutched her as gently as possible, her pointed teeth resting on the bird’s soft back. Rita’s long green tail swung forlornly as Laurie began to jog.

  Laurie didn’t know if she could save Rita but if anyone would know what to do, Socks would. It was a long way to carry her, but she couldn’t leave Vince’s friend injured and alone.

  So Laurie ran, careful not to bite down on her passenger, through the allotments and across the green bridge. Several times Laurie stopped to set Rita down for a few blinks, readjusting her grip and easing her aching jaw muscles. Rita held on. Her shallow breaths barely stirred her chest and, when faint moans escaped her beak every now and then, Laurie wondered if the pain might be too much, but the bird was stronger than she looked.

  Eventually, they made it to the end of the street where Socks’s primary home was situated. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen, so Laurie placed Rita on the pavement between her front paws and yowled at the top of her lungs.

  ‘SOCKS! SO-OOOOOOOCKS!’

  Moments later he appeared, a crispy lump of chicken clasped tightly in his mouth. He dropped it as he saw Rita. ‘Eh up, what’s all this, then?’

  ‘This is Rita, Vince’s friend. She’s hurt. We need to help her, but I don’t know—’

  ‘Bring her this way. Quick!’ Socks spun around and ran towards the house, his stout legs a blur beneath him. Laurie lifted Rita again and followed, hurrying up the garden path to the front door, where Socks waited. ‘Put her down on the step, then go and hide,’ he said.

  Laurie did as Socks instructed, ducking behind the bin at the end of the garden. Socks began to mew and scratch at the door. Peering around the bin, Laurie kept her eyes on Rita. The magpie’s life was in Socks’s paws now and, judging by his attempts to get someone to open the door, she suspected it would soon be in a pair of human hands, too.

  It was risky. The humans could just leave her on the step to die. Or finish her off. But it was their only option; animals weren’t equipped – or predisposed – to save one another’s lives unless they were related. To help, sure, if there was no predator–prey issue but a half-dead bird to Laurie usually meant a nice, fresher-than-usual dinner.

  Socks’s whining had grown unbearably loud. Finally, Laurie heard the sound of footsteps and the half-moon window above the door flickered from black nothingness to the orange glow of a bulb. The door opened to reveal a man, his legs bare, covered neck to knees in a fluffy, blue material, with another strip of fabric pulling it tight at his waist. The fur sprouting from his head and his chin was light brown flecked with grey but it was much sparser on his lower legs and feet.

  He yelled, ‘Socks! What the hell are you doing? It’s three in the bloody morning! What have you got there? Oh, Jesus Christ.’ He crouched down and inspected Rita, then looked at Socks, who had retreated to the path. ‘Was this you? Bad cat.’

  He nudged Rita with the back of his hand and she responded with a brief jerk and the quietest of caws. He smiled, took a deep breath, then exhaled with a puff of his mostly furless cheeks. ‘Why do you do this to me, Socks?’

  He cupped his long fingers underneath Rita’s body, then lifted her, cradling her to his chest. He stepped back into the house then smiled again as he looked at Socks. ‘You coming inside, you bird-bothering bugger?’ Socks bounded up the steps, turning to wink at Laurie before slinking through the man’s legs and into the warm hallway. The man turned away, whisking Rita from Laurie’s view, then pushed the door closed with his heel.

  Laurie stared at the door for a while, knowing full well it was futile. All she could do now was wait.

  7

  The freezing water hit Vince like a brick wall. The impact forced the air from his lungs and slimy weeds enveloped his body. Water filled his nostrils, burning the back of his throat, but he fought the urge to take a breath and held his head under. All four legs whirling, he swivelled in the water and began to pull himself towards the arch of the bridge. Algae had wrapped around his legs, shackling him to the spot, but he kicked and thrashed, loosening it just enough to get away. Heading for the shadow of the arch, he swam until his empty lungs could take no more. He pushed his snout to the surface and gulped a mouthful of air. His eyes followed and blinked away the droplets, then his stomach lurched. He hadn’t reached shelter. The foxes’ eyes flashed through the darkness above him, peering down from the balustrade.

  ‘We should go back,’ the male fox said. ‘He’s gonna swim to the path down there.’

  ‘There’s no time! Blake, jump in and get him!’ The lead female jabbed the male with her nose.

  ‘Me? Why not you?’ Blake replied.

  ‘Because I’m older and I’m telling you to.’

  ‘You’re a minute older, Bonnie, and you can’t tell me what to do.’

  Finally, Vince reached the dark cavern of the bridge’s arch. They could no longer see him, but stopping for a rest was not an option. The path was waiting, and the foxes wouldn’t argue for long.

  ‘Come on, Blake, get over the other side – he’s getting away! If we don’t get our den in Richmond Park because of you, I’ll tear your head off instead,’ the other female said.

  A den in Richmond Park?

  ‘Alright, Bailey, fine. Just let me catch my—’

  ‘No! NOW!’ Bonnie growled. She must have bitten Blake, because he yelped and barked in retaliation. Vince took his chance, pedalling his legs, snout pointed towards the path. The gnashing of teeth from above echoed through the arch as he ploughed through the water.

  ‘He’s there!’ Bailey yelled through the noise of the scuffle.

  ‘Scat! Quick…’ Bonnie said.

  ‘Wha— No! NO! AAARRROOOOWL!’ Blake smacked into the water behind Vince, sending a shower of droplets cascading over his face. A surge of water followed, rolling over the back of Vince’s head and into his ears and eyes. He spluttered and his legs lost momentum but the expanding waves from the fox’s impact propelled him in the direction of the path.

  Blake surfaced, coughing and gasping for air. ‘You runts!’

  ‘What are you waiting for? Get him!’ his sisters shouted from the bridge.

  Vince reached the edge, slapped his wet paws onto the path and hauled himself out of the water. After a quick, instinctive shake of his sopping fur, he began to run. His pelt bristled in the cold air but, combined with the icy water, it helped numb his leg wound.

  Vince wasn’t a keen swimmer – even less so now, after the wetlands – but his penchant for frogs meant he’d taken his share of dips in the Richmond Park ponds. In contrast, Blake splashed wildly in the water, as if his paws were the only part of him that had ever been submerged before.

  After tonight, I’m never going near the water again.

  ‘You useless mongrel! Quick, let’s get on the path. We can catch him up.’ Bonnie’s voice faded as Vince upped his pace and sprinted away.

  *

  Rita woke up in darkness. The ceiling and walls were low and close. A quick peck told her they were made of thick cardboard. It was warm, though. Toasty, in fact. The air outside was still, so she concluded that she must be inside a human’s house. In the corner of the box was a tiny dish of seeds and another of water. Her belly was flat against a carpet of spongy material which, she decided then and there, if she ever got the chance to build another nest, she would definitely try to procure from somewhere.

  Whoever had put her in the box obviously didn’t mean her any harm. She’d been around long enough to know that if a human wanted a bird dead, they shot it. Over and done with before they even realised, assuming they were a good aim. No, she was safe, wherever she was.

  She moved to sit up and winced as her muscles protested but managed to get onto her feet
. Good. Sore, but not broken. She stretched her wings tentatively and pain ripped through her left side, from shoulder to stomach.

  ‘Ack!’ she croaked falteringly, sinking back down into the soft material.

  Then someone called her name. ‘Rita?’ The voice was faint. She would have put it down to her imagination if it hadn’t called again. ‘Rita?’

  ‘Hello?’ she shouted, her voice dulled by the thick cardboard.

  ‘You’re alive!’ The voice was louder this time, but still muffled. Rita suspected something else was in between her and the creature.

  ‘I am! Who are you and how do you know my name?’

  ‘I’m Socks, Official Feline Administrator of the Hammersmith area. It is my duty to help any animal who requires assistance within my jurisdiction.’ After the introduction, he explained his encounter with Vince, and how Laurie had found her.

  ‘Vince got out of the wetlands? That’s amazing! I can’t wait to see him again!’ Rita’s excitement about Vince had eclipsed any thoughts about her own situation, but she paused for a moment to reflect, her chattering echoless in the stale air. She continued, ‘Feline Administrator? So, you’re a cat… Am I in your human’s house?’

  ‘Aye. I took a chance on him looking after you. He’s a nice guy, loves animals. Once you’re fit and well, it shouldn’t be too hard to find Vince. He was on his way to Hyde Park. Although that owl may have given him new directions, so—’

  ‘An owl?’ said Rita.

  ‘Yes. Barn variety. Female. Very odd to see a bird like that around here, to be honest. Not particularly social, but seemed nice enough. She said she was from a park.’

  Rita questioned Socks about the owl, but he didn’t know much else. She might just have been feeling extra wary after the wetlands, but something felt wrong.

  ‘Unusual markings, though,’ Socks added. ‘Very dark—’

  ‘—heart around her face?’

  ‘Yes! How did you know?’