The secret love

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Steve was in the shed, meticulously oiling his secateurs, when he heard it: a soft, conspiratorial cooing from the other side of the garden. He peered through a crack in the shed door and saw Brenda at the bird feeder, not with her usual disapproving frown, but with a look of pure, unadulterated admiration.

She held out a palm full of seeds, and a large, portly pigeon hopped down from the fence. It was a handsome bird, with an iridescent neck like an oil slick on a puddle and a regal swagger that suggested he owned the entire neighbourhood. Brenda didn't shoo him away like she did the others; she simply watched, her face glowing.

"Ah," Steve whispered, a grin spreading across his face. "The King returns."

Brenda turned, startled, her hand flying to her chest. "Steve! What are you doing in there?"

"Just... admiring my handiwork," he said, gesturing vaguely at the secateurs. "And yours, it seems."

The pigeon, oblivious to the intrusion, began pecking at her palm with an almost tender reverence.

"Don't tell me you've named him," Steve said, stepping out of the shed.

Brenda scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. He's just... a very discerning bird."

Steve's grin widened. "And a right dramatic one. Look at him! He's not just eating; he's performing a sonnet."

"He's a champion," Brenda said quietly, her eyes fixed on the pigeon. "He fought off a magpie for a stray piece of cheese yesterday. He was magnificent."

"The Siege of Wensleydale," Steve mused. "You didn't tell me about that."

Brenda shot him a look that was a mix of shame and defiance. "It's not for public consumption. You'll make a film about it."

The pigeon finished his snack, puffed out his chest, and then, in a grand gesture of farewell, hopped onto Brenda’s shoulder. He stayed there for a long moment, a proud little statue, before taking flight and circling once, twice, over the garden.

Brenda watched him go, a soft smile on her lips. She turned to Steve and saw that he hadn't moved; he was just watching her.

"He's a bit of a rogue," she said, shrugging, as if to downplay the moment.

"Aren't we all," Steve said gently. "Aren't we all."