The Wedding Party by H. E. Bates

heavy.’
    â€˜Oh! Lord, I don’t know—’
    â€˜It’s either that or the cat,’ Mrs Daly said. ‘After all we’re nearly out to the woods here. Once he gets into the woods we’ll never catch him.’
    â€˜All right, then. Just one try. I feel awful at having dragged you all the way out here.’
    â€˜Not half as awful as you’d feel if you went home without him. Now Wee Willie Winkie, listen.’ Mrs Daly addressed Wee Willie Winkie in the sternest possible terms. ‘I’m coming to get you. And get you I will. I’ll stand no nonsense from you, you little blue devil. Do you hear?’
    The budgerigar, looking down at Mr Greenwood already bending his back, actually seemed to hear.
    â€˜You’ll have to bend a little lower,’ Mrs Daly said. ‘I can’t quite reach.’
    Mr Greenwood crouched lower on his haunches.
    â€˜Have you got the net?’ he said. ‘The thing to try and do is not to swipe at him.’
    Mrs Daly said yes, she had the net and she’d try not to swipe. A moment later she climbed on Mr Greenwood’s back, clutching the butterfly net in one hand and holding the lamp-post with the other. Then Mr Greenwood raised himself gently upward by something like another foot, at the same time clutching the lamp-post with both hands for support. He had never had a woman standing on his back before and the experience suddenly reminded him sharply of a game called mop-stick which he had often played as a boy.
    â€˜Gently does it,’ he said. ‘Gently.’
    There was no word of response from Mrs Daly butsuddenly Mr Greenwood was convinced that he heard footsteps.
    â€˜Just making the tea?’
    The voice of the policeman returning from night duty was inquisitive and gentle. With calm appraisal he stared at Mrs Daly’s bare feet, her cast-off bedroom slippers, the fringe of her nightdress, the butterfly net, the corn-flakes, the bowl of sugar and the bent back of Mr Greenwood, who was unable to see the policeman except through his legs.
    â€˜Oh! Lord – no, we’re trying to catch a budgerigar—’
    â€˜No, Wee Willie Winkie, don’t you dare move!’
    â€˜So it’s Wee Willie Winkie, is it?’ the policeman said. ‘And I suppose he’s running through the town in his nightgown too?’
    â€˜I’ve nearly got him,’ Mrs Daly said. ‘I’ll have him in a moment now – Oh! blast! You wicked little wretch! He’s flown.’
    In sudden vexation Mrs Daly sat down on Mr Greenwood’s back, then promptly slid off it, showing several inches of her bare knees. Again with calm appraisal the policeman stared at her as if all this was, as with the milkman, an everyday affair.
    â€˜Excuse me, madam, but have you been to bed or are you just going? Or what?’
    â€˜Oh! I’ve been. I’ve been up hours.’
    â€˜And does your husband here usually let you wander about the streets in your nightdress, madam?’
    â€˜Oh! he’s not my husband.’
    â€˜Oh! he’s not? It’s like that, is it? I see.’
    â€˜Oh! it’s not like that,’ Mr Greenwood said. ‘It’s not at all like that. Not at all.’
    â€˜Then what is it like, sir?’ With light scepticism, the policeman stared at the packet of corn-flakes and the bowl of sugar. ‘Just going to have breakfast, too, I take it?’
    â€˜Oh! no. The idea of the corn-flakes and the sugar is to catch the budgerigar.’
    â€˜I see. And does he have cream with them too?’
    â€˜He doesn’t like cream.’
    The policeman gave a sudden long deep sigh, as if for a moment seriously questioning his own sanity. In the ensuing silence Mrs Daly put on her bedroom slippers, at the same time smiling at the policeman, who failed to smile back and merely put his head to one side.
    Then after remarking that it was a matter of great interest to hear that