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Shelly chuckled nervously. This was it. This was The Moment. Elon chuckled as well. He licked his dry lips. He tried to clear his throat without making a sound, but it made Shelly turn her head. It made her smile, and it made him look away. Elon gulped, and took a deep breath. Shelly’s eyes were wide. They were beautiful. All he wanted was to share this moment with her. To take this girl. To make her a woman.

He brushed the crumbs from the front of his shirt. But would she like it? Would it live up to expectations? She was so neat, and so tidy. Both of them had shared a big bag of crisps, but whereas he was covered in detritus, fragments of spicy cheddar and onion clinging to his best shirt, she was neat and tidy. There had been crumbs. He had watched the crumbs as she ate, watched them tumbling from that oh so perfect mouth, snuck side glances as they bounced against the taut curve of her sweater.

He gulped again. Focus, focus. Now or never.

Elon reached out. He made his move.

It took a while, but in the end, Shelly was finally satisfied.

She went online, Milly of course waiting, agog at the radio silence. Five hours since the date started, could mean only one thing of course, heh, heh heh. How many times did you guys? More important, how many times did he make you…?

Shelly giggled at the stream of wide-eyed mouth open emoji that came back when she answered six. She giggled again when Milly said, blimey, the batteries on the Blackbird 5000 still haven’t worn out????

They spent a while trying to dissect the ashes of her date with Elon. She had stayed till the bitter end, sat through the entire fucking credits, and even then nope, all he wanted to do was make sure that she had picked up that the character of Johnny Fontane was a cipher for Frank Sinatra and his close relationship with the real mafia. Then he’d gone online to show her the bit of Modern Family where they spoofed the vengeance scene at the christening.

I just wanted him to jump me, Shelly said. Was that too much to ask?

A mere five minutes Uber away, Elon sat, forlorn with disappointment. What had he done wrong? Why didn’t she get it? He had been sure to pause the film plenty of times to point out the important bits. He had carefully explained the symbolism behind the horse’s head, pointed out that it wasn’t a real horse’s head, it was only a model. The Godfather was the greatest film ever made. It needed to be savoured. It needed a detailed in person commentary from someone who had seen it forty-seven times, that’s what it needed.

Elon sighed, and reached for a discarded sock.

This was definitely not her pillowcase. Light blasted through curtains that weren’t hers and Gemma squinted against it. Somewhere in the distance was the sound of someone whistling and pottering around in a kitchen she was almost certain would turn out not to be hers either.

The room lurched but she had to collect the facts. The smell of coffee floated suggested she didn’t have much time to pass herself off as someone who knew what was going on.

A quick look under the duvet told her she was in pants (hers, thank God) and a huge t-shirt with some kind of blackbird print on it (definitely not hers). This didn’t help. It could mean anything. She’d need to look further afield.

Clothes.

She reemerged into the sickening daylight and scanned the room. On a tall wooden chair she spotted her jeans and one sock. No sign of her top though. What were the rules about sleeping with someone, forgetting, then asking to borrow their t-shirt to get home?

Whatever. She’d need to be dressed when whoever it was came back, so she sat up. There was an overwhelming smell of vomit coming from her hair. God. Was that before or after? She wasn’t sure which would be worse, but footsteps were heading up the stairs. No time.

She was into her jeans and remaining sock when the knock came. She’d expected them to just come in. After all, what was privacy between them after, well, whatever had happened? But to her horror, the face that appeared at her too bright ‘come in!’ was Jamie’s dad’s.

Surely she hadn’t; surely not even five pints of Guinness Gemma would have gone to bed with her ex-boyfriend's dad?

She had to keep things smooth, cheerful. Definitely don’t make a big deal of it. She plastered on a horrible smile and took the proffered coffee. The key was not to stop talking. That way he couldn’t ask her any questions.

“Oh brilliant. Thanks -” her mind blanked out at his first name and she couldn’t call him Mr Walters now. So she just ploughed on.“Just what I need.”

She gulped down a scalding mouthful. “Well I suppose I should leave you to get on with your day! Thanks for - uh, well everything. And the coffee! I can’t find my other sock, but maybe you could pass it on to Jamie, if it ever shows up? Not that - I mean - I’m just more likely to see him sooner. College and everything, you know.”

She was making things worse and was he looking disappointed? God. She had to do something. Praying that her shoes were by the door, she stood up, kissed him hard on the mouth and slipped out of the room and down the stairs. She was aiming for breezy and casual, like she had one night stands with her ex’s dads every weekend. No big deal. She suspected it hadn’t come off.

She was waiting at the train station, coatless and sockless when Jamie called.

“My Dad is really confused - he says he put you to bed in my sister’s room last night after you spewed outside the pub and that you just snogged him to say thanks for some coffee…”

“Shenah. Shenah come on. Hurry. Shenah come.” The voice was distant, strange but familiar.

“Shenah” this was closer. Followed by banging that woke her fully from the dream with a start.

“Shenah” it’s 7:30 the fires are cold. What’s the matter?”

“Alright Nina, I’m coming. Settle down.” 7:30 she thought, I’ve not slept that late for years. Maybe something is the matter. She rushed to dress and then thrust the door open, to a startled squawk from Nina waiting outside. Useless girl.. She ushered Nina out of the way and headed to the kitchens.

What is this feeling? I feel robbed of something I never knew I had, She thought. I don’t know if it’s disappointment as such Shenah thought. Maybe I’m too old for that. Too experienced to expect anything other than what it was. This city. This life. This bloody Prime. Was this one worse or is my patience just wearing as thin as her socks. That feeling was just the cold reality of another days thankless work.

Breakfast done, and sent hurriedly upwards with Nina, she started on the washing. The simple familiarity helping forget her troubled night. She plunged her wrinkled hands back into the water. Working the material with skill and practiced ease.

Looking at her creases and crinkles hands; age and time seem to erode her now. When did she get so old?

Shenahs thoughts ran around themselves as she quietly worked. Face furrowed and taut. Clean water she thought. That will help. She grabbed the pail and headed out through the gardens to the well. Come on. Her arms ached already. Tired from the frantic morning.

As she approached the well, there was a blackbird pirched on the stone. “Hello pretty” she whispered quietly. “I’ve nothing for you today my dear. So sorry.” The bird cocked its head as if listening. Come on.

She started. “Don’t play silly buggers, I’ve had enough voices this morning, don’t you start.”

The bird flew off to a near by tree. Where it hoped around the branches. She lowered the bucket down, winding the handle round. Down. Deeper. What the bloody hell now she thought. She kept winding. Until with a clunk the rope stopped. That was a low as it went.

No water. Not possible she thought. The well had never run dry. She stared at the rope as if she could change the situation by looks alone. Her eyes caught sight of the ladder. So strange she thought. Why did it even have that.

Come.

She span right with a yell. “Nina? Jack? Was that you? Stop playing silly buggers.” Her back was sweaty she realised. Cold and clammy. On a warm spring morning.

Come.

The voice was behind her again. And she turned slowly this time. Scanning the hedges. She saw the blackbird perched on the well again. It hopped back and forth cocking its head to look at her.

Shenah smiled nervously. The bird seemed to be staring right at her. Through her even.

Come. It said and fluttered down into the depths of the well.

Whilst Idly watching Winterwatch in his cabin, Bradleigh Salterton, Captain of The Seahorse, made a discovery. He had been without a parrot since Lockdown. He had sworn off the creatures after his last six, all of whom had shared the names of notable tv presenters and had got him into one scrape after another. But he was now missing having a feathered friend around. One who could talk.

And right before his eyes, here was presenter Chris Packham conversing with a crow!

Salterton was intrigued, it was immediately clear that the problem he had in the past was not with the birdliness of his companions but their parroticity. The next morning he was on Cawcado first thing with an order for a raven.

The new arrival immediately announced that it would like to be known henceforth as Claudia Winkelman and at first, things proceeded well, the chatty corvid was witty and likeable and ingratiated herself with the whole crew.

During the weekly card game with rival pirate captains,( Fakebeard, Blackbeard and Eggbeard), Winkleman, who the others had no idea could talk was tactfully able to alert Salterton to his opponents bluffing and net him 500 Dubloons!

After they had left he was delighted.

“Ha. Ha, It’s like taking candy from babies.” He declared. “let it be our little secret!”

“Yes” she replied “But are you sure you can trust all the crew to keep your secret! I mean could any of them be traitors?”

Salterton thought quickly considered the past lives of his crew. It was true that all of them had mutinied on royal ships or had told state secrets to a French wh0re. That’s why they were pirates!

“I don’t mean against the king “ cawed the Crow, “but against you!!!!

Salterton was surprised. “Theres not a man among them who would undermine me” he declared. But he was far from certain of this even as he spoke!

“Wel, I saw Israel Zennor skulking outside during the game. And Lostwithiel Bude had a look in his eye last night. Who can you trust? Who is not as honest as they profess? It is for you to decide”.

The brave buccaneer considered the evidence. How had Fakebeard got to the galleon on the Spanish Main before him, when he had seen it first through his own spyglass?

By Thursday 11 members of his crew had walked the plank and an air of suspicion lingered from poop deck to stern. Still, rival pirates seemed to be aware of the movements of gold-laden frigates as soon as they had been spotted! And the identity of the true traitor was unknown!

Honest Jim, the cabin boy was the latest crew member suspected. On the discovery, in his hammock, of one of the Captain’s favourite socks.

As usual the whole crew gathered to decide the traitor’s identity.

“Arrr it was ee, Honest Jim, plain as the nose on my face!” said partially-sighted Pew looking up from the concertina he had been unsuccessfully learning for 27 years.

“Well I’m sorry, Jim, but its an open and shut case, Men! prepare the plank,” said Salterton wearily. “So young, so sad” he thought as Jim’s arms were bound.

“Captain may I at least defend myself” said the precocious 11 year old, “and maybe point you in the direction of the real traitor!”

“Proceed” said Salterton, “For all the good it will do.”

“Well firstly I don’t know how the sock got there, but only one person has a key to your dressing room, and they have black feathers and a beak!

Secondly, they sleep in the Crow’s Nest!!!! The perfect place to spot ships first!

And thirdly, only one member of the crew can fly! So only one person could have told other captain’s where the ships were.”

Captain and Crew’s faces turned slowly to the perch where Ms Winkleman and had been standing to find it empty. The porthole behind the perch was open and, heading for the horizon in the direction of Brazil, with a single one of the Captain’s socks in its beak, was the dark shape of the true traitor.