The girl sat absolutely still. She was holding the last letter tightly in both of her hands, her head bowed, eyes on the page. She was concentrating hard with furrowed brow, eyes screwed up and a slight twist of her nose. The old lady sat quietly beside her.

Eventually, the little girl put the letter down, stood up and, still silent, took a few paces towards the wall of glass at the back of the conservatory. She looked out at the garden, first at the grass and then, with a slight tilt of her head, up at the tree.

The old lady rose more slowly and treading softly came to stand beside the little girl. She looked at her young face and followed the little girl’s gaze towards the branches of the cherry tree towards the back of the garden. He was there, as she knew he would be, with his black feathers shimmering in the sunlight and his bright orange beak like a small flame illuminating the space around him. He was always there for her, even after all these years.

She waited.

She felt the little girl’s fingers reaching out and inter-twining with hers. There was a sadness there but also a feeling of peace.

At last the little girl spoke:

“There he is Granny. Just like in your letters.”

“Yes dear”, the old lady replied, “There he is. Always.”

There was a pause and the little girl shifted her gaze, scanning the branches and the bushes; searching carefully. Then she stopped and raising her hand pointed to a bush on the other side of the garden said:

“What’s that bird called?”

“That bird? The pinky-coloured one with the small triangular beak?”

The little girl nodded.

“Yes, that one. What’s that one called?”

“That’s a lovely little bird”, the old lady said, “They’re very friendly and chirpy and they’re quite happy to be around people to pick up scraps and crumbs to eat. And they look so pretty don’t they?”

“What’s it called?”

“That one’s a Chaffinch.”

She felt the little girl relax her grip and heard her breathe out heavily like a weight was lifting from her. She turned and looked and there was a tear running down the little girl’s face, but her eyes were bright and she was smiling.

“Chaffinch”, she said

“Yes. My Chaffinch.”

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