Paradise Park

It started out like any other Monday, but I’ll never forget the fear I felt.“It wasn’t that scary.”

“Why are you reading over my shoulder while I type? You know I hate that!”

“Sorry, but it wasn’t scary.”

“YOU weren’t there! It was frickin’ scary. Anyway, whose story is this?”

“Ours.”

“No, it’s not! Not yet.”

“Fine, I won’t interrupt.”

“Thank you.”

“But it wasn’t scary.”

“Go away!”

“If I promise not to interrupt, can I stay?”

“No.”

“Okay, I’m going.”

“Bye.”

“Should I close the door?”

“Go!”

“I was just asking…”

“Aaagh!”

“Okay, I’m going now.”

My office door shuts quietly and peace is restored. For now.

It started out like any other Monday, but I’ll never forget the fear I felt. That came later.

My brother David was visiting with his wife Katy and adorable toddler Alfie. My nephew was at that wonderful age when everything in the world is new and exciting, but also before kindergarten, which meant my family could visit when schools had started back.

I love summer but I think I love the end of the summer even more. The intense heat is just a memory, leaving cooler evenings and the feeling that autumn isn’t far away. Leaves are already changing colour, red and gold replacing the bright green of spring and the deeper tones of summer.

The roads are quieter, the cafés and pubs less busy, and the holidaymakers still around are older people or those who are child-free. It’s as if everyone breathes a sigh of relief as the frantic business of making hay while the sun shines dwindles with the daylight.

It was my friend Judith who made the suggestion.

“Why don’t you take them to Paradise Park? Ernie will love it and it’s fun for adults, too.”

“I don’t know, I don’t really like seeing animals in cages.”

“They’re aviaries not cages, and the penguins are in a large swimming pool—you can feed them, too. They have a fly-past with the birds of prey and you can meet a real falconer. The café is good … nice coffee and fabulous salted caramel brownies. Oh, and there’s a little train that you can ride on if you all get tired.”

She had me at café. I’ll go almost anywhere for a good coffee and chocolate brownie.

So I bought the tickets online for an afternoon visit because I thought it would be quieter then, and off we went after lunch.

Things went downhill from the moment we arrived.

“Are you sure it’s open today?” David asked. “We’re the only car in the car park.”

“It must be—I have the tickets on my phone. They wouldn’t sell me tickets for a day they’re not open.”

Even so, I checked the tickets and the opening hours, and it all seemed fine, if somewhat empty and ghostly.

It took several minutes to get the buggy from the car, strap Alfie in, and make sure we had all the requisite stuff that toddlers need: nappy, spare underwear (for Alfie, not us), snacks, teething ring, little drinks, Cordy Roy (Alfie’s teddy bear), and the tiniest little sandals that were unbearably cute.

I wondered if I’d ever had a little Alfie of my own. It seemed unlikely the way my (un) love-life was going. I might even have to go down the turkey-baster route if the present drought kept up.

Loaded up like pack ponies, we went to the entrance to be met by a bored-looking teenager who yawned in our faces.

“The café’s closed,” he said, glancing at the e-tickets on my phone.

“Oh no! Is there anywhere else to get a coffee?”

“No. Sorry.”

He didn’t sound sorry.

“What time is the fly-past?”

“They’re not doing it today.”

“What?”

“It’s the falconer’s day off.”

“It doesn’t say that online.”

He shrugged.

“Well, what time are the penguins being fed?”

“That’s not happening today.”

“Are you telling me you’re not feeding the penguins today? Won’t they be hungry?”

He gave me an irritated look. “Of course they’re feeding them, but it’s not open to the public today.”

“Why not?”

“I haven’t been told.”

“Please tell me the train is running, or is that having a day off, too?”

If he caught my sarcasm, it was hard to say.

“No. Closed for maintenance.”

I was about to respond when I caught the look that Katy threw David, and I knew I had to calm down or risk spoiling the rest of the visit. So I plastered on my best gameshow host smile.

“Oh well, never mind. We’re looking forward to seeing all the birds anyway.”

He waved us through, then muttered without smiling, “Enjoy.”

I gritted my teeth but managed not to say a single word. I was proud of myself.

“Sorry about the train,” I said to David and Katy. “And the café, the penguins and the fly-past.”

“We can still see the penguins swimming around,” said Katy. “It doesn’t matter about the rest.”

See, that’s why I loved my sister-in-law, she was just the nicest person I’d ever met. My brother was a lucky guy.

But as we trudged around the park, staring into the aviaries as colourful birds watched us in weary silence, even Katy’s persistent optimism began to diminish. It’s not that the aviaries weren’t well kept, because they were: they were large and light with real trees growing through them, lots of natural habitat environments. It was just that caged birds make me sad. Perhaps the birds were happy to have a bit of peace and quiet after the crazy busy school summer holidays; but I couldn’t shake the feeling that they were tired of being gawped at. I wish they seemed a little happy to see us?

Alfie started to get teasy, so we when we got to the flamingos’ pond, we found an empty bench, which wasn’t hard because we’d only seen one other family visiting, and that was from a distance.

We shared one of Alfie’s snack bars (although not the teething ring), and David passed around a bottle of tepid water that had been in the car for several days and tasted of plastic.

“Shall we go home?” I suggested.

David and Katy looked even more relieved than me.

“Yes,” David said immediately.

“Yes, we should probably head back now,” Katy added, mustering a weak smile. “Alfie’s getting hungry.”

My stomach growled in agreement; I’d promised it a salted caramel brownie.

“I think we go that way … um…”

I’m pretty good with directions and thought I knew which way was out, but a large metal security door was in the way.

I opened the park’s map app on my phone, trying to find the exit route, then I stared around me. Shouldn’t the exit be signposted in case of a fire or something? I was confused when I saw arrows pointing toward the security door, with a white and green ‘exit’ sign.

“Let’s go back the way we came,” said David.

“Okay,” I agreed reluctantly.

My brother has many fine qualities; a sense of direction isn’t one of them. But seeing as mine had let me down, I was happy to follow him.

The flamingos watched us leave, their large eyes on their scaly necks following our progress. I was happy to be away from birds who were bigger than I was. They looked too much like the velociraptors from Jurassic Park, just more colourful and with better PR.

We did a slow circuit of the large flamingo pond, only to come face to face with the steel door again.

“What the he— heck?” I said, remembering that Alfie was at an age where he mimicked everything he heard. “We’ve just walked in a circle.”

The flamingos were still watching us, and several had moved closer, their spindly legs wading through the muddy water until they were lined up at the edge of the pond, silent and spectral.

There was no one around: no keepers, no visitors, no staff anywhere.

“Does anyone know if flamingos are herbivores or carnivores?” I asked nervously, wishing there was something like a barrier between me and them.

“Do they eat fish?” Katy asked distractedly as Alfie started to cry and wave his arms to be picked up.

“They’re omnivores,” said David. “They eat everything.”

I don’t think he’d meant to scare me, but suddenly the preposterous pink birds seemed menacing. Suddenly, one of them stepped out of the pond, coming closer to us.

“Shoo!” I yelled.

But I only succeeded in upsetting Alfie, and the huge omnivorous bird continued to watch me.

“Have you got the number for the office?” David asked, his voice definitely filled with more tension than it had been.

My hands shook as I rang the office number. It rang and rang and rang, and I started to think everyone had gone home and I’d have to call the police to rescue us when the call was answered by a man.

“Hello, Paradise Park.”

“Hi, um, we’re locked in.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“We’re visitors. At the park. Paradise Park. We’re locked in.”

“You’re locked in?”

“Yes! With the flamingos! And they look hungry. Like really hungry.”

“Okay, don’t panic.”

Words that helped no one, ever.

“I’m NOT panicking! Just get us out of here!”

“Which side of the pond are you?”

“By the exit door. The steel exit door that is locked!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right there.”

I looked at my brother and Katy, giving them a forced smile. “Help is on its way.”

Another flamingo stalked out of the pond towards us and we automatically huddled together.

Suddenly, I heard a grating sound as the steel door swung open, and a man with dark curly hair and intense blue eyes strode towards us.

“I am so sorry,” he said, holding his arms wide in an appealing gesture. “I’m Adam Eden—my parents own this place. Nothing like this has ever happened before.”

“Guess we just got lucky,” I said grumpily.

“Please accept our apologies,” he said. “And a year’s free entry to Paradise Park. Come back whenever you like.”

I nearly choked. I was never setting foot in the place again. Ever. And from the look on David and Katy’s faces, they agreed with me.

Adam escorted us back to our car with many more apologies.

“We’ve been so short staffed, not that it’s an excuse … and lockdown was really hard for us because we still had to feed the birds and there was no income … not that it’s your problem, of course not. But it’s been difficult … and I’m really sorry that your visit was less than paradise,” and he gave a strained laugh.

We smiled to be polite, but he looked as though he wanted to ask us … or beg us … not to sue.

“Come back anytime!” he said again, waving while we drove away.

That night, I dreamed about flamingos, and not in a good way. I woke up in a cold sweat, just as one was about to eat me.

It was the end of David and Katy’s vacation, and I was sad to wave goodbye to Alfie, that little bundle of joy who loved his Aunty Knickers (because my name is Nicola, not any other reason).

As I waved goodbye to them, my phone rang. I almost didn’t answer because I didn’t recognise the number, but as it was local, I decided to take a chance.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Nicola Jones?”

“Yes?”

“This is Adam Eden from Paradise Park.”

“Oh, hi?”

“I was just phoning to check that you were okay.”

“Yes, we’re fine, thanks.”

“Great! That’s great! Um, I was wondering if you’d like to visit again today. The café is open and the public can feed the penguins at lunchtime, if you’d like to visit … like I said.”

“Thanks, but my family went home today.”

“Oh, right. Well, would you like to come? By yourself … or with … a friend?”

“Um, that’s nice of you but…”

“Please! Give us a chance to make it up to you.”

“Well, I…”

“Please, Ms. Jones. Nicola…”

“Um…”

***

“Did you get to the part where I persuade you to visit again?”

“Adam! You made me jump! Why are you reading over my shoulder again?”

“Because it’s a great story. It was the first time I asked you out.”

“No, it was the first time you invited me feed a penguin. That’s not the same thing at all.”

“But I was the first guy who’d ever invited you to feed a penguin, right?”

“True, you weirdo.”

“You love penguins.”

“I tolerate penguins.”

“Pluto is your favourite.”

“Whatever. I still hate flamingos.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Even though you know that they’d never eat you.”

“I only have your word for that. I’m a tasty treat.”

“Oh, I can definitely agree with that,” said Adam, sweeping me into his arms. “Are you going to write that the guy got the hot girl?”

“No,” I said, nuzzling the soft skin of his neck. “I’m going to write that the hot girl got the guy who saved her from the bloodthirsty and ferocious killer flamingos.”

“Same difference.”

“Maybe.”

THE END