4.5★
“I feel myself rise, and as I am rising what I am thinking, calculating, is: It’s no more than thirty paces to the lifts.”
Heather Berriman has been working in the British Secret Service, most recently in the Birmingham office where their brief is to investigate the Service’s own agents and staff suspected of wrongdoing.
She’s good at her job and experienced at reading between the lines in conversations and meetings. Her father had worked in the same field after WW2, so she and her mother were very aware of the demands and limitations such a career put on their lives. He has always called her “Bird”, hence the title.
The situation above arises as the story is beginning, and it’s something she has been prepared for seemingly forever.
“I thought of how my father had insisted on a gravel drive in front of our house, so you could always hear the postman’s approach in the morning.
. . .
And so I suppose it was always in my blood, running I mean – perhaps not running itself so much as the preparedness to run – the capacity to go through each day always being ready. If you grow up with that, you come to think of it as just something inside you that you live with, like mild asthma, or an allergy to seafood. It doesn’t dominate your life, you just feel a low-level awareness of it all the time, an instinctive vigilance that you hardly ever think about.”
In other words, you’re always looking over your shoulder and can never afford to take anyone at face value. Exciting and exhausting.
The author moves Heather’s story between her army years in the WRAC, where she makes friends with Flavia, another soldier, who becomes a surrogate sister, and her later career in various roles.
She and her best pal both sleep around – a lot – and lead colourful lives. Flavia is a gorgeous girl, while Heather feels like a shadowy imitation of her. Still, she enjoys plenty of action, and that never stops.
“Older men often had an endearing, world-weary but kindly quality – at the same time they knew what they wanted. Being ten or fifteen years younger than them was as good as being beautiful – and so they wanted me.”
Women in the army are very much second-class soldiers.
“Over at Sandhurst, the passing-out parade was attended by the Queen. We got our parents. But at least mine seemed to enjoy it.”
Of course they did – she is following her father’s career path. After the army, when she’s older and in another career, she gets a tap on the shoulder from a man her father worked with, and thus begins her career as a spy.
I will say that she makes it across the thirty steps to the lift and to the bag she has always had ready in the event she would need to flee. From there, she takes off on an exciting (and exhausting) escape into the cold northern climes.
The story is full of burner phones and Heather dodging the people she senses (and sometimes sees) who are on her trail, as well as the usual threats to a small woman travelling alone. It can also be grindingly frustrating, having to sit tight in one place, unable to contact anyone.
The author has plenty of scope for description as Heather constantly hikes through the countryside to learn the terrain by heart and calculate possible escape routes. Life on the run can be miserable.
“It’s raining hard and the second-hand bomber jacket is like one of those soft holey sponges you use to mop the kitchen counter. I begin to shiver, and I recognise the depth of my shuddering as a kind of delayed shock – not so much shock, perhaps, but the drain of adrenaline that occurs after a situation. Strange, I think. I didn’t believe myself to be afraid, but my body is acting as if I was.”
Later, though:
“The sky above me is blue, with drifting clouds that are snowy white on top, the colour grading gradually towards the bottom through palest grey to dark, darker, darkest. There is a richness to the browns and greens beneath me: the bracken is both fresh and bone dry, lurid green and the colour of a brown envelope.”
I found her whole life interesting and was happy to suspend disbelief here and there, when I admit I doubted her ability to pull something off. Petty details!
Thanks to #NetGalley and Faber and Faber for a preview copy of #ABirdinWinter for review.
A personal P.S. is the idea of a go-bag for emergencies - fires, floods, storms. As I write this, Australia is getting ready for what looks like a bad bushfire season, so we're getting ready.