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turns away and loads up a syringe, drawing up some sort of liquid from a glass phial, then flicks the top of it. Granddad catches Dad's stare and frowns. His hands shake as he moves the needle towards the swan's neck. I expect Dad to say something, but he doesn't. I know he's thinking it, though. Granddad's hands were shaking like this when he put the anaesthetic into Rocky's body, too.
    â€˜That won't kill him, will it?’ I ask.
    Granddad pricks the swan's skin. ‘No, just makes things easier. It won't be long though until he . . . ’
    I think he wants to say more, but he's not sure how. Instead, he presses down on the syringe and the liquid glides into the bird. I watch the swan's eyes shut. The skin on its eyelids is wrinkled and slack, like the skin on the back of Granddad's hand. But the bird's still breathing, just.
    Granddad slides the needle out from the bird's neck. ‘I'll make him a bed out there.’ He nods towards the room at the back of the cottage where small animals were sometimes kept overnight.
    I run my hand down the broken wing. The swan doesn't flinch now. Too deep in sleep. I let Granddad turn me away from the swan and push me from the room.
    Dad shuts the window with a thud. ‘Come on Isla, we're going,’ he murmurs, grabbing me by the back of my coat.
    I look around to see Granddad's face cloud over. He shakes his head then turns abruptly away. He marches back to the house and slams the conservatory door.
    Dad shrugs. ‘He's just a grumpy old coot. Always has been.’
    He walks quickly to the car. I hold back a little, wait for Granddad to sit in his cane chair by the window again. But Dad starts the car and I run to get in it.

CHAPTER 5
    M um's waiting at the door when we get home, looking from Dad's face to me and back again.
    â€˜You had the pains again, didn't you?’ She grabs Dad's shoulders and stops him from going in the house until he looks at her.
    â€˜Something like that,’ Dad murmurs. ‘But it's the swans you should worry about. Flew into the wires at the reserve.’
    She leads him into the kitchen, ignoring his explanation of what we did today. ‘That's the second time this has happened now, isn't it?’ She glances over at me before lowering her voice. ‘You're going to the doctor first thing.’
    â€˜Sure, sure.’ Dad brushes away her concern, catches sight of Jack in front of the telly. Jack shuffles over on the couch, making way for him, and Dad's already talking about the swans.
    â€˜The power lines, right?’ Jack asks. ‘No markers?’
    Dad shakes his head. ‘Swans didn't have a chance.’
    He flops down next to Jack and the energy seems to drain out of him immediately. He's suddenly as saggy as the couch. Mum comes over to where I'm still standing by the door, takes my head between her cool fingers.
    â€˜You all right, babe?’ she asks. She's looking at me carefully. I try to force my features into a grin and reassure her. It's not me I want her to be worried about.
    â€˜I'm fine,’ I say. I want to tell her that Dad's not, though. I want to tell her how sick he looked at the reserve, but already she's hugging me against her fleecy jumper and brushing her fingers through my hair.
    â€˜Pizza for lunch?’
    I wince as her fingers get caught in a knot. She takes a comb from her bag and tries to brush through it. I pull away from her strokes, go upstairs and change out of my muddy trousers. When I come back down, Dad has changed too. He's sitting back on the couch in his pyjama bottoms. I sit on the floor, lean up against his leg. Dad's still talking about the swans, trying to work out where the rest of the flock has moved on to.
    â€˜Maybe they've gone back up north,’ Jack suggests.
    Dad's not convinced. ‘There are other lakes around that part of town,’ he says ‘Behind the factories, the hospital. The swans are still nearby.’
    â€˜You