Season 1 · Episode 5
The Rain Has A Motive
Published 7th September 2026
Nigel had still not decided.
Prelude
Previously on Lightwood Square… Nigel faced the decision of a lifetime: fallen apple or possible lady pigeon. Nobody knew what he chose. Nigel had not yet decided either.
A Dry Minute
For one brief, suspicious interval, the Square was bright. The Fruit Tree held a little warmth, the greenhouse panes shone, and Batman Smith had positioned himself on the Fence Post to enjoy a private moment of being right about something.
Then Lieutenant Colonel Stirling crossed the lawn.
He moved with purpose from the Oak to the Vegetable Garden, paused beside a terracotta pot, and vanished beneath the Bird Table. A second squirrel appeared in the border. Then another. The garden began to twitch with quiet operations.
Batman watched them go.
“Are they all with him?”
“Nobody is *with* Stirling,” said Gary, arriving on the hedge. “One is merely in the vicinity of the operation.”
The Robins had opinions. They had them from the Fruit Tree, the fence, the greenhouse roof, and several points along the path that had no obvious strategic value. The Jacks gathered in the Oak, counting the squirrels with the solemn attention of relatives trying to establish whether the problem was already contagious.
Mr Jack Daw cleared his throat.
“We are not forming a view,” he announced.
“How many views have we got?” asked a Jack.
“Several,” said Mr Jack Daw. “None of them are official.”
The first shower arrived before anyone could make one official. It was abrupt and thorough. Goldfinches shot through the Vegetable Garden like sparks escaping a fire. The Robins ducked beneath leaves but continued their arguments at precisely the same volume.
Stirling did not break stride.
The Matter of the Wet Lawn
By afternoon, the rain had settled in with alarming authority. Water ran down the greenhouse glass. The paths softened. The Oak shook itself repeatedly and achieved nothing.
Steve stood below the hedge, his yellow bill full of a berry he had not yet eaten because he was watching the weather with disbelief.
“It’s raining,” he said.
Mrs Steve, beside him, gave him a long look.
“Yes, Steve.”
“All afternoon.”
“That is how rain works.”
Nearby, Lieutenant Colonel Stirling oversaw a series of short, urgent journeys between the border and the Bird Table. The other squirrels supplied the speed, the confusion, and several unscheduled changes of direction. At one point Stirling froze beside the greenhouse, eyes fixed on a patch of lawn. A moment later, he disappeared beneath the Summerhouse.
Gary leaned down from the hedge.
“What’s he found?”
“Something,” said Batman.
“What sort of something?”
Batman gave this grave consideration. “A very important sort.”
This proved popular. Within minutes the Smiths had decided that Stirling was either guarding provisions, tracking an intruder, or attempting to recover an object that should never have been lost. The Jacks agreed only that they needed more information before agreeing loudly.
Out beyond the wet boundary, a procession of unfamiliar dark figures crossed the sky: Crows, then more Crows, and a few Ravens with the patient gravity of birds who had seen worse committees. The Square went still beneath them.
“Friends of yours?” Batman whispered to Mr Jack Daw.
“Certainly not,” said Mr Jack Daw. “That is why we are being polite.”
At the far end of the garden, the sodden path held a long, suspicious puddle. Batman watched it for a moment, then decided it was refusing to answer questions.
Nigel’s Weather Report
The rain grew heavier as evening came on. Nigel stood beneath the Fruit Tree looking at an apple that had become too wet to be dignified.
He looked at the apple.
He looked at the hedge.
He looked at the apple again.
There was no lady pigeon in sight. This did not make the decision easier. It merely made it sadder.
“How’s it going?” Gary called.
Nigel considered the question with enormous care.
“Damp,” he said.
Then the rain sent a fresh cascade through the leaves. Nigel moved two steps sideways, thereby abandoning neither lunch nor hope, and was satisfied with the compromise.
The Woman Who Would Not Be Rained On
Night fell into a downpour. The garden paths gleamed. The Pine became a dark, dripping tower. Even Batman had taken shelter, though he continued to comment from it.
Then, through the rain, a female owl began to call.
The voice came again and again, composed enough to make the storm seem rude for interrupting. From the Bird Table, one Smith whispered Marjorie’s name. Gary said nothing. Mr Jack Daw watched the dark hedge with the expression of a bird who had just been handed a sealed envelope.
No owl showed herself. The calls carried on for a while, somewhere beyond the rain and the Yews, then stopped as suddenly as they had begun.
Batman looked towards the darkness.
“Should we do something?”
“Absolutely not,” said Mrs Steve.
For once, nobody argued.
The Morning Clears Its Throat
Before dawn, the rain finally loosened its grip. The clouds thinned. The garden steamed gently in the pale light, and the first Robin began as though he had been waiting all night to say exactly this.
The next Robin joined him. Then another. Soon the Square was alive with the sound of damp feathers, renewed certainty and a wildly unnecessary number of announcements.
Steve and Mrs Steve came out from under the hedge. Wrens returned to the brambles. A Pheasant strode along the Vegetable Garden with the pomp of a visiting mayor, followed shortly by another who appeared to have no idea a mayoral walk was already in progress.
The Jacks swept into the Oak in force. Coal Tits hurried between the Pine and the Fruit Tree as if trying to repair the weather personally. Teeny Tiny Bird made several urgent passes beneath them. Long-tailed Tits streamed over the hedge. Nuthatches, Great Tits and Goldcrests resumed their separate campaigns upon the branches.
Stirling emerged beneath the Bird Table, crossed the path with a small, round object held firmly in his mouth, and disappeared towards the Summerhouse. Gary watched him go without comment.
Then Jay arrived.
He settled above the Square, looked down at the mass of Robins, Jacks and squirrels, and gave the entire garden the slow, unimpressed stare of someone who had gone away for one night and returned to find a department had been invented.
“Well,” said Gary, “that’s cleared things up.”
The rain began again, softly at first.
Every bird looked up.
Batman drew breath.
The Square waited.
DUFF. DUFF. DUFF-DUFF-DUFF.
TO BE CONTINUED…