A large flock of crows had gathered outside the gates of Nunhead Cemetery, for the ‘funeral’ of one of their own, I imagined. In what is called a ‘murder,’ the birds pounce on the corpse and examine it for dangers, such as predators or hazards. Had the crows identified the Happy Birthday Tea Cake as the murder weapon?

Who had eaten the missing slice? And why had the remains been so carefully placed on the tarmac?

It was a few days before Christmas. The blue icing shone garishly in the pale winter light. Many were on edge with festive anticipation or already tired of partying.

Britta Giersche