Mister Cassowary (2 page)

‘Okay. Bye, Mum.'

‘Bye, honey.'

Dad was rubbing sunscreen on his face when I found
him in the kitchen the next morning. I hadn't asked him any more about Grandad Barney last night or about what
he'd seen in the bushes. He'd been quiet and frowny all evening, so I hadn't even complained about having jam sandwiches for dinner.

We'd gone to bed early, and even then it felt like I'd hardly slept. When I had, I dreamt of black feathered birds lying still on the side of the road.

If only they were just dreams.

‘Here, have some sunscreen,' said Dad, squeezing a dollop on his hand and reaching for my nose.

I turned my head away. ‘Let me do it myself, Dad,' I
said, offering him the palm of my hand instead.

Dad shrugged and handed me the tube. ‘Well, don't forget the back of your neck,' he said, still hovering.

I stepped away and lathered my face with cream. ‘Are we starting with the clean-up today?'

‘No. We should walk into town first, before it gets too hot. I want to see if we can get the windscreen fixed, and we need some groceries. Here, I've made you some toast.'

He'd buttered four pieces with jam. I didn't tell him I made my own breakfast at home and that I preferred peanut butter.

‘Turns out I'm not covered with Roadside Assistance any more,' continued Dad through a mouthful of toast. ‘Typical. Paid for 20 years and let it lapse a year ago. I'd have forgotten my head if it wasn't screwed on. Anyway, Grandad used to know a bloke in town and I thought I might chase him up. Did you bring runners?'

‘Yes, Dad. Of course. I am capable of packing my own bag, you know.'

*

At the end of Grandad Barney's driveway, instead of walking back the way we'd come when we'd arrived, Dad turned right. So much for heading out before it got too hot. It was only eight o'clock but, with no
breeze, it was like breathing the air from an oven. A
salty humid oven. We walked along the coast road, where we could see dazzling blue water washing over the rocks. Gangly trees dotted the beach, their fat
sausage roots sticking above the sand, just like the ones
back home.

‘Maybe we could come down here for a swim one day?' I asked.

‘No, mate. It's too dangerous.'

‘Mum already told me I have to swim in the stinger net areas.'

‘I'm not talking about the stingers.'

I let out a long, exasperated breath. ‘Well, what then?' I grumbled.

Dad marched along like we were late for school. A big circle of sweat was beginning to stain his T-shirt between his shoulder blades.

We veered away from the coastline and crossed a small bridge. The water below gushed and frothed, tripping over the rocks in its rush to reach the ocean. A green-and-yellow dragonfly hovered over the water before darting away.

‘Crocodiles then? Is it the crocodiles that are dangerous?'

Dad turned and raised his hands like stop signs. ‘Look, mate, it's just dangerous. Dangerous, full stop,' he snapped. I kept my eyes on my shoes. ‘Better you
and I just get on with fixing the farm, okay? We've got lots of work to do, and only a couple of weeks to do it in.'

Not long after the bridge, we passed another yellow cassowary-crossing sign. This one had two triangles, one above the other. The top triangle had a picture of a cassowary standing upright, with the word
BEFORE
; the bottom triangle had a picture of a cassowary lying horizontal, with the word
AFTER
.

A terrible feeling gnawed at my gut. The bottom triangle was way too familiar. ‘Dad, did the rangers call back about that cassowary?'

The heat must have really been getting to Dad. He didn't seem to hear me, and the whole back of his T-shirt was now soaked with sweat.

I ran to catch up with him. ‘Dad?'

‘Not now, Flynn. Look,' Dad waved an arm towards the street in front of us, ‘we're here.'

This was more like what I had been expecting. Kids rode bikes and skateboards on the footpaths, and cars and campervans were parked along the curb. A lawnmower roared up ahead, and a man wearing only board shorts and reflector sunglasses stood trimming his hedge.

Everything looked neat and tidy, not like the farm.

A lady in a floppy hat gave us a friendly wave from outside a caravan park as we walked past. I waved back.

Dad finally slowed his stride outside the Visitor Information Centre. ‘We'll pop in here first,' he said. ‘See if we can track down Grandad's mate about the windscreen.'

I lingered beside a life-sized statue of a cassowary standing in the centre's garden. It had a bright blue neck and a sharp beak, just like the one we'd hit.

‘Have you seen the humongous statue on the way into town?' A girl with long brown plaits appeared out of nowhere and stood beside me. Her plaits were a mess with hair sticking out everywhere, and her bare legs were dotted with insect bites. ‘You know, the big cassowary?'

I shook my head.

‘Shame. He's pretty impressive.' A grey-haired man walked over to join the girl. ‘Hate to meet that fella on a dark and stormy night.' Wiry chest hair poked out from the top of his faded singlet, as well as from his ears, and his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

‘Just the man we're looking for,' said Dad, walking over to us.

‘Well, well, look who the cat dragged in. G'day, Steve.' The man held out his hand to Dad. ‘Long time no see. What's it been, a whole year? Boy, I can hardly believe Barney's been gone that long.'

My ears pricked. This man knew Grandad Barney?

Dad's face darkened. ‘Just over a year, give or take,' he said.

‘About time you showed up. The old place's going to wrack and ruin out there by itself.'

‘Yeah, yeah, I know. That's why we're here. Getting it ready to put on the market.'

The man scratched his head. ‘Finally going to sell the farm, hey?' he said. ‘You know it'll be gobbled up by developers, don't you? You sure you want that? After all your old man's hard work planting—' He stopped when he saw the clouds forming in Dad's eyes. Instead, the man glanced down at me and smiled. ‘Don't tell me. Is this your young fella? Looks
just like your old man when he was a youngster,' he said, cheerfully. ‘Skinny little tacker he was, too.' He
reached to shake my hand. ‘How do you do, young man? What's your name?'

‘Flynn,' I said.

‘Hi, Flynn. I'm Walter. Pleased to meet you.' He gave me a wink as he released his grip. ‘This is my granddaughter, Abby. Abby, meet Flynn. His grandad was my good friend. Remember Mr Hutchinson?'

Abby's eyes widened. ‘The one who …?' She hesitated and glanced sideways at Walter. She was taller than me and had curious green eyes. Walter made a small shake of his head. ‘Well, anyway, hi,' she said.

‘Hi,' I said, standing a little straighter.

‘Abby's giving me a hand at the rehab centre over the holidays, aren't you, love?'

The rehab centre? Wasn't that the place on the Mister Cassowary certificate? I leant a little closer.

‘I'm retired now, of course, but the cassowaries are keeping us busier than ever. I give the rangers a hand when they need me, otherwise I'm here, volunteering at the information centre. So many tourists want to see a cassowary, it's becoming quite the thing.'

Through the window behind Walter, I could see pictures of birds and butterflies and lizards. Where were the cassowaries?

‘You wouldn't believe how many we've lost these past—'

‘Sorry to interrupt,' said Dad, raising his voice over Walter's. ‘I'm chasing a new windscreen.'

While Dad explained about the spidery crack, Abby turned to me. ‘We're going to get ice-creams. Want to come?'

I looked up at Dad but he was still talking with Walter.

‘You won't get a replacement windscreen in a hurry round here,' Walter was saying. ‘We're not exactly inner-city Brisbane, you know.'

Abby tugged at my arm. ‘Come on. We'll eat them in the park while we wait.'

‘The park?' said Dad, stopping mid-sentence. ‘No, I don't think so. Better you kids stick with us, don't you think? You just never know these days.'

‘Fiddlesticks,' said Walter, digging into his pocket for loose change. ‘This isn't the city, Steve. The kids'll be fine. Tell you what, I'll grab my LandCruiser while
you get your windscreen sorted, and then we can drop
you back at Barney's. Here,' he passed Abby a handful of coins, ‘go and get something cold for the two of you. We'll pick you up in half an hour.'

People smelling of sunscreen and dressed in shorts and thongs passed us on the way to the ice-cream shop. Most of them seemed friendly, nodding or saying ‘g'day' to Abby, but Dad insisted on walking with us, as if we were in the middle of New York.

Different coloured ice-cream towered in delicious piles in the cabinet. My mouth watered. I could already imagine my first icy lick.

‘I'll just be getting groceries, if you need me,' said Dad, lingering. ‘Just—'

‘You go, Dad. I'll be right.' Why was he so embarrassing? I wasn't five.

‘I'll look after Flynn,' said Abby, with a dimply smile.

My face burnt as Dad finally left for the supermarket.

‘How's your day?' asked a girl behind the cabinet.

‘Good,' I murmured, trying to decide between Mars Bar Dream and Heavenly Chocolate. They both looked delicious.

‘Awesome,' replied Abby. ‘Can we please have two singles of Hokey Pokey?'

‘But I always have chocolate!'

‘It's okay. Hokey Pokey's the best,' said Abby, handing over the money.

The girl smiled. ‘She's right,' she said. ‘
The
best. Here you go. Enjoy.'

‘Has anyone told you your dad looks like Dracula?' said Abby, leading me to a park across the road.

I frowned. ‘What do you mean?'

‘You know, tall and scary looking. He doesn't have blood-sucking fangs, does he?'

‘Ha ha, very funny!' I snorted.

We sat on a bench and licked our ice-creams.

‘The Hokey Pokey
is
good,' I admitted.

‘Told you! Are your parents divorced?' Abby asked.

‘What kind of question is that?'

‘Where's your mum, then?'

‘She couldn't get time off work.'

‘Well my parents are. Divorced, I mean. Now Mum works double shifts at the servo, and Dad … well, I don't know where he is.'

‘Oh. I'm sorry.'

‘That's okay. It's not your fault.' Abby wiped ice-cream from her chin. ‘Hey, have you got a dog? I've got a boxer called Obi. I really wanted a horse, but Mum said Obi would do. He likes to jump on the trampoline with me. Do you have a trampoline?'

‘No to both. My dad thinks they're dangerous.'

‘Oh.' Abby paused, then said, ‘Does your dad let you do anything?'

I kicked at the pebbles under the bench. ‘My dad's away a lot with work, and he doesn't really … 
He's not used to being around me.'

‘Oh, okay. Here, hold this.' She passed me her ice-cream cone and flipped a cartwheel on the grass. I waited, hoping I could ask her about Grandad, but after the cartwheel she did a handstand and
finished up with an upside-down backbend. Her tummy stuck up into the air and her plaits dragged on the ground.

And her ice-cream dripped on me while I licked mine.

‘What's with the gymnastics?' I asked, holding out her ice-cream. ‘Yours is melting.' But Abby was trying to flip out of the backbend and didn't answer. Her tongue poked out of the side of her mouth in concentration.

‘Hey look, there's Cathy. Hi, Cathy!' yelled Abby, waving, even though she was still upside down.

A lady in a pair of sturdy boots, khaki shorts and matching shirt waved from across the road.

‘She's a ranger at the rehab centre,' Abby explained. ‘She's so cool, she lets me sneak Fanta from the staffroom when I'm there with my pop.'

I watched as Cathy stepped into a ute with a big metal box in the back tray. Hadn't Dad talked to a
ranger called Cathy? I wanted to run after her, but I
didn't want Abby to know we'd hit a cassowary.

‘So, Walter said you help out at the rehab centre,' I
said. ‘What exactly is a rehab centre?'

Abby twisted her head to look at me. ‘It's a place for injured and orphaned cassowaries,' she said, as if everyone knew this information. ‘Haven't you been to Mission Beach before? I thought your grandad used to live on that banana farm near Clump Point?'

‘He did.' My stomach swirled as Abby's prying eyes searched mine for answers. ‘But I've never been here.' My words whooshed out in a rush. This was all I needed, an interrogation from a bossy upside-
down girl. The whole dad-not-wanting-to-talk-about-grandad thing seemed weird enough, let alone trying to explain it to a stranger.

‘What, never?' said Abby, her mouth open.

I shook my head, ice-cream sticking to the inside of my throat.

‘How come?'

I finished off my ice-cream, wishing Abby would do the same and stop asking questions. ‘I've got no idea. He never wants to talk about it,' I muttered. ‘What's with all the questions? Here, take this.'

‘Oh.' Abby tumbled out of her backbend to retrieve her ice-cream. She crunched on her cone and said, ‘Maybe he's scared of something?' She stared at me, her big green eyes getting even bigger. ‘I mean, after what happened and everything.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘You know, with your grandad. It was pretty terrible.'

‘You mean his accident?'

‘Yeah, of course I mean the accident. What else would I mean?'

Why did she say ‘terrible' like that? Like maybe a
terrible
unfortunate accident?

‘So, you know what happened then?' I asked. ‘To my grandad Barne
y
?'

Abby's eyebrows arched. ‘Are you serious? You mean you
don'
t
? He was
your
grandad.'

‘Yeah, of course I know,' I said, feeling warmth rush up my cheeks. ‘I just wondered what
you'd
heard, that's all. To see if it was the same—'

Abby looked at me, waiting.

‘Please?' I begged.

‘Okay, so, you have to promise not to tell your dad. My pop said he was pretty cut up by what happened, and Pop'll get mad if he thinks I've told you. So, do you promise?'

I nodded and waited, holding my breath.

‘Well, your grandad loved cassowaries, right?' she began.

I thought of the cassowary picture beside Grandad's
bed. And the Mister Cassowary certificate. ‘I guess,' I
murmured.

‘Well, my pop told me that, ages ago, when your dad was little, your grandad found an orphaned chick. Apparently, he looked after it so well, it used to run after him like a puppy. That was before people knew not to treat cassowaries like pets, and everyone thought it was so funny, watching the chick dart around town after your grandad. But then the cassowary chick grew up …'

‘So?'

‘It grew huge,' Abby whispered. ‘Cathy said it might have been because of all the bananas your grandad fed it, but basically it became the biggest cassowary in history. A monster.' She had a moustache of ice-cream over her lip, but I didn't want to mention it in case she changed the subject.

‘The cassowary in the picture beside Grandad Barney's bed
was
big,' I admitted.

‘See! Told you. Let's just say its name was Big Blue for a reason.'

‘Big Blue?'

Abby glared at me. ‘Stop interrupting. One day, when your grandad went out into the paddocks, the—'

A white LandCruiser rattled up beside the park. It had a nasty scratch down one side and a large dent in the bonnet. Walter honked, then wound down his window. ‘Hop in, kiddos,' he shouted. ‘And give your door a good hard bang to close it,' he said, once we'd climbed inside. ‘The old truck's not as young as she used to be.'

Dad was sitting in the passenger seat and he turned to check on me. ‘You okay, Flynnie?' he asked. ‘Enjoy your ice-cream?'

I glanced at Abby, hoping she hadn't heard Dad call me Flynnie. ‘It's Flynn, Dad. Flynn,' I hissed.

The LandCruiser spluttered and popped as Walter steered it away from the park. ‘Want a quick stickybeak around, Steve? You'll hardly recognise the place these days.'

I hoped Dad would say no. I wanted to get back and take another look at the photo beside Grandad's bed. Was it a picture of Big Blue?

But Dad didn't answer, and Walter started pointing out where a new supermarket was going in next year. Then he showed us the skate park and concrete basketball court at the end of the road.

Walter looked to the backseat at me. ‘You shoot hoops, young man?'

Dad gave a strangled kind of snort. ‘Who, Flynn? That'll be the day. Always has his head stuck in a book, this one. Quite the bookworm, aren't you, Flynnie?'

I shrank in my seat. I wished Dad would just keep quiet. Yeah, I loved books, but …

‘I love riding my bike, too,' I protested. ‘And I'm good at tennis. You're just never around to find out.'

Dad cleared his throat.

Walter winked at me in the rear-vision mirror. ‘Just like your old man, then,' he said. ‘Can't recall you spending too much time on the basketball courts, hey, Steve?'

‘Things have changed, Walter,' Dad mumbled. ‘That was a long time ago.'

‘Things have changed here, too,' said Walter, turning off the main road into a street lined with brand new houses. ‘Take a look at these eyesores.'

The estate was called
Rainforest Retreat
even though there wasn't a single tree in sight. The houses were so big there was no room left for gardens. They were double-story with satellite dishes on the roofs, and air-conditioning units on the walls.

The next estate Walter drove past was called
Beach Breeze
. Some of these houses weren't finished yet and Walter explained the lots were being sold so fast that the builders couldn't keep up.

There wasn't much of a breeze coming through my window.

‘This is exactly what your old man was worried about,' Walter said to Dad. ‘We couldn't believe all this was happening. We watched hundreds of trees being cleared to make these estates. Imagine what he'd make of the place now—'

‘Just imagine,' muttered Dad. As far as I knew Dad didn't care much about trees. They didn't exactly matter when you worked in the mines.

Walter glanced at me again in the rear-vision mirror. ‘Did you know your grandad's farm is sitting on some of the last undeveloped land between the rainforest and the beach? He wanted to plant native trees, to make a corridor for the cassowaries, but then … well …' Walter sighed.

Abby threw me a look.
I told you so
her raised eyebrows seemed to say.

I chewed my lip. What did Walter mean by ‘then'?
Then
there was an accident?
Then
Grandad died? Was it something to do with the cassowaries? Grandad must have loved cassowaries, that much was clear. The rehabilitation centre had given him a certificate of appreciation, plus called him Mister Cassowary. They must have done that for a reason. Abby said he'd raised a giant cassowary called Big Blue. But what had happened?

There had to be a good reason why Dad wouldn't tell me how Grandad Barney died. I had to find out what Abby had been about to tell me. An ‘accident' didn't explain anything.

I was so thick in my thoughts that it was a few minutes before I'd realised we were now heading back to Grandad Barney's farm. We were passing over the creek when I decided I'd trick them into telling me.

‘Are there crocodiles in there?' I asked. If I peppered them with questions, maybe they'd slip up and leak the truth about Grandad.

‘Tell Flynn the story, Abby,' said Walter, chuckling.

My heart leapt. That was easier than I thought.

Abby smiled. ‘Well, a few years ago there was a really, really big cyclone and—'

‘Cyclone Yasi,' interrupted Walter.

‘Yeah, Cyclone Yasi. Anyway, there was water everywhere, and the Livingstone Crocodile Park's fences got wrecked.'

‘Because of the flooding,' added Walter.

‘Yes. Because of the flooding. Anyway, every single croc escaped. There were crocs everywhere!'

‘So, of course they put out a call for help,' said Walter.

‘And 156 crocodiles were returned.' Abby laughed and Walter slapped his hand against his thigh.

‘They only had 70 of the blighters in the first place,' he said, as if that explained everything.

‘One hundred and fifty-six?' I squeaked. It didn't seem very funny. My skin crawled. No wonder Dad said it was dangerous around here.

Abby pouted. ‘You don't get it, do you? One hundred and fifty-six crocodiles? More than double the number they had to start with?'

I shrugged and folded my arms across my chest. My plan wasn't going very well. Everything seemed a mystery around here. No one wanted to tell me anything.

Walter pulled his LandCruiser to a spluttery halt outside Grandad Barney's.

‘Thanks for the lift,' said Dad, opening his door. ‘We owe you one.'

‘And I know exactly how you can repay me,' said Walter.