Liar Bird

by Lisa Walker

  ‘Is there any chance you’d consider not reporting?’

  Simon looked like I’d just suggested he eat a newborn baby. ‘It’s against my code.’

  ‘What — journalistic ethics? Honesty, fairness, independence, respect for the rights of others and go for the jugular?’

  ‘That kind of thing, yeah.’ Simon gazed down the street. I could see the tension in his shoulders. ‘You can’t expect me not to report this. It’s fantastic, once in a lifetime. It’ll run and run.’

  ‘They’ll build the dam.’ I eyed the shabby shops, the pub, the wildlife office. ‘It’s not much of a town, but it’s their town.’ My town. Where had that thought come from? I moved on. ‘And there’s all those animals …’

  ‘They lied. They got found out, tough titties.’ Simon turned the full beam of his gaze on me. ‘I can’t be swayed by emotion, Cassie. Impartiality — that’s the foundation I work on. You’re asking me to cover it up?’

  ‘Lying isn’t the worst thing, Simon.’

  He laughed and I flushed. I knew what he was thinking — I had a stake in convincing myself it was okay to lie. I’d certainly done my share in my time. But maybe this was different. Or was it?

  ‘You can’t go along with a conspiracy like this, Cassie. What about what they did to you? What Mac did to you? They made a fool of you. You can’t want to protect them now.’

  A wave of heat spread down my neck and chest. It was one thing for me to think it; it was another for Simon to say it. Did I think it was right, what they’d done? I wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

  ‘And what about your public relations code of ethics, darling?’ Simon’s voice softened. ‘Aren’t you worried about that?’

  I caught the flicker of his mouth. ‘Yeah, right — very amusing. Ethics are for those who can’t handle public relations.’

  ‘That’s a Wazza quote, I take it?’

  I nodded. ‘If Wazza ever had an urge to think about ethics, he’d lie down until he got over it. Look, Simon, it’s very late.’ I glanced at the first rays of sun coming up over the buildings. ‘Early, whatever … How about we sleep on it? Just for a bit?’ I needed to rest before I could think about anything else. Wrestling with ethical dilemmas was a new thing for me. It made my brain hurt.

  Simon glanced at his watch — I could feel a deadline looming. ‘It’s five o’clock; too late for the morning edition anyway. ‘So, okay.’ Simon scooped a rooster up under each arm and put them in my car boot. ‘Can I call you at nine? I’ll need to get a report filed by ten if I want to make the evening edition.’

  ‘Look, come over at nine. Bring some coffee — I don’t have any.’ I climbed into my car.

  Simon leaned over and rested his arms on the car window sill. ‘Those chicken feathers in your hair — they really suit you, Hiawatha.’ I pulled down the rear-view mirror. I looked like I’d been on the losing team in a down-filled pillow fight.

  ‘See you in a few hours.’ Simon straightened up and walked away towards the Amble Inn, checking his phone messages as he went.

  I switched on the radio — ‘Achy Breaky Heart’ came on again. I sang along as I started the car.

  ‘Cooee, Cassandra.’

  Glancing out the window, I saw Jessica totter out of the Amble Inn on high heels, pulling a suitcase on wheels behind her.

  I felt like I’d lived a hundred lifetimes since I last saw her.

  Jessica leaned down and peered in the window. She frowned. She opened and shut her mouth.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘The feathers?’ She sounded tentative.

  I brushed my hand over my hair and a few chicken feathers fell out. ‘I’ve been catching chickens.’

  Jessica’s eyes flickered over me. ‘Where are they?’

  I gestured with my head towards the boot of the car.

  ‘Oh. What are you going to do with them?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet.’

  ‘I suppose there’s no point in asking you why you caught them?’

  ‘Not really. No. It’s job related. You know how it is — client confidentiality.’

  Jessica glanced at the radio. ‘Are you listening to the country and western station?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s pretty good.’

  ‘You really need to get out of here, Cassandra.’ Jessica glanced at her watch. ‘I called into your office to see you yesterday. That guy …’

  ‘Rodney.’

  ‘Yes.’ She giggled. ‘I thought he was going to fall off his chair. It was kind of cute.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I smiled. ‘Rodney is easily startled by a pretty face. Some woman is going to make good use of him.’

  ‘So what shall I tell Cosmonauts — are you interested or not? They’ll be wanting an answer when I get back to Sydney.’

  I tapped my hands on the wheel in time with the music.

  Outside, Jessica toyed with her sleek hair, adjusted the hem of her tight-fitting skirt.

  ‘Give me a minute?’

  Jessica sighed. ‘I’ll put my bag in my car.’

  I turned up the radio. Some singer was now yodelling about outback sunsets.

  How long had it been since I’d left Sydney? Almost four weeks? It seemed like longer. I looked out at the sun rising over Maureen’s supermarket. Would I care if I never saw that supermarket again?

  Maybe I would.

  The sun bounced off the petrol bowser, casting a rosy glow on the white picket fence in front of the wildlife office. The glow moved down the street, lighting up the creek that ran beside the road. I remembered the day I’d come up for the interview, how I’d had that strange urge to paddle in the water. I hadn’t had time then …

  Climbing out of the car, I walked over to the creek, pulled off my boots and placed my phone on top of them. Rolling up my khaki pants, I ran down the bank to the creek. The water was cold. It made my toes curl. I kicked and spray danced in the sunlight. A strange feeling overwhelmed me. What was that feeling? Did I like it here?

  Something splashed further up the bank as I waded through the shallows. A fish darted away in front of me. Yes, I liked it here. How had that happened?

  The place had crept up on me and disarmed me. And it wasn’t just the place; it was the people … They were nutty, but I liked them too. Maureen and her weapons, Trev and his toads, Sam and her amateur theatricals, even Rodney and his lawn bowls … Yes, Beechville was a ‘make your own fun’ kind of place, but maybe that was okay. People were allowed to be strange here.

  I could be strange here, René.

  ‘Cassandra, what are you doing?’ Jessica was on top of the bridge. Her car keys dangled from her finger.

  I squinted into the sun and spoke before I could think about it too much. ‘Tell them no.’

  ‘You’re going to stay here?’ Jessica sounded appalled.

  I poked at a rock with my toe, shrugged and craned my neck to look up at her. ‘Maybe. If they’ll have me.’

  ‘There might be eels in there, you know.’ Jessica eyed the creek warily.

  ‘There might,’ I agreed.

  ‘You’re going to regret it, Cassandra. Your ten minutes of fame won’t last forever.’

  ‘Good.’ I climbed up the bank towards her, the grass cold under my bare feet. ‘I’ve had enough of it already.’

  Jessica flicked her hair over her shoulder. ‘Well, bye then. I’d better go catch my flight.’ Her eyes fell on my phone where it lay on top of my boots. ‘Hey, nice iPhone.’

  I picked it up, fondled its shiny surface then held it out to her. ‘Present.’

  ‘Really?’ Jessica took the phone, wrapping her long, red-coated nails around it.

  ‘So you can keep in touch.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Ain’t no need for iPhones where I’m going, babe,’ I drawled.

  Jessica laughed. ‘You always were a funny one, Cassie.’ She leaned over and gave me a hug, enveloping me in an aroma of expensive perfume and cigarette smoke.

  I hugged her back. ‘
Give my love to Paris.’

  The iPhone flashed in her hand as she sauntered back to her car, hips swinging, hair swooshing, heels clicking on the pavement.

  As I watched her go I wished that Jessica and I could replay our whole friendship but do it properly this time.

  Despite the pressing concerns that jangled together in my mind — Mac, Simon, dam or no dam — a strange calm overtook me as I drove home. I felt like I was coming to the end of a journey. I wasn’t sure of my destination, but I was pretty sure it would be an interesting place when I got there.

  Climbing out of the car, I went around to the boot to let the roosters out. Dust flew in the air as I opened the lid. My red Ferrari, once the pride of Manly, wasn’t the car it used to be. It looked shabby, worn in, a bit of a work horse … rather like its owner.

  I lowered myself onto the old couch on the verandah.

  Taking a deep breath, I looked out at the hills. A multi-coloured parrot flew down and settled in a nearby tree. Another one followed. They squawked to each other as they jostled on the branch. The roosters, liberated from the car, pecked around my feet.

  A rush of wings startled me as the parrots took off towards Mac’s house. I had to admit it was beautiful here — thylacine or no thylacine. Twenty animals on the verge of extinction between here and the border …

  That seemed like a lot.

  ‘Cassie? It’s nine o’clock.’ Simon’s hand shook me awake.

  The sun was right behind him and he looked like an avenging angel — his hair lit up in its glow. Instead of a golden staff, a mobile phone was in his hand.

  ‘Simon?’

  I’d been dreaming of Mac. We’d been sitting side by side on a couch, reading together. What was the meaning of these rather dull but strangely nice dreams? What was my subconscious going to come up with next? Would we play Monopoly? Maybe do a spot of household cleaning?

  Sitting up, I shook off the lingering feeling of contentment. Here was Simon with a raging case of Pre-Headline-Tension and I still didn’t know what to do. I blinked into the sun, Simon’s tension transmitting itself to me. Mac. There was so much that was hard to forgive, but in a way that was beside the point. There was more at stake here than just me and him.

  I watched Simon pace up and down with his phone — he could barely contain himself. Pushing thoughts of Mac aside, I tried to focus. Right now, I needed to work out what to do about Simon. Should I back up his story about the conspiracy? Would he even consider not reporting it? Did I want to stop him anyway? Where was the ethical high ground? Did I care? My mind ran furious circles like a hamster on an exercise wheel.

  ‘Sit down, Simon.’

  He perched on the sofa next to me. He was trying hard to contain himself, but one hand drummed out a beat on his jeans, while the other fiddled with his mobile phone.

  I smiled. ‘You’re incorrigible.’

  Simon took a deep breath and stuck his hands under his legs. ‘You know what it’s like — deadlines.’ He pulled his hands out again and reached down to his backpack. ‘I picked up a paper on the way here.’ He pulled it out and unfurled it.

  I read the headline: Dam blocked to save thylacine.

  Simon’s picture of a thylacine covered half the front page. The image was only slightly out of focus. I stared at it. ‘It doesn’t look like a dog.’ The animal had a pointier head than a dog and its tail stuck out stiffly behind it.

  ‘No, it doesn’t, does it? Funny that.’ Simon’s voice was dry. ‘It’s not the picture I took on Cougan Peak. I thought it was when I looked at it on the camera — but now that it’s blown up … They’ve doctored it. Must have used a stuffed thylacine or retouched an old photo. You can do anything these days and it’s pretty hard to pick up. Anyone who’d had a good look at the ones I took would have seen it was a dog, obviously. This one’s much more authentic. That’s why they gave me the camera back.’

  ‘And you fell for it. That’s not like you.’

  ‘No, it’s not, is it? I guess, like everyone else, I wanted to believe. And I saw them; I thought I saw them …’ Simon’s hands clenched the paper tightly. ‘You’re not the only one they made a fool of, Cassie. I guess there’s just something about the tiger that clouds our judgment.’

  ‘It’s the poetry,’ I said.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘It’s not the animal itself; it’s the idea of it … A wilde beaste having claws like a tiger.’ I held my hands up, claw-like.

  ‘Huh?’ Simon was strangely inarticulate.

  ‘That’s what Abel Tasman saw when he first arrived in Tasmania. I wish I’d been there then. Imagine.’

  Simon eyed me. ‘I deal in facts, not fiction, Cass.’

  ‘That’s why you’re a journalist and I’m in PR.’ I jumped up. ‘Simon, can you wait here a minute?’

  Simon’s eyes flickered to his watch.

  ‘It won’t take long. Promise.’ I glanced back at him as I went inside. ‘Put that phone down.’

  Simon’s hand was still fiddling with the buttons.

  ‘Down, that’s it. Five minutes, I promise.’

  ‘Five minutes?’

  I nodded.

  Simon put his phone on the couch and folded his arms.

  ‘Good. See, you can do it.’

  He attempted a smile, but it came out as a grimace.

  I needed guidance and I needed it now. Running into my bedroom, I closed my eyes and flicked open Alice in Wonderland. Opening my eyelids slowly, I prayed for illumination as I pressed my finger to the page. If you don’t know where you are going, any road will take you there.

  I read it twice, hoping I’d missed the meaning the first time. But no, no matter how I looked at it, I couldn’t see any applicability to my current situation. Just when I really needed it, my channel to the wisdom of the universe had broken down. Now what? All I could hope for was that Mum’s hotline was working better.

  Mum picked up the phone after three rings. ‘Cassie? How lovely to hear from you. I’ve got the cover of Woman’s Daily stuck to the fridge. I’ve seen better photos of you, though. Is Anthony still doing your hair? If so, you need to have a word to him. That ranger — he sounds like a bad one. How do you get mixed up in these things, Cas—’

  ‘That’s what I need to talk to you about, Mum. I need some advice.’

  ‘Oh.’ Mum sighed with satisfaction. ‘I’m glad you’ve finally recognised that wisdom comes with age, Cassie.’

  ‘Yes, Mum. Now, this is totally confidential. I’m not going to tell you unless you promise not to tell anyone.’

  ‘Even Brian?’

  ‘All right, you can tell Brian. No-one else.’

  ‘Okay, Cassie, if you insist.’ Mum sounded excited. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Tell her the one about the frayed knot,’ yelled Brian.

  ‘Tell her yourself,’ said Mum.

  I provided her with a rapid edited extract of the story to date, glancing at my watch. My five minutes were up. I peered out the window. Simon was pacing again.

  Mum gasped as I finished. ‘Goodness — it’s like something out of Arthur Grisham.’

  ‘John Grisham, Mum.’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  I let it pass; there was no time for point scoring. ‘So, what should I do?’ Simon caught my eye through the window and tapped his watch.

  ‘Just let me make sure I’ve got it straight,’ said Mum. ‘You want to know if you should lie to stop this dam going ahead and should you get back with this mad ranger from the Woman’s Daily?’

  ‘He’s not really a mad ranger, Mum.’

  ‘Brian,’ Mum called out. ‘Do you think Cassie should lie to stop a dam flooding a valley with thousands of rare animals, and should she get back with that mad ranger from the Woman’s Daily?’

  ‘He’s not a mad ranger,’ I muttered. I heard Brian yelling in the background.

  ‘Your brother says honesty is the best policy and definitely not the mad ranger.’

  My mind was suddenly clea
r. ‘You’ve been a big help, Mum.’

  ‘Any time, darling.’

  I was about to hang up when I remembered. ‘What was that thing about the frog goddess? You left me a message.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘You said you were doing a ritual.’

  ‘Oh, yes. It was an Egyptian resurrection and rebirth thing I was trying out. I thought you might be able to do with a bit of help. It’s about starting over, finding your true path, that kind of thing. Those Egyptians were a very spiritual people.’

  I smiled. ‘Thanks, Mum. I appreciate it.’

  ‘Glad to help, darling. The universe presents many possibilities; you just need to leave yourself open. Speaking of which, you know that job in the real estate agent? It wasn’t my idea at all, it was Brian’s. Sounded dead boring to me, actually. And that mad ranger …’

  ‘Mmm?’ I’d given up on trying to correct her.

  ‘My astrologer had a look at his picture. She can sense things just from photographs.’

  ‘Uh huh?’ I looked out the window, held up a finger to Simon to indicate one minute.

  ‘She says he’s a very passionate man. Is he a passionate man, Cassie?’

  I exhaled slowly, remembering his poem. Inhabit my dream. Sabotage my senses. ‘God yes, Mum.’

  ‘Your father wasn’t a passionate man. You know what he gave me for our tenth wedding anniversary?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A new vacuum cleaner.’

  ‘Oh, Mum … Really?’

  ‘Yes. I’m glad he left. No sense of curiosity, that was his trouble.’ She lowered her voice. ‘A bit like Brian.’

  ‘But not like you, Mum.’

  ‘No. And not like you either, Cassie.’

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  A mother’s wisdom

  There is no substitute for a mother’s wisdom. Or a brother’s, for that matter. As I put the phone down, I knew what I had to do.

  The fact is, René, I’m still an unscrupulous bitch at heart. I like to think I’m a bitch with a heart of gold.

  Crawk.

  No, not everyone would agree.