Liar Bird

by Lisa Walker

  Throughout my time in Beechville I’d gained a new appreciation for certain things — frogs, birds, potoroos — but, basically, I was still the girl who’d been the PR queen of Sydney. They say a leopard doesn’t change its spots; well, it’s the same with us PR girls. Protest and passion are all very well, but sometimes good old unscrupulousness is still the go.

  Simon was back on the couch again when I came outside. A magpie had landed near his feet and was regarding him with its intelligent black eyes. Simon had a speculative look on his face; the attitudes of both man and bird hinted at a discussion in progress.

  I paused in the doorway, watching them, then took a deep breath and stepped onto the verandah. Simon looked up as I came towards him. His phone was in his hand and I saw his editor’s number on the screen.

  His phone slid to the floor as I undid the top button on my ranger shirt — I still hadn’t changed out of my chicken-catching outfit. Undoing another button, I swung one leg over and sat astride his knees. ‘I’m going to be honest here, Simon, because my mum just told me honesty is the best policy. Also, you’re too smart for me to con. You and me — we understand deals, don’t we?’

  He nodded, his eyes boring into mine. The sun’s glare lent an air of heightened reality to the moment. The magpie cocked its head, including me in its observation.

  ‘How about a shag for a no-tell policy? No strings, once only.’ Like I said, there’s no substitute for a mother’s wisdom. You just listen carefully to what they tell you, and then do the complete opposite.

  What’s that unit of time they use to measure swimming races in the Olympics, René?

  Crawk.

  A millisecond? A trillisecond? That’s how long Simon took to consider my deal.

  His hands were undoing my buttons so fast I think it might even have been a world record. Well, okay, that’s the way I’d imagined it would go. In actual fact he surprised me.

  Hands loosely by his sides, Simon smiled. ‘You mean that, Cass?’

  ‘Well, sure. You know, why not?’ I was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable sitting on his lap. The scene wasn’t playing out the way I’d expected.

  ‘You’d have sex with me to save this valley?’ Simon’s head tilted to one side. He sounded amused. The magpie copied his movement; they were obviously in cahoots.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said to the magpie. ‘This is a private moment. Do you mind?’ It shuffled a couple of steps further down the verandah, but didn’t take its eyes off me. ‘Shit, Simon, do you want to do it or not? I’m feeling like a whale steak at a vego barbie, here.’

  He lifted his hands to the neck of my shirt and did up the buttons. ‘Not under these conditions, no.’

  My cheeks flushed and I sucked in a deep breath. Swinging my leg off, I sat down beside him, suppressing a giggle of relief. ‘Well … guess I can recognise a knock back — not that it’s happened before. It would have been a bit kinky anyway.’

  ‘It would? Maybe I’m warming up to the idea.’ Simon’s eyes crinkled at the corners.

  ‘I mean there’s something kind of kinky about having sex with someone you’ve known for a long time. It’s sort of … incestuous.’

  ‘Yeah — all those long-repressed fantasies would be right there with me.’ Simon’s phone rang and he pushed it off the verandah with his foot. It lay among the bushes, ringing and ringing. Simon’s fingers twitched, but he didn’t pick it up.

  ‘So, you’re not …?’

  ‘I guess not.’

  ‘What? But …’

  ‘I’ve had a change of heart. I think maybe journalistic ethics are overrated. There’s other types of ethics too. The rulebook doesn’t always work. Things change, you need to go with the flow.’

  I gazed at him. ‘Why, Simon, you have got a heart.’

  He bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’ His eyes flicked out over the valley. ‘It’s important, I can see that, to you … and the magpie … and all its friends. So … I’m making an exception; just this once. Besides,’ he glanced down at the photograph in the newspaper, ‘I’ve got my scoop right there. It’s not exactly going to enhance my reputation if I turn around and admit I was duped.’

  He leaned towards me until his nose was only centimetres from mine. ‘About that offer you made me … I’ve got a feeling you wanted it as much as I did.’

  I held his gaze, testing my feelings. ‘I did not. I could have had you any time. Anyway, I only made the offer because I knew you’d say no.’ I was lying, of course, but he’d never know.

  ‘How could you know I’d say no?’

  ‘Intuition, our history together … I figured you’d rather have the chance to knock me back. We’re even now.’

  ‘So what would you have done if I’d taken you up on it, darling?’ His face was still close to mine, his green eyes amused.

  ‘You’ll never know now.’

  Simon’s eyes crinkled. ‘You know, Cassie, this is exactly why it would never work out with the two of us — we’re too competitive. And there’s another reason too.’

  ‘What’s that, Simon?’

  ‘Next time you’re tangled up in a big story, I’m going to have to report it. And there will be a next time, won’t there?’

  ‘You’re right, Simon. There’s always going to be a next time.’

  Simon touched my cheek. ‘When you’ve got over what’s-his-name, give me a call.’ He got up and walked to the car.

  I leaned down to his window as he started the engine. ‘You forgot this.’ I handed him his phone.

  ‘Cheers.’ The phone rang and Simon glanced at his text message. ‘I’m needed back in Sydney.’

  ‘So, Simon?’

  ‘Yeah?’ His mind was already on the next job.

  ‘Next time we meet — go easy on me, buddy.’

  ‘No way.’ He pulled me down and planted a big kiss on my cheek. ‘That’s it — opposite camps now, sweetie.’

  ‘Okay — I guess I expected that.’

  I waved as he drove off.

  So, now you want to know what became of me and Mac, don’t you, René? Could I forgive him? Could he forgive me? Did we have something special, or was he just one of those chance encounters life throws up? Was he a slippery fish, or a keeper? I didn’t know.

  Crawk.

  Oh, I knew you would say that — it is easy to hate and difficult to love. I don’t know that I agree. But then you are the philosopher, and me? I’m just a girl who likes men …

  The phone rang about ten minutes after Simon left. I eyed it like it might explode, for one ring, two rings, three rings … On the fifth ring I picked it up.

  ‘Cassie?’ It was him.

  I still wasn’t sure how I felt about that. ‘You’re in the clear. Those spangled quokkas can sleep easy tonight.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Mac was silent for a moment. ‘What did you have to do to pull that off?’

  ‘What you don’t know won’t hurt you.’ Just hearing his voice made my chest ache in a way I knew would only be cured by holding him tight. I would have been happy to listen to him talk, but he didn’t say anything. I wondered which of us was going to be first to break the silence.

  I cracked under the pressure. ‘So, what next, oh man of mystery?’

  ‘Can I come around and see you?’ he said, at the same time.

  ‘Um …’ Did I want to see him? Yes, yes and thrice yes, but …

  ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes. I won’t stay if you don’t want me to.’ He hung up.

  I placed the phone down and looked out the window. On the verandah the magpie broke into a long, warbling song. Who knew what it was saying, but it was beautiful.

  What was I going to do when Mac got here? I knew I wanted him. The way my body reacted to his voice was proof of that. But everything he’d told me had been one big lie from start to finish. I understood why he’d done it, but it still hurt. He’d been so good at it too … the butterflies on the mountain — how could you make up something l
ike that? I was a practised liar myself, but he was way out of my league.

  Then there was the question of how he felt about me. In his eyes I was still the girl who’d sold the thylacine story to the highest bidder. And Maureen had said he was emotionally unavailable, whatever that meant. But he hadn’t seemed like that in the flood …

  I sneezed — a chicken feather had gone up my nose. Glancing down at my feather-coated uniform, I sneezed again — it was time for a change of clothes. Stripping off, I pulled on a pair of shorts and a singlet. When I went into the kitchen for a glass of water, guess who was there? My gorgeous green friend — sitting on the window sill above the sink.

  It was you, René. You’d come back.

  ‘Hi there, shorty.’

  René looked up at me and — I know I’m a tough PR bitch, but — I’d swear something passed between us. There was definitely some inter-species communication going on there.

  ‘Crawk, crawk, crawk.’

  ‘You’re right — it’s fab the dam’s not going ahead. Tell your friends.’

  ‘Crawk.’

  I felt good about that.

  Next thing there was a movement. Another little green frog hopped into view and perched next to René. It was so tiny — smaller than a five-cent coin.

  ‘Your son or daughter? Congratulations, René. Or are you Renée? I think you might be.’

  There was another movement — another frog.

  ‘Twins? My, you are a lucky frog.’

  Renée moved along the window sill to make room. Ten more frogs hopped into view.

  ‘So that’s what you were up to after the rain stopped, huh? No wonder you were keeping quiet. You’ve been busy.’

  Thirteen pairs of black eyes looked up at me from the window sill. ‘Crawk.’

  ‘So, what am I going to do, Renée? About Mac? Any words of advice?’

  Renée looked at me with her beautiful eyes. ‘Crawk.’

  ‘Never place complete confidence in that by which we have once been deceived? But, Renée, what about forgiveness?’

  A hand touched me on the shoulder. I jumped. Mac had sneaked in while I was talking to the frogs.

  ‘Just, you know, catching up with my friends.’ I blushed. His hand was still on my shoulder. I stepped backwards and it fell to his side. He looked a little more like the Mac I knew. He hadn’t shaved and his hair was sticking up in wild curls again.

  ‘So …’ My heart was leaping about like it might burst out of my chest. I rubbed it unconsciously. Was I having a heart attack?

  ‘So …’ he replied, a small smile on his lips.

  ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’ I don’t know how I managed to get the words out. My brain had turned to fluff. It was all I could do to resist the magnetic pull dragging me towards him.

  ‘You look nice,’ he said.

  ‘Nice?’ I glanced down at myself. ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Are you questioning my choice of adjectives?’

  ‘No. Yes. Why are we having this conversation?’

  ‘What should we be talking about?’

  ‘God — where to start?’ I pulled at my hair. ‘Not with small talk, anyway.’

  ‘Okay.’ Mac pulled himself up to sit on the kitchen bench. ‘You want big talk. Simon called me this morning.’

  ‘Simon? Why?’

  ‘He wanted me to know that he’d pushed you into doing the media stuff — that he’d have laid charges otherwise.’

  ‘Simon said that?’ The man was full of surprises.

  Mac nodded. ‘He seemed to think it was important.’

  ‘Wasn’t it?’

  Mac half shrugged. ‘Yes and no. We manipulated you. I pissed off and left you on the mountain. How could I have blamed you for doing what you did?’

  I stared at him. Was this an apology?

  ‘Sam’s plan was a good plan. It seemed like a good plan before I met you … What it didn’t take into account was the way I …’

  I waited.

  Mac gazed over my shoulder ‘… the way I started to feel about you. I kind of stuffed it up for everyone. That’s why I had to leave you there — to get things back on track.’

  ‘It worked. Well done.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Does it help if I say it wasn’t easy?’

  ‘Did it actually mean anything to you? All those days in the flood …’

  He met my eyes. ‘Of course it did. How could you think it didn’t?’

  I shrugged. ‘Everything changed straight afterwards. It made it look different.’

  ‘Those days with you … It was like we were in a cocoon, Cassie. But I knew it was about to break open any moment. The whole time I was trying to forget what I had to do next. Mostly, I did. I knew I’d gone outside the script with you. Once I’d done that there was no way to avoid hurting you … and me.’

  ‘Maureen told me something … about you.’

  Mac stiffened. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘That you’re bad news. You don’t stick … you’re a slippery fish.’

  Mac sighed. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘The words greased eel and melting popsicle were also used.’ I tried to sound light-hearted, but I’m not sure I succeeded.

  Mac reached in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flicked it open and showed me a photograph. ‘There’s something I should tell you.’

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  It’s all about the poetry

  I don’t know what I was expecting, a family photo of a wife and kids, maybe. That would have explained a lot. But the photo was of a teenage girl, about fifteen. She had Mac’s eyes and hair.

  ‘She’s lovely.’ I looked up, trying to read his face. ‘Your sister?’

  ‘My daughter.’

  ‘But, how old is she? Fifteen?’

  ‘Seventeen now, it’s an old photo. I was just one year older than that when she was born.’

  I gazed at the photo — the girl’s long hair was blowing across her face. She was laughing and holding it back. ‘That’s young.’

  ‘Too young. Her mother and I, we tried to make it work, but we were just kids. We didn’t even like each other very much. In the end, I couldn’t take it anymore. I pissed off. I’m not proud of it, but I wasn’t any good to them. I was going crazy there.’

  ‘Do you see her?’

  He shook his head. ‘She doesn’t want to see me. Maybe when she’s older … Who knows? I can’t blame her. I send money, of course.’ He slid the wallet back in his pocket. ‘So, that’s me … once a slippery fish, always a slippery fish, hey?’ He attempted a smile.

  I was lost for words. There was so much I didn’t know about him. So much he didn’t know about me. He had a daughter, a whole life I knew nothing about. I only knew him well enough to want to know him better … ‘Is that what you want?’

  Mac met my eyes. ‘No, it’s not what I want. It’s just the way it works out, the way it has worked out. I get scared and run. It’s not what I want at all, not with you.’

  ‘You don’t know me very well.’

  ‘Sometimes you know as much as you need to in the first five minutes …’

  ‘All those lies … Why should I even talk to you?’

  ‘Lies?’ The word hung in the air.

  The frogs looked up expectantly. I knew what he was saying. I’d lied, Simon had lied, Sam had lied, he’d lied — in the end, did it matter? Where did you draw the line, though?

  ‘Were they really lies, Cassie? It all depends … is the truth something to discover, or something to create? What do you think?’ His eyes carried a hint of mischief.

  ‘Mac, don’t bullshit me. I’m in PR, remember. That’s all very well, creating your own truth, but was any of it true — in the usual sense of the word? Any of that stuff you told me — about the tiger?’

  ‘It was all true. I’m not that good a liar. Didn’t it feel like the truth?’

  I shrugged. ‘It all felt like the truth. Every bit of it, right up until you disappear
ed.’

  ‘That’s because it was true; only the location changed. It all happened, the thylacine … me. Just not here — in Tasmania.’

  I looked at him carefully. ‘You’re not doing it again, are you?’

  ‘No, I swear … It was in south-west Tasmania. Other than that, it was just as I described it — the chicken coop, the epiphany on the mountain. All true, in every sense. Everything I said to you about what it means to me. I couldn’t lie about that.’

  ‘So you really saw one?’

  Mac nodded. ‘Two.’

  I looked into his eyes.

  ‘Do you believe me?’ he said.

  I nodded slowly. ‘I’m gullible, huh?’

  ‘Gullible is not a word I’d ever use in connection with you.’

  Some facts from my research popped into my head. ‘It’s true that there have been a lot of tiger sightings by rangers.’

  ‘You’ve been reading up, have you?’

  ‘Uh huh. In 1982 a Tasmanian ranger watched one for three minutes during the night, but he never got a photo.’

  ‘When he reached for his camera, it disappeared,’ said Mac.

  ‘In 1990 a park ranger saw one in Kosciusko National Park.’

  ‘In broad daylight.’

  ‘In 2007 another Tasmanian ranger saw two in the early hours of the morning …’ I looked at Mac; there was something about his face … ‘That was you, wasn’t it?’

  He nodded.

  ‘So either you rangers,’ I drawled the word, ‘are crazy — which is entirely possible, if you’re anything to go on — or they’re out there.’

  ‘They’re out there. I’ve seen them. Once you see something like that, it never lets you go. It’s like … the Titanic missed the iceberg or …’

  ‘Romeo and Juliet rose from the dead?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  I smiled. ‘So, you’ve rewritten a tragedy, hey?’

  ‘And I’m going to rewrite plenty more …’

  The frogs on the window sill croaked enthusiastically.

  ‘The last wild Tasmanian tiger was supposedly shot in 1930, wasn’t it?’ Sometimes I amaze myself — the way these facts stick in my head.

  ‘By a chicken farmer. Get that — he shot an animal like that to save his chickens. People. There’s no end to their stupidity. I booked a woman the other week who’d killed a three-metre carpet snake because it was trying to eat her guinea pigs. It would have been at least ten years old.’