Mister Cassowary by Samantha Wheeler

Author:Samantha Wheeler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: University of Queensland Press
Published: 2015-08-05T16:00:00+00:00

After I was dressed and we’d eaten breakfast, Dad pushed on his hat. ‘There’ll be no running off today,’ he said. ‘Is that clear?’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Anyway, I’ll be with you. I’m coming to help you in the paddocks.’

Dad nodded as he pulled on his boots. ‘Okay, good. I want to tackle the middle paddock this morning. We’ll have to move fast if this cyclone’s going to hit.’

I strode out to the shed in front of Dad. By the end of today, he’d think I was practically an adult. I had to show him I could go to the working bee with or without him and he could tell me the truth about Grandad.

Dad spent the morning slashing and spraying weeds, while I picked up the oversized plastic bags that were used to protect the bananas. After one whole year of lying among the plants, they were covered in sludgy leaves and stale, stinking mud. I found out the hard way that they made great hiding places for spiders and snails. Probably snakes, too.

‘Ready for lunch?’ asked Dad after a few hours. I wiped the moisture from my top lip. The sky was still thick with clouds, and the air was heavy and close, like at home before a thunderstorm. My head was so hot it felt like I’d stuck it in the oven.

‘Not yet,’ I said, even though my arms and legs were aching.

‘At least let’s go in for a drink?’ Dad’s work shirt was drenched with sweat.

‘Nope, I’m right.’

We worked for another hour and by that time my stomach was rumbling and my throat was parched.

‘Come on, mate. You’ve worked like a trooper. Shall we call it quits?’

‘You can,’ I said, standing next to the pile of blue plastic that was now higher than me. ‘I’m going to finish the whole paddock first.’

Dad tipped up his hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead. ‘Look, Flynn, I get it. I hadn’t realised what a hard worker you are. Let’s call it a truce and get something to eat.’

‘No thanks.’

‘Is this about yesterday?’

I didn’t answer. Instead I grabbed the next bag and yelped as a toad jumped onto my foot.

‘Is it that friend of yours? Abby? Flynn, is she putting ideas in your head?’

‘No, Dad! It’s not about Abby!’ I flung the wet, half-disintegrated bag onto the pile.

‘Well, what is it, mate? I’m not telepathic. You have to fill me in or I can’t help you.’

I picked up another bag, but Dad snatched it away. ‘Flynnie. Stop!’ he ordered, moving it out of my reach. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Dad, stop calling me that! I want to go to the working bee, and I want to know what happened to Grandad Barney. You can’t keep hiding things from me!’

There was a loud rustle beside us and Dad jumped. But when nothing followed, he let out a long breath. ‘Flynnie, Grandad Barney’s dead. Nothing I can do will change that. ’

‘Dad! Don’t call me Flynnie!’

‘Sorry, Flynn. Why don’t we go inside, hey?’

‘No, I don’t want to.

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