Finch, page 7
“You want to see the birds, right?”
“Yes. Please …” This isn’t how I imagined it. I’m such an idiot. I should go home. She felt tears prick her eyelids.
“Righto, then, let’s go!” Finch sounded more welcoming now. “It’ll be sun-up in about half an hour.” He looked at Audrey, and his expression changed. “Hey, is something wrong?”
“I’m okay. But – oh, Finch, Gummo died.”
“Gummo?”
“One of my zebra finches. He couldn’t fly properly any more. I found him dead yesterday afternoon. And the other finches didn’t even care.”
“They don’t feel death like we do.” Finch’s voice was very gentle. “I’m real sorry about your bird. Let’s see if we can take your mind off it.”
The morning had lightened to a misty, pearly grey. Sniffing back her tears, thankful they hadn’t fallen, Audrey peered at her watch: not even six-thirty yet.
She and Finch walked away from the cave, Snowy trotting at their heels. Soon the sandstone slabs and boulders along the line of the creek became smaller and more scattered, and trees grew more thickly. After about fifteen minutes they came to a waterhole surrounded by beds of rushes and sheltered by a giant weeping willow. The surface of the water was pale gold, reflecting the dawn sky.
“The water level’s down a bit now,” Finch said, “but it’s not too bad for the end of summer. A spring keeps it topped up.”
A bird took off from a partly submerged log underneath the willow and whirred away, leaving a trail of sparkling drops.
“Oh, look!” cried Audrey. “That was a sacred kingfisher! Todiramphus sanctus! Sorry if that sounds like I’m showing off,” she added. “I don’t know all the scientific names, only some of them. Todiramphus is on my bird poster.”
“Yeah? I’m not much good at that sort of thing,” Finch said. “Reckon I left school too early. The only name I know is kookaburra: Dacelo something?”
“It’s Dacelo novaeguineae. That’s on my bird poster too.”
“I’ll try to remember it.” He was silent for a moment. “So what do you think of this place?”
“It’s beautiful. Magic.”
“I reckon it’s the best place in the world. You never know what you’ll see. There’s a heron’s nest a bit further along, and once I saw a boobook owl in that tree over there. Great big eyes staring at me.”
Audrey crouched and dabbled her fingers in the water. It was icy cold. “What’s your favourite bird, Finch?”
“Don’t think I have one. Do you?”
“I don’t know. Lots, really. Wrens are so pretty, and so are parrots – oh, and of course owls. I’ve been collecting owl ornaments for ages. And I love galahs, the way they waddle around like fat old ladies.” She stood up and dried her hands on her T-shirt. “I saw a whistling kite a few weeks ago. It was so cool. Sometimes I try to imagine what it would be like to be a kite or a hawk, hovering way up in the sky, looking down on everything. I wish I could fly. It would be so amazing.”
“I’ve always wanted to fly, too,” said Finch. “If I could choose to be any sort of bird I wanted, I reckon I’d be a peregrine falcon. There’s something extra special about falcons. They’re right at the top of the pecking order, and they know it.”
“Falco peregrinus,” Audrey said under her breath. She could see the bird clearly in her mind’s eye: its small, proud black head, its powerful hooked beak, its elegant shadow-striped feathers and the softness of its creamy bib. “I went to a falconry centre last year,” she told Finch. “They did hunting displays there with different raptors – falcons and kestrels and eagles. Mum and Dad took me there for a birthday present. It was exciting, but it was still kind of sad because the birds weren’t wild, they were having to entertain people, and I wondered if all the time they just really wanted to be free. The peregrines had to wear these little hoods, so they couldn’t see. It’s supposed to keep them calm until their handler needs them to hunt.”
“Their eyesight is ten times as strong as ours,” Finch said. “And did you know that when a falcon stoops, when it dives to catch its prey, it’s travelling at around two hundred miles an hour? I read that in Ripley’s Believe It Or Not.” He shook his head. “That’s definitely the sort of bird I’d want to be. But since I can’t be a falcon, the next best thing would be to fly a plane. I’ve got this dream that one day I’ll get my pilot’s licence. I’d take Snowy up with me, give him a little pair of flying goggles. What d’you reckon?”
“That’d be so awesome. And I’d love to see Snowy in goggles.” How was it possible, Audrey thought, that she could be so comfortable, so easy, with someone she’d only just met? She felt closer to Finch than she’d ever felt to anyone else in her whole life – anyone outside the family, at least. It made her dizzy with happiness and wonder. “Do you think you really might fly a plane one day?”
“I’d like to. Hey, then we could go flying together,” said Finch. “That’d be good, wouldn’t it? You, me and Snowy.” He beckoned to her. “I said I didn’t have a favourite bird, but actually I do. I’ve got something to show you.”
A little further on was a stretch of flat marshy land covered in low tea-tree, thickly matted ferns and dense, tough sedges. The distant line of the sea was silver now; the sun, almost peeking over the hills, cast long shadows.
The light spatter of birdsong became a chorus: first the carol of magpies, then the squeaky twittering of a host of smaller birds, rising and falling, growing louder as the sunlight grew brighter.
“Sit, Snowy,” Finch ordered. He turned to Audrey. “Hold still. We might have to wait a bit.”
After about five minutes, something started to come out from a clump of fern in front of them. A rabbit? A mouse? No, a bird. A tiny brownish bird.
Audrey held her breath.
Two more tiny birds came skittering up out of the bush. They trilled and chirruped in soft voices, flitting around, darting at insects, entirely absorbed in their early-morning ritual. Round tawny bodies streaked with black. Two with a blue-grey breast and throat, one without. Two males and a female, then. All had the same distinctive tail: six long, dark, wispy feathers.
Audrey stared at them, drinking in the sight as if it were some miraculous apparition that might disappear at any second. “Wow,” she whispered. “I can’t believe it. This is so brilliant.”
“Pretty little things, aren’t they?” Finch whispered back. “D’you know what they are?”
“Southern emu-wrens.” Audrey glanced at him. “This must be one of the last colonies here. They’re rare birds, endangered.”
“I don’t think they’re that rare. There’s quite a few of them around if you know where to look. These three come out most mornings, but they don’t go far. I reckon they’re happy being right here.”
“Mavis says they’ve almost disappeared from this area. All the development is destroying their habitat. Farming and vineyards, stuff like that.”
“Who’s Mavis?”
“Oh, she’s just this old lady who lives down the road from us. She’s into birdwatching.” She looked back at the wrens, still flitting about. “Mavis would love to see these little guys.”
But Finch was gazing beyond her. “Sun’s almost properly up,” he said. “Time for me to go, I reckon.”
“Do you have to?” Audrey asked. “It’s still so early. Can’t we stay for a bit longer?”
“Come round to the cave again. I’ll be there, I promise.”
In the first blinding rays of sunshine he was just a dark shape. Audrey couldn’t see his face.
“Wait,” she said. “Wait a few seconds. Please.”
She turned away from him, hoping for one more glimpse of the emu-wrens. To her sorrow the little birds had disappeared. Very quietly, holding her breath, she moved closer to the patch of ferns, still searching, still hoping, but there was no longer any sign of life.
When she turned back, Finch and Snowy had gone.
Bewildered, Audrey stared. Nothing, not a trace of the boy or the dog. The light dazzled her eyes.
“Finch!” she called. “Finch, where are you? Wait for me! Finch!”
*
Audrey followed the creek all the way back to the cave, and still there was no sign of him. She was puzzled, and disappointed. Why had he left so quickly? Of course he had to be careful to keep out of sight, but … They hadn’t even said goodbye to each other, not properly.
She walked slowly back up the hill, her long spidery shadow walking beside her. The eastern sky was fleecy with drifts of tiny pink clouds like feathers, like the breast feathers of a galah.
If only she had a phone! She imagined herself posting a selfie on Instagram. Me and Finch and some COOOOL birds, she said in her mind. Heart emoji, smiley face emoji. That would make them all think!
She couldn’t wait to tell Mavis about the emu-wrens. Then she realised that she couldn’t tell anybody – for a start, she couldn’t let on about Finch, and then there was the question of trespassing on Frank Blix’s land – and her happiness subsided a little.
The back door was still unlocked. She opened it, tiptoed into the house and closed it carefully. Freddy bounded up to greet her, and pawed at the shut door.
“You want to go out, Fred? I guess it’s late enough for you not to get into trouble. There you go.” She let Freddy out and then crept down the hallway to her bedroom, sinking down at last on to her soft, comfortable bed.
In seconds she was asleep.
CHAPTER 13
Chloe came home on Sunday evening, her fingernails painted glittery purple. “It’s called ‘Sultry Plum’,” she said, waving her fingers in Audrey’s face. She’d had the most excellent time. Goosebumps was scary, and they’d also watched Ghost Squad, which had totally creeped her out. Emma had a TV in her bedroom, a Pandora bracelet with six charms on it and her very own iPhone. (“I know what you’re going to say,” Dad interrupted. “And you can forget it, right now.”) Emma’s parents were cool, too – they’d given Chloe a box of little pastries with chocolate in them to take home.
“They look a bit stale,” said Mum in an undertone to Dad, and then, in a louder voice, “That was very kind of them, Chloe. I hope you thanked them for having you to stay.”
“What d’you think? Of course I did.”
“Maybe Emma would like to come round and help us pick grapes this week,” said Dad.
Chloe looked at him in horror. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, there’s no reason why you and Audrey can’t give us a hand.”
Mum frowned at him. “Ian, I’ve already told you, there’s no way I’m allowing them to take time off school. You can use paid pickers like everyone else.”
“Calm down, Caroline,” said Dad. “Of course I’m going to use paid pickers. I just thought the kids would like to join in at some point, when they aren’t at school. They might even enjoy the experience.”
“It could be fun, Mum,” said Audrey. “I don’t mind. Really.”
Dad tried again. “Caroline, grape pickers cost a good deal of money. The going rate is more than twenty bucks an hour. Families should pull together at times like these. I’d like to feel I have your total support.”
“We didn’t get much support from you when you were taking care of business, as you so brilliantly put it.”
“You’ve no right to drag that up again–”
“If you hadn’t–”
Audrey and Chloe walked quietly out of the room.
*
“Mum and Dad still aren’t talking,” said Chloe as they got ready for school on Monday morning.
“How d’you know that?”
“Mum said three words to him this morning. ‘No’, and ‘Get stuffed’.”
“You shouldn’t listen to people’s conversations.”
“I wasn’t exactly listening. I heard. And it wasn’t exactly a conversation.”
Audrey struggled into her backpack. It seemed even heavier than usual this morning. “I hate it when they fight.”
“You can’t totally blame Mum, can you?” Chloe said, dabbing on some lip gloss from a little pot. She held it out. “See what Emma gave me? Smell – it’s like strawberries. Mum never wanted to live out here. It was Dad’s fault, not hers.”
“Dad lost his job,” Audrey reminded her. Chloe was so irritating when she talked in that knowing, grown-up way. “He had to do something. What was he going to do, be on hand-outs for the rest of his life?”
“Why couldn’t he just find another job?”
“How should I know? Why don’t you ask him?”
“Why don’t you?”
Mum came into the kitchen. “Get a move on, you two. It’s nearly a quarter to nine. You’re going to be late for school.”
“You haven’t given us our lunch yet,” Chloe said.
“Oh, for goodness sake.” Mum grabbed her purse, pulled out two ten-dollar notes, and gave them one each. “There you are. Buy yourselves something fatty and disgusting from the canteen. Keep the change.”
Audrey and Chloe looked at each other. This wasn’t the Mum they knew: the Mum who insisted they always have a proper lunch of wholemeal bread sandwiches and vegetable sticks and at least one piece of fruit.
“Thanks, Mum.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
“Cool,” Chloe said to Audrey. “I’m getting sausage rolls and a strawberry milk.”
“Righto, Mum, we’re ready,” said Audrey. “Bye, Freddy. Be a good boy.”
“See ya, Fred.” Chloe stopped to stroke him, and he turned over on his back and purred. She bent down to rub his furry belly.
“Chloe, do hurry up,” called Mum. She rushed for the back door, car keys in her hand. Then she stopped. “Audrey, did I hear you say ‘righto’? Where on earth did that come from? My grandfather used to say that.”
*
“The grapes are ready to pick,” Dad announced when they were having dinner on Tuesday night. “Since I can’t use you kids during school hours, I suppose I’ll have to get some pickers organised. I’d like to get things moving by Thursday at the latest. A good team of pickers should clear up five hectares in a day or so, shouldn’t they?”
“I’ve absolutely no idea,” said Mum. “I suppose it depends how experienced they are.”
“I’ll get on the phone after dinner and see who can start when,” said Dad. “Mavis has given me some phone numbers to ring, local people who might be available. She’s even offered to help us herself, believe it or not. “
“Really? She looks far too old for that sort of work.”
“Don’t you believe it. She’s probably nothing like as ancient as she looks. Women like her look old before their time, but they’re as tough as old boots.”
“That reminds me,” said Mum. “When I was in town today I popped into the bakery to get some rolls for school lunches, and Janice, the woman who served me, said that Mavis’s brother died on the weekend. Remember, Mavis mentioned that he’d been ill? He was quite a local character, Janice said. His funeral’s this Friday.”
Dad sighed. “Oh lord. Should we pay our respects?”
“We certainly should do something. I’ll see if I can find a card, something appropriate. Poor Mavis. I wonder if she was very close to her brother.”
“Who knows?” said Dad. “From what I’ve heard, it sounds as if he was more of a burden. She spent a lot of time looking after him, helping him out.”
“Poor old Mavis.”
After they’d had dessert, Dad rose from the table, picked up a list of phone numbers and his mobile, and went into the living room.
Audrey piled up the dirty dishes. “It’s your turn to wash, Mum.”
“Really? It always seems to be my turn. Very well, you can dry.”
When they were halfway through the washing up Dad came back into the kitchen, looking annoyed.
“I can’t round up anyone till Friday, would you believe! Of course all the crops are ready to pick right now, and these people go to the bigger places where the money is, or where they’ve had a contract for years. Nobody really wants to be bothered with a piddling little vineyard like ours. It’s like they’re doing you a favour.”
“Oh, Ian.” Mum put down the dishcloth. “Who can you get on Friday?”
“There’s a husband-and-wife team, the Longmores, and a local woman, Doris Schultz. They’ve all said they can come to us when they’ve finished at Bill Brewer’s next door. And Doris is going to see if her niece can help too. So that’s a potential team of four. Three of them pretty much certain, one possible. And me, of course.”
It’s a pity Finch can’t help, thought Audrey. He could do with the money. She imagined introducing him to Mum and Dad. Mum, Dad, this is Finch. He’s my friend. I met him in a cave. It was too bad she’d promised she wouldn’t tell anyone about him. And of course there was the problem of Bill Brewer as well. She couldn’t remember Finch saying his uncle had vines.
“What size vineyard has Bill Brewer got, Dad?” she asked.
“I’m not too sure. Maybe twenty hectares? He harvests most of his crop by machine, but he has a few hectares of premium grapes that have to be picked by hand. In a few years’ time, I hope we’ll be near that level too.”
“Have you ever met him?”
“I went round to see him the other day, actually. Introduced myself, had a chat.”
“Did he show you his pigs?”
“What is this, Twenty Questions? I didn’t know he had any pigs. Who told you that?”
Oops. “Oh, just someone at school.”
“I’ve no idea. If he does have pigs, I don’t know where he’d put them.”
Audrey decided to drop the subject of the pigs. She picked up a bowl and dried it carefully. “Mavis said he had a dog.”
“Yeah, one of those big black monsters. He seems to be a pleasant sort of chap, though. Middle-aged. Has a nice wife.”
