Devils in Danger, page 8
Mum and I waited nervously for Mrs Dwyer to arrive the following afternoon. I could see Mum was having second thoughts. We kept ourselves busy, me sweeping the floor and Mum wiping out the sinks, but we both jumped when Mrs Dwyer’s car pulled up.
‘How’s the lambing season going?’ Mum asked as soon as Mrs Dwyer stepped into the salon.
Mrs Dwyer frowned. Mum’s voice was unusually high and edgy.
‘Too early for lambs, but the ewes are looking good,’ said Mrs Dwyer, giving me a hello smile. ‘Another month or so before we see any babies on the ground, but it’s been a good year so far, I have to say.’
I smiled back then shot Mum a warning glance. ‘Don’t mention Fern,’ I hoped my glance said. ‘I’ll show Mrs Dwyer myself.’
Mrs Dwyer adjusted her knitting bag on her shoulder and waited for Mum to invite her to the salon chair. But Mum just stood at the sinks, like she’d completely frozen.
I quickly stepped in. ‘Um, Mrs Dwyer, before Mum starts your cut, there’s something we want you to see.’ I pointed out the glass panel in the floorboards. ‘Come take a look.’
Mrs Dwyer tilted her head to one side in confusion, but followed me into the kitchen. ‘What’s all this?’ she asked when she reached our new viewing platform. My knees wobbled. What if Mum was right and her customers panicked when they caught sight of little Fern?
‘Well …’ I crossed my fingers, hoping a glimpse of Fern’s delicate red ears or the way she tucked her nose so sweetly into her tummy would make Mrs Dwyer fall in love. Or perhaps she’d like the way Fern had carefully lined her den with the clean rags we’d left out or how she licked her pouch to soothe her imps? But I was too nervous to say anything more. ‘I … um … well …’
Mum came over beside me. ‘I think what Killarney wants to say is, if you could just stand here for a sec and look down into the glass …’
My heart clunked hard against my ribs as I stood with Mum and Mrs Dwyer and peered into the gloom. Mrs Dwyer was a farmer, like Pop. She might think Tassie devils would kill all her livestock.
I tried to settle my jittery nerves, but they jumped around like popcorn as her eyes squinted and her lips thinned. Fern lay in full view in the den, scratching then licking at her side. This was it. The ultimate test of my idea. Please, Fern. Please work your magic.
I could hardly bear to watch as Mrs Dwyer leant forwards. Then I almost squealed in fright as she gasped and clutched her knitting bag to her chest.
‘Goodness! A devil?’ she said.
I shot a look at Mum. Her strained smile made me feel worse. But Mrs Dwyer hadn’t actually screamed. That was good, wasn’t it? And she hadn’t run out of the kitchen.
‘Just the one?’ she asked, her eyebrows high.
I cleared my throat. ‘For now,’ I croaked. ‘But she’s going to have babies soon.’ Come on, Fern. Flick your ears. Waggle your whiskers. But Fern had no idea. She was curling back up, ready to go to sleep.
‘Well, well!’ Mrs Dwyer finally announced as she turned back towards the salon and settled into the salon chair. ‘No wonder.’
Mum fussed around, taking Mrs Dwyer’s bag and fastening a cape around her neck. ‘A trim and a freshen up of your foils?’ Mum asked, obviously trying to change the subject. Her voice was light and airy, as if she were trying to whisk away the sighting of the devil.
‘No wonder what?’ I asked.
‘No wonder our flystrike has been so low,’ Mrs Dwyer continued. ‘Never seen it quite so good. Seems like having devils around cleaning up our maggoty sheep carcasses has been keeping our flystrike at bay.’
‘Flystrike?’
‘Killarney, honey. Could you grab me my water spray bottle. I think I left it over by the sink.’ Comb and scissors in hand, Mum began stepping around Mrs Dwyer, combing and snipping her hair.
‘What’s flystrike?’ I repeated once I’d passed Mum her bottle.
Mrs Dwyer was trying to pull some wool from her knitting bag without moving her head and disturbing Mum’s work. ‘Oh my word. Flystrike is one of the curses of sheep farming. Starts when flies lay their eggs in the sheep’s fleece, and then when the maggots hatch, they eat into the skin of the sheep, making them terribly sick. Poor things. Not a nice way to die.’
I screwed up my nose. ‘Ewww. Maggots?’
‘Exactly. But to think we have devils around, clearing away the source of the flies. It’s fantastic. How long has she been here?’
I explained about Fern’s arrival, realising that although the rumour mill was alive and well in Dodges, Mrs Dwyer’s farm was out of town. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t heard about our special visitor.
‘I love it!’ she announced. ‘Could I bring Joshy and his brothers to see her? And Mr Dwyer, of course?’
I nodded and so did Mum. ‘Of course,’ Mum said. ‘Bring anyone you like – Killarney’s looking for as many supporters for Fern as possible.’
Mrs Dwyer studied my face carefully. ‘No-one else too keen?’
I shook my head.
‘Not to worry! We can help. Devils are a definite bonus for us. What about I make it my new project? I’ve just spun a heap of wool. I could knit up some scarves, announcing our love for your devil. What do you say? In fact, I could start right away!’
I grinned. Mrs Dwyer was the best.
Our next client was old Mr Tratt from the post office. I told Fern to work her magic on him too, hoping she’d show him her very cutest behaviour.
‘Here he comes,’ I whispered, peering through the kitchen curtains as Mr Tratt toddled towards our gate.
‘Come on in,’ said Mum, ushering him into the chair.
Mr Tratt hovered in the doorway, his usually pinkish face unusually pale. ‘Is it true what everyone’s saying?’ he whimpered, peering anxiously about the salon. ‘About the … about the …?’
Mum smiled. ‘Come on in, Mr Tratt. Killarney’s got something to show you.’
The poor man looked as skittish as a racehorse, with nerves about to explode. ‘Is it really a …?’ he murmured, waving a shaky finger towards our kitchen.
I frowned. Mr Tratt wasn’t just scared of Fern – he was petrified! I had to do something before Mum lost another client. I darted to my room, grabbed the old rug from beside my bed and laid it quickly over the glass. ‘Out of sight, out of mind,’ I said chirpily, relieved when Mr Tratt’s face returned to its normal colour.
‘So sorry,’ said Mum once Mr Tratt was finally seated and she’d begun unwinding the cord of the clippers. ‘We didn’t mean to frighten you.’
‘Tassie devils aren’t really that scary, Mr Tratt,’ I assured him. ‘Fern won’t harm you. She’s only about the size of a smallish dog.’
Mr Tratt allowed himself a tiny smile. ‘A dog?’
‘A smallish dog. Here, I’ll show you.’ I stepped towards the rug but stopped when Mum gave a tiny shake of her head.
Mr Tratt shivered. ‘But they have the world’s most powerful bite,’ he whispered.
‘Let’s not worry about that too much, Mr Tratt. Perhaps a hot drink will make you feel better?’ Mum suggested.
After making Mr Tratt an extra-strong coffee, I snuck to my room and dug out my notebook. I crossed out Mrs Dwyer from the unsure list and added her to the pro-devil list, but then moved Mr Tratt from unsure to the anti. It wasn’t much – I’d basically taken one step forwards and one step back – but it still felt like progress. If only everyone could be like Mrs Dwyer.
Chapter 16
By the second week of the July school holidays, thanks to our one-way tinted glass, most of Mum’s clients had returned. Once word spread about how adorable our little Fern was, people came flocking back. After one peek of Fern curled up in her den, they couldn’t help falling in love, exactly as I’d hoped. Our modified flooring proved to be the perfect way to see the devil without feeling scared. Mum’s appointments were soon all booked up.
Now that Fern’s joeys were approximately sixteen weeks old, a queue began to form outside Mum’s salon, with everyone wanting to be the first to see the babies when they emerged from Fern’s pouch.
The most popular viewing days were when bright sunlight seeped under the house, making it easy to see through the glass. We had to make strict rules, like absolutely no crawling under the house, no flash photography, only three people allowed in the kitchen at any one time, and no yelling or banging.
‘So, what does she eat?’ people asked as Fern nosed around the rags.
‘And where does she go at night?’ others enquired.
‘Is it true that devils lay eggs?’ someone wondered.
Fern slept through most of the commotion, only waking at dusk when she’d stretch and yawn then potter off into the neighbourhood to search for food.
On the last day of the holidays, Mum asked me to run to the IGA to pick up milk and bread, plus some snacks for my school lunch the following day. I’d taken Bones and tied her up outside. I still liked to walk her, even though the barking had pretty much stopped since the fixed fence kept her in her yard and away from the devil. I grabbed the milk and bread and was turning into the biscuit aisle, trying to hurry before Bones started whining, when I nearly bumped into Missy.
‘Hey,’ I said. ‘How’ve you been?’ I hadn’t seen Missy all holidays. I guessed she was still on the anti-devil list.
Missy didn’t look up from the packet of Mint Slices she was inspecting. ‘Good. And you?’
‘Yeah, good.’ I paused. Would I add something about her coming over and seeing Fern? It was hard to believe my very best friend still hadn’t visited. Practically everyone else in Dodges had come to take a look.
Missy returned the Mint Slices to the shelf and snatched up a packet of Oreos before turning to walk back down the aisle. ‘Sorry, gotta go,’ she said.
I wasn’t going to give up. I raced around in front of her, half blocking her way. ‘Missy, wait!’ I began. ‘You’d really like Fern if you saw her.’
‘Fern?’ said Missy. I could almost hear her repeating it in her head. ‘That’s its name?’
‘Her name? Yeah.’
Missy laughed a nervous little laugh. ‘Well, Fern’s a pretty cute name. I mean, it’s kind of like Willow. And Fawn.’
‘Fern is cute. Sooooo cute. You should come and see her.’
Missy took a rapid breath in. ‘No, thanks.’
I pulled a face. ‘Seriously? What’s Fern ever done to you?’
Missy didn’t answer.
‘Tell me!’ I demanded. ‘Why’ve you got it in for Tasmanian devils?’
Missy was silent for a moment as she turned the packet of Oreos over and over in her hand. ‘Katie’s still pretty upset about her cat.’
I sighed. What was the point? I’d already tried to tell my friends they’d got it wrong. Katie’s cat was most likely dead long before Fern arrived in town. And even if it wasn’t, a small devil like Fern would rarely take on an adult cat.
Missy was definitely still on the anti-devil list.
I hadn’t long been home from the IGA when there came a sharp knock on the door.
‘Hi, Grannie,’ I said. ‘Long time, no see.’ Every time I’d been over to Noah’s to update him on the devils, Grannie Annie had been at the community garden, harvesting a bumper crop. Whatever had been nibbling her vegies had mysteriously disappeared, making her busier than ever.
‘Morning!’ she declared, thrusting a huge cauliflower into my arms. ‘I’ve got them coming out of my ears.’
I took the cauliflower and was about to invite Grannie Annie inside to see the glass when she strode in by herself. ‘Now, judging by all the fuss that’s been going on these past few weeks, there’s something I need to see.’ Grannie Annie’s voice always seemed loud and gruff, maybe because of her poor hearing, but it seemed slightly gruffer today. Was she about to give us a serve? About the long queues, or the racket Fern had been making?
I scurried after Grannie as she headed into the kitchen, surprising Mum, who’d been listening to the radio while washing up at the sink. ‘Oh, hi, Annie,’ said Mum, using the side of her sudsy hand to swipe the radio off. ‘Everything okay?’
Grannie Annie nodded and pointed towards our tinted glass. ‘Don’t mind if I do?’
Mum smiled. She was used to people coming and going to look at Fern.
But my heart thumped. Would Grannie Annie be anti-devil or pro? I guessed I was about to find out. I crept beside her as she stopped next to the glass.
‘Oh my! Is that what I think it is?’ she squawked, grabbing me by the arm.
It was worse than I thought. Grannie Annie wasn’t cross. She was terrified. Even more terrified than Mr Tratt! I watched nervously as she peered closely into the den, hoping Fern would win her over. But Grannie Annie began squeezing my arm so hard it was like being crushed by a boa constrictor. ‘Look! Look!’ she yelped.
Mum came rushing over, wiping her hands on her jeans, just as a little black nose appeared from under Fern’s tummy. It was soon followed by a set of long whiskers, then a second black nose, then a paw. Fern’s joeys were coming out!
I was leaping with excitement on the inside, whooping and squealing with delight. But I didn’t want to scare Fern’s joeys, so I squashed down my enthusiastic cheering and only allowed myself a grin.
‘Hello, babies,’ I whispered.
The first joey crawling from Fern’s pouch was as fragile as a newborn kitten. It had one white paw and three black ones, and a white spot over its left eye. Its whiskers flickered as it cautiously crawled forward, keeping low to the ground, sniffing and treading lightly, like it wasn’t sure the dirt was safe.
The second seemed bolder, looked stronger and larger, and had a wider snout.
Grannie Annie, Mum and I watched, spellbound, as both joeys chirped and squeaked. Their fur was shiny, but short, barely covering their pale skin. Their ears and paws were tiny compared to Fern’s, as were their baby teeth, which I glimpsed in their pink gums when they yawned. All up, each joey would have weighed about as much as a tub of butter and was only about the size of a small guinea pig. No wonder Fern stayed close as they crawled tentatively around the den, nosing them back towards her whenever they strayed too far.
I laughed when they found the old rags, scratching and flipping them like puppies playing with toys, and then I sighed when they nestled their heads into the dips in the dirt, as if trying them out for comfort.
‘They’re beautiful,’ I whispered.
‘So beautiful,’ murmured Mum.
I peeked over at Grannie Annie. She was watching, like we were, but without a single comment. She cleared her throat a couple of times, which startled the joeys into scrambling back into Fern’s pouch, but I couldn’t tell what she thought.
It was only when the biggest joey re-emerged and climbed onto Fern’s back that Grannie Annie finally smiled. Digging his claws into Fern’s fur to get a grip, the larger joey took up so much room on top of his mother that the smaller one had to hang onto Fern’s neck, dangling uncomfortably below their mother’s chin. It did look kind of funny. Poor Fern could hardly put one foot in front of the other with her wobbly passengers.
‘Oh, the darlings!’ Grannie Annie finally swooned. ‘They’re so sweet!’
I grinned. ‘You like them?’
‘Like them? I love them!’ Grannie Annie gave a happy sigh. ‘I’d been wondering where all the possums had gone. And now I know. Best way to keep unwanted visitors off my vegies – a family of hungry devils.’
Chapter 17
The first question Miss Bredlow asked when school went back for Term Three was whether we’d decided on a holiday destination for our projects.
Ugh! The tourism project! I’d been too busy with the devils to worry about homework. I’d decided to call the more petite joey, with the white paw and white spot above her eye, Bella, while the bigger, stockier one was definitely a Benjamin.
Bella and Benjamin.
Fern’s beautiful babies.
Thanks to their fun-filled antics and our one-way glass platform, my pro-devil list now included me, Mum and Dad, April, Noah, Mrs Dwyer and the whole Dywer family, Grannie Annie, and most of Mum’s clients and our neighbours. The unsure list was empty, but the anti-devil list remained the same: Missy, Katie, Urasha, Alise, Miss Bredlow, Mr Tratt, Mario, all the Grade Three boys and definitely Mr Snibbler.
Mr Snibbler. I was sure it was him sending the anonymous notes.
‘It’s not due till week nine, so we’ve got a few weeks to go still, but if you could quickly pop into your pairs,’ Miss Bredlow continued, ‘I’ll come round to see where everybody’s at. Missy and Alise, shall I start with you?’
I snuck a glance towards the back of the class to see a proud smirk on Missy’s face. She and Alise were all over their project – that was clear.
I dug about for a quick excuse. I’d already used ‘Mum’s stressed at work and needs me to help with the salon’ and ‘our internet plan expired’. I had to think of something else. ‘I have an amazingly brilliant idea,’ I said when Miss Bredlow came over, ‘but I’m still doing my research.’
Miss Bredlow raised a doubtful eyebrow. ‘I see,’ she said, tapping her pen against the class list. ‘I’ll check back in with you on Monday, then.’
Luckily, she forgot to check in because I didn’t work on the project at all over the weekend. I was too busy enjoying the devils. Mum said I’d become a traffic hazard in the kitchen because I was always lying on the floor, my eyes glued to the den. I couldn’t help it. Each day Fern’s babies would learn something new, whether it was Bella finding her tail or Benjamin practising his growls, not sounding the least bit scary, only unbelievably cute. The joeys had ripped nearly every rag playing competitive tug-of-war and they loved digging tunnels from under the house to the garden. But my favourite game of theirs was the mini rodeo. When Benjamin lay down to rest, Bella would launch herself on top of him, biting at his thin red ears while Benjamin tried to shake her off, hopping and leaping around the den like a bucking bronco. I couldn’t get enough of them. They were the best things I’d ever seen.
