Mister Cassowary by Samantha Wheeler

tell him to call me soon, okay? Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.’
    â€˜Okay. Bye, Mum.’
    â€˜Bye, honey.’
    â€˜Want to give me a hand, mate?’ Dad asked, ducking into the bedroom. His shirt and hair were soaking wet. ‘I don’t know how long we’ve got, and I want to get these windows taped.’
    He showed me how to stick tape across the windows to stop them from cracking. Then, while the wind howled and the house creaked, we packed a box with torches, candles, matches and an assortment of food.
    When everything was ready, Dad sank into a chair at the kitchen table. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. ‘Sounds like it means business out there, doesn’t it?’ he mumbled. ‘Just what we need, more mess to clean up.’
    I remembered Mum’s suggestion and heated up the shepherd’s pie. It wasn’t really lunch, and it wasn’t really tea, but it seemed like a good idea to eat it if a cyclone was coming. I pushed a loaded plate in front of Dad.
    â€˜It’s really yum,’ I urged, taking a bite. ‘Nearly better than Mum’s.’
    Dad smiled a wobbly smile. He picked up a fork and held it over his plate.
    â€˜Dad?’ I said.
    â€˜Yes, Flynnie?’
    â€˜What do birds do in a cyclone?’
    â€˜Pardon?’
    â€˜Birds? What do they do?’
    Dad pushed his fork into the mashed potato. ‘Um, birds, well birds seem to know when there’s a cyclone and they take off inland somewhere.’
    â€˜Even cassowaries?’
    â€˜Don’t know about cassowaries.’
    â€˜So baby cassowaries wouldn’t know there was a cyclone, would they? Do they maybe hide in a cave or something?’
    â€˜Flynn, is there something you want to tell me?’
    â€˜It’s just that …’
    Dad put down his fork and looked at me.
    â€˜Um. No,’ I murmured. I tried to eat my mashed potato but I couldn’t swallow. Dad’s breathing seemed loud in the silence that followed, despite the wind and rain outside. ‘So, was Big Blue … Did he … Was he the cassowary who …’
    â€˜Stop asking me about cassowaries, Flynn! I think you should know by now that cassowaries are not my favourite animal.’
    â€˜But why are you so frightened of them?’
    â€˜Flynn!’ shouted Dad, pushing his plate away. ‘For goodness sake! I don’t want to talk about it!’ He stood up, not having taken one mouthful of food. ‘I need to check the battery supply and double-check outside. Can I trust you with the dishes?’
    Dad wrenched open the back door and slammed it hard behind him.

I crashed the dishes angrily into the sink. Why wouldn’t Dad tell me about Big Blue and Grandad Barney? Didn’t I have a right to know? Anything so terrible needed to be shared, not hidden. I rinsed the plates feeling angrier and angrier.
    I snatched the salt and pepper off the table. Why didn’t Dad trust me? I was old enough to understand. Maybe I could even help.
    I was about to go to Grandad Barney’s room when I heard a sound. It wasn’t the wind rattling the windows. Or the branches scratching the roof.
    It was a short, high-pitched sound.
    I stood still and listened. There it was again!
    â€˜Peep. Peep. Peep.’
    Could it really be them? My hide-and-seek chicks, searching for me to look after them? The peeps were coming from the other side of the kitchen door.
    I checked for Dad down the hallway. When I couldn’t see him, I tugged open the door, spilling light from the kitchen into the yard.
    â€˜Peep. Peep. Peep.’
    I stepped outside, closing the door quietly behind me. Rain tore at my face as I peered around the yard. ‘Peanut? Jumble? Where are you?’ I whispered.
    The wind ripped at the trees, tossing and turning them like the inflatable men that flapped outside the pizza shops near home. Hundreds of leaves blew like