by Lisa Walker
‘No-one thinks he needs more common sense than he already has,’ I said.
‘That sounds like a quote.’
‘Yeah, it’s René Tr—’ I caught myself, ‘Descartes.’
‘I hadn’t picked you for a philosopher.’
I shrugged. ‘I used to be.’
‘So you’re an ex-philosopher?’
‘Mmm, but I’m taking it up again.’
‘I think you should. He was right, anyway,’ said Mac.
Something just occurred to me. ‘That plaster paw print …’
Mac nodded. ‘It was the real thing, from Tasmania. I told you — all true.’
‘Jesus. It was a real thylacine paw print and you let me drop it?’ I winced, remembering the plaster scattering across the floor.
Mac looked at me quizzically. ‘I don’t remember being able to stop you.’
‘You don’t sound concerned. You’re not a bit upset I broke your paw print?’
Mac shrugged. ‘I never planned to go public with it.’
‘But what if you wanted to do something like this again?’
‘I never do the same thing twice.’ His eyes lingered on mine. ‘So, can you forgive me?’
I turned my head away, I couldn’t think while I was looking at him.
‘I’ve tried to get you out of my head,’ he said, ‘but I can’t. When I saw you asleep in the office … Well, I was pretty damn jealous of that pig you were curled up with.’
‘You saw me with the pig? I thought I’d dreamt you.’
‘No, I was there. Don’t expect to be hearing from that pig again, by the way.’ Mac smacked his fist into his palm. ‘I picked up the cardboard cut-out of me you’d pushed over too.’ He leaned in front of me and smiled.
It was a tentative smile, but I couldn’t resist it. I smiled back.
Then my eyes fell on you, Renée. You didn’t say anything, but I think if you had, you would have said that it’s all about the poetry. And where would I find poetry if not with Mac? Your shiny, shiny eyes urged me on.
Part Three
go on till you come to the end: then stop
The King, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
Chapter Thirty
Liar bird
Renée and her twelve froglets perch expectantly on my window sill. Their eyes follow my every move. It is almost like a Disney movie. I will hardly be surprised if they burst into song.
I turn back to Mac. ‘You said before I looked nice.’
‘Ye-es.’ He draws the word out. ‘You want me to rephrase that?’
I nod.
‘Okay. You look like someone I’d like to touch.’
My heart accelerates. ‘I look like, or I am?’
Mac ignores my question. ‘You’ve got your Lara Croft outfit on again.’
I glance down at my shorts and singlet. As it turns out I am wearing the same outfit I had on the night we went toading. There is something about the way he said it … ‘You’re into Lara Croft?’
Mac’s eyes rest on mine. ‘A bit more than into. It’s like you’ve tapped my fantasies.’
I back against the wall to support my legs. It’s doing my head in, the way my body reacts to his face, his words … I’m not sure if I like it. If I was hooked up to a heart monitor I’d be shooting off the graph. Matron, sedatives, now! ‘Well … that was certainly a lucky fluke on my part.’ The words sound cool, in control. Amazing.
Mac leans against the sink. His eyes don’t leave mine. ‘You already were my fantasy — that just tipped me over the edge.’
‘Why Lara Croft? I mean, I know she’s hot, but it’s a bit more than that, isn’t it?’
Mac shifts uncomfortably. ‘Do I have to say?’
I fold my arms. ‘I think you’d better.’
He looks over my shoulder. ‘A few years ago I over-wintered in Antarctica. You form some pretty intense bonds over a long winter …’
I brace myself for a tale of passion. ‘Go on.’
Mac’s mouth twitches. ‘It’s not what you think. There were eighteen men, two women, both attached, and a small video library…’
‘Including Tomb Raider?’
‘One and two,’ says Mac. ‘I think they stopped adding to their video collection after 2004.’
I nod slowly.
‘So … no prizes for guessing whose body was pressed up against mine — in my dreams.’
My stomach turns over. The way he’s looking at me …
He smiles in an embarrassed way. ‘I know it’s nerdy. But, it’s like you were reading my mind when you put that outfit on. I never stood a chance.’ He steps towards me.
I step back. Twenty-six black eyes watch from the window sill.
‘Not that I ever stood a chance anyway,’ he adds. ‘Cassie, you’re the first thing I think of when I wake in the morning and the last thing at night. What else can I say?’
‘Snap. Me too.’ This time when he steps forward I don’t step back.
Just then there’s a coughing bark from outside the window. ‘What is that animal? I hear it all the time,’ I say.
Mac is already peering out. He holds his finger to his lips.
I join him at the window. The brown bird with the trailing tail that I saw on Cougan Peak struts across the grass. It makes the coughing bark once more, then vanishes into the bushes.
‘The liar bird,’ I say.
Mac gives me a strange look. ‘What did you call it?’
‘The liar bird. Isn’t that what you said it was called? Because it mimics other animals?’
Mac stifles a laugh. ‘Not liar bird, lyrebird. Lyre, as in musical instrument. It’s because of the way the tail looks.’
‘Oh.’ I feel silly.
‘Actually, I like liar bird better,’ he says, meeting my eyes. ‘Reminds me of someone …’
‘Not me,’ I say. ‘Not anymore. Uh uh — truth all the way now.’
Mac’s eyebrow twitches. He doesn’t believe me. ‘Did you say you’d heard that noise before?’
‘I used to hear it every night.’
‘That barking noise it makes,’ Mac says. ‘It sounds like a thylacine.’
I stare at him. I don’t understand why he’s so excited.
‘Don’t you see? It might be mimicking a thylacine.’
It finally sinks in. ‘So …’
‘So, maybe I wasn’t lying after all,’ Mac says. ‘Who knows? There could be anything out there.’
‘That’s a nice thought, isn’t it?’ I look out at the forest. The bushes rustle. ‘All that wilderness, and only you and me to call it home.’
And it feels like I’ve come a full circle, right back to my first night in Frog Hollow. Then, that thought had scared me, but now …
‘You, me and thousands of animals, you mean,’ he says.
‘How could you ever be lonely with all that company?’ I smile.
Our shoulders are almost touching, there at the window. I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
Mac gives me a long look. ‘Is there any chance we could …?’
‘Satisfy your erotic fantasy?’
He laughs. ‘I wasn’t going to put it like that, but —’
‘As long as I don’t have to pull a gun on you … And speaking of guns,’ I add as his hands touch my shoulders. ‘If you ever lie to me again, I’m going to kill you.’
He really smiles then — the full neuron-blasting one that shorts out my brain and makes my cheeks blaze. ‘I’ll have to take that chance,’ he says.
My arms creep around him and I hold him tight, feeling his heartbeat, his chest rising and falling against mine. And yes, he is still a mystery, but at that moment he feels just right.
‘Crawk.’
Renée and her offspring hop along the window sill and out of sight.
Acknowledgements
Writing a book turned out to be much more difficult than I imagined when I first set out on this path. Without all the people who encouraged, advised and inspir
ed me, I never would have got there at all.
Particular thanks must go to the Varuna Writers’ Centre for allowing me to complete Liar Bird among the lyrebirds. Peter Bishop and Helen Barnes-Bulley provided valuable advice. The Northern Rivers Writers’ Centre has also done an amazing job of supporting me through thick and thin (mainly thin). Special thanks to Susie Warrick.
And then there are all the women who have helped me: Marele Day, Laurel Cohn, my agent Sophie Hamley and my magnificent writing coven: Helen Burns, Jane Meredith, Jessie Cole, Emma Ashmere and Jane Camens, to whom I owe the title of this book. All writers should be so lucky as to have such clever friends as you. My book group was kind enough to read an earlier version of Liar Bird and provide comments and encouragement — particular thanks to our intrepid leader, Trish McCarthy. For the laughs and writerly chats beside the fire at Varuna, thank you to Brigid Delaney, Sarah Klenbort, Mif Hudson and Ilinda Markova.
The team at HarperCollins has been a pleasure to work with. First and foremost a very, very big thank you to the extremely astute Stephanie Smith, who picked me out of the pile. Anna Valdinger made my day by falling in love with my ranger, and the fine editing skills of Mel Maxwell and Kim Swivel saved me from looking foolish.
Also thank you to my hardworking colleagues in conservation who bear no resemblance to anyone in this book, being much more talented and, above all, fun to be with. And last, but by no means least, a big hug for Simon, Tim and John who have so graciously endured a mother and wife with her head in the clouds.
About the Author
Lisa Walker is an award-winning short story writer. Her play Baddest Backpackers aired on ABC Radio National in 2008. She has worked as a wilderness guide and environmental communicator. She writes, surfs and works in community relations on the far north coast of New South Wales. Liar Bird is her first novel.
www.lisawalker.com.au
Copyright
HarperCollinsPublishers
First published in Australia in 2012
This edition published in 2012
by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited
ABN 36 009 913 517
harpercollins.com.au
Copyright © Lisa Walker 2012
The right of Lisa Walker to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication data:
Walker, Lisa.
Liar bird / Lisa Walker.
ISBN: 978 0 7322 9412 0 (pbk.)
ISBN: 978 0 7304 9678 6 (epub)
A823.4
Cover design by Darren Holt, HarperCollins Design Studio
Cover images by shutterstock.com