Flying Tips for Flightless Birds

by Kelly McCaughrain

  Way to knock my sartorial brilliance, Mum.

  She leaves us to make pizza and throw cream pies.

  “We’ll need a name for our act,” Hector says. “And a logo. And a theme tune!” He’s sitting on the kitchen table juggling Jay’s abandoned beanbags while I make pizza. It feels weird and familiar all at once: planning, juggling, dreaming. If I close my eyes, it could be Birdie sitting there.

  “And when we learn to drive, we could get a van and call it the clown-mobile and have a travelling show!”

  I picture Hector behind the wheel of a car. “Yeah, maybe I’ll do the driving.”

  That was our big dream, mine and Birdie’s, to go on the road. A travelling circus, doing street shows and festivals – we talked about it all the time. We’d been talking about it not long before her accident, in fact. I remember because she was in a mood. I was in a mood too; the guys at school were going through a phase of wolf-whistling every time I walked by.

  “It’ll be great, Birdie, it’ll be just us. Just our own little circus family,” I’d said.

  “Yeah.”

  “I mean, we’ll go to lots of towns, but if you’re always travelling, you never really have to get to know anyone except your family.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know if I want to travel,” she said.

  “What!” We’d been planning this since we were like in the womb. You’d think I’d just brought it up that minute. “Why not?”

  She shrugged. “If you’re always travelling, you never get to know anyone except your family.”

  “And we’ll have a Facebook page!” Hector is saying. “And a YouTube channel!”

  “What?”

  “For the act.”

  “Oh.”

  He frowns. “Are you rehearsing ‘sad clown’ or is something wrong?”

  “No, just thinking. About costumes.” I have a wicked idea. “Hey, do you think you could nick your dad’s dog collar?”

  He chokes on his pizza. “Oh my God, he’d spontaneously combust!”

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” I boom, drum-rolling with my cutlery. “Boys and girls! Today’s sermon will be read by Reverend Hector the Hazzardous on his two-metre unicycle!”

  He laughs so hard his bowler hat falls off.

  “Speaking of which,” he says then, glancing at the clock, “they’ll be home in half an hour. I’d better go.”

  “In that?”

  “Bugger!” He dashes upstairs while I rinse the dishes, and comes back in his own clothes. “You can keep the school trousers,” he says. “I’m not wearing the uniform any more.”

  He opens the back door and sort of lingers there awkwardly. “This was fun. I had fun. Thanks.”

  “Um … OK? I mean, yeah. It was fun. I’ll see you Monday?”

  “OK.”

  “OK.”

  Then he disappears. Seriously weird day.

  About five seconds later the door opens again and I think he’s forgotten something, but it’s Jay. He looks straight at me, fully clowned up, and says, “Finch, Mum told me to get loo roll but I forgot. Can you get it?” Then he runs upstairs.

  Whatever. Apparently I am goodlookingandstuff.

  I see, or rather, hear, Hector before Monday, though. I’m at the hospital on Sunday afternoon, sitting in the garden with my geography homework, when he arrives. Wren is in there already, singing songs from Birdie’s terrible playlist (but I don’t mind when Wren sings them), and Hector says he’ll take over so she can go home.

  I haven’t told Hector how much time I spend sitting out here now. But what else can I do? Being at Franconis’ is depressing, being at my house is depressing, sitting in Birdie’s room is depressing, I’m not allowed at Hector’s house and there’s literally nowhere else to go.

  Hector starts reading The Lord of the Rings aloud, which seems like a pessimistic choice, since I’m hoping for a recovery that’s slightly shorter than the journey to Mordor. Still, the geography of Middle Earth is more interesting than the geography of oxbow lakes, so I give up on the homework, lean back against the wall and listen. His Orc voices are pretty cool.

  After half an hour, he snaps the book shut and starts talking to Birdie about random stuff – school, the show. He tells her about his English presentation, and that leads on to Sinead, and I know I shouldn’t listen but I don’t move.

  “Finch thinks I fancy her, but it’s not like that. We’re just friends.” He’s told me this a million times and I’ve never believed him, but somehow I believe him now. Why would he lie to a girl in a coma? Then again, why would he lie to me? But then he says, “I wish you were awake so I could talk to you. It sucks not being able to talk about things that actually matter to the one person you really like. It’s starting to drive me nuts.”

  Oh. So I was right all along, he does like Birdie.

  “And I hate that we’re hiding stuff from Finch. He suspects something, you know. I wish you hadn’t made me promise not to tell him; it’s getting awkward. But you were right, he won’t take it well. No one will ever be good enough to date a Franconi.” He gives a sad little laugh and adds, “Especially not me.”

  I have a sudden vivid memory of being punched in the gut.

  Birdie and Hector have been dating the whole time, and keeping it from me, like I’m some kid who’ll throw a tantrum because someone’s nicked his favourite toy. My heart sinks as I imagine Birdie waking up and asking for him, not me. And him helping her recuperate, spending every minute round our house, holding her hand and disappearing into her room with the door shut.

  Birdie’s never kept anything from me before. She obviously felt guilty because she knew she was ditching me, leaving me to survive school on my own, basically breaking up the act. The reason she never said a word is because she knew it was going to ruin everything.

  The worst part is, I feel so stupid. It was obvious; of course they’re dating. I am beyond stupid. I even thought… But I don’t know what I thought.

  I pack up my books, slink out of the garden and make my way home so I won’t have to see Hector. I don’t want to see him ever again.

  Lions, boys and other wild animals

  Posted by Birdie

  OK, so we don’t actually have lions.

  Franconis’ doesn’t have any animals because we think it’s cruel to force animals to perform. We’ve put a lot of effort into taming Jay, but we think it’s unfair to do it to more intelligent creatures, like dogs and fleas and stuff.

  Still, the history of animal taming is fascinating, and every big circus used to do it, so here are the facts:

  – Your average lion can open its mouth thirty centimetres wide. That’s big enough for your head to fit in comfortably (comfortably for the lion anyway). Isaac A. Van Amburgh was the first lion tamer to put his head in a lion’s mouth. He would also bring children from the audience into the cage with him. I don’t think health and safety had been invented back then.

  – Lion taming is not only dangerous but tough. Try training your pet cat to “sit”. Now imagine it has eight-centimetre claws and can crush a bull’s spine with its jaws.

  – The first person to breed a lion in captivity was George Wombwell, who had his own travelling menagerie in 1810. He had a longstanding rivalry with Thomas Atkins, who had a show called Atkins’ Menagerie. On one occasion, when they were exhibiting at the same fair, Wombwell’s only elephant died en route. When Atkins heard this, he put up a sign saying that he had “the only live elephant in the fair!” Wombwell retaliated with a sign saying his show had “the only dead elephant in the fair!” Everyone came to see the dead one because they were allowed to poke it. People are like that.

  – Animals do attack. In 1860, lion tamer Martini Maccomo was mauled by a lion, and the pistol he used in his act accidentally fired into the audience, injuring a spectator. And in 1861, his hand got wedged in the mouth of a tiger for five minutes.

  – Tiger tamer Mabel Stark would face
eighteen big cats at once. In 1916, a lion called Louie mangled her arm. Her lion-tamer husband, Louis Roth, saved her by firing blank cartridges at Louie. The bizarre coincidence is that Roth had been mauled himself earlier in the day by a lion named Jeff (presumably he was ticked off about being a lion named Jeff).

  – Lion tamers use chairs to hold the lion off, because having four legs thrust at them confuses a lion enough to distract them from clawing your face off. This works with all simple-minded creatures. Seriously, just wave four different items of junk food at a boy; he’ll do whatever you want.

  – It’s surprising what you can get a wild animal to do. Irina Bugrimova could get her big cats to form a pyramid, and sit behind her on a motorbike.

  My question is, why?

  Some people reckon animal attacks are due to boredom and frustration, because wild animals are being forced to learn behaviour that is unnatural for them, in an environment that doesn’t suit them. When was the last time you saw a tiger in a nature documentary sit on a giant glitter ball and “beg”? This is a standard trick in animal circuses and I think it’s depressing.

  So I’m afraid we don’t offer classes in lion taming at Franconis’. If you’ve got a whip and a chair, you can practise on Lou, but we can’t guarantee your safety.

  To be honest, it’s not the mauling I find interesting. The thing that always gets me is that most lions never maul anyone. As you watch them being backed onto tiny platforms and made to do pretend roars, you can’t help thinking, Dude, you’re twice the size of this guy. And you have much bigger teeth. It’s like the lion has no idea that it’s much more powerful than the puny human in the sequinned lycra jumpsuit.

  I sometimes think the same about people. People who put up with a lot of crap because someone’s told them, over and over, that they have to; that they’re weak. People who have no idea how strong they really are. Sometimes I just wanna yell, “Dude! Check out your teeth!”

  < < Previous Post

  After overhearing Hector’s one-way conversation with Birdie at the hospital, I decided to avoid him, unfriend him, cut him out of my life for ever.

  Which would have been much more satisfying if he’d been around. But he spent the whole of Sunday night with Sinead. All I got was a text saying, Plans with Sinead, soz, laters, when I hadn’t even tried to make plans with him. Like I’d been pre-emptively ditched!

  I guess this is what it’s going to be like. As soon as Birdie wakes up, it’ll be text messages saying Plans with Hector (heart emoji), soz, laters, and I’ll be like (Vomit emoji) Whatevs.

  I spent Sunday night watching Lou shout at quiz-show hosts on TV. Neither of us got a single question right. It seems like whether Birdie wakes up or not, I’m going to be left on my own, so I might as well get used to it. Hanging out with Lou could be my new social life.

  At one point she demanded more whiskey, and when I told her Mum said no, she glared at me and said, “Did you know lion tamers only use young lions? After a certain age they’re completely untrainable and dangerously aggressive.”

  “I didn’t know you had the internet, Lou. Was that from Birdie’s blog?”

  “What blog?” she said.

  I got her the whiskey.

  Monday morning I feel hungover from the fumes of Lou’s pipe as I drag myself to school alone. I left home super early so I wouldn’t have to walk with Hector.

  “Are you all right, Finch?” Miss Allen says before first period. I can see why she might be concerned; I’m early for maths, sitting all alone in the dark classroom, staring out the window.

  “Fine, thanks, Miss.”

  “I can’t help but notice you don’t look quite … yourself these days,” she says as she goes around the room setting graph paper and compasses on the desks.

  I look down at myself. I’m wearing a plain T-shirt and jeans. Apart from a couple of favourite hats, that’s what I wear most days now.

  “What would you consider more me, Miss?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, something … fun!” By which she means “funny”, like I exist to entertain the inmates of Murragh High.

  She tries a different tack. “What would Birdie say if she could see you looking like that?”

  Wrong tack. “Humph. I’m not sure I know Birdie well enough to say, Miss,” I mutter.

  The rest of the class start pouring through the door and trying to stab each other with the compasses. Hector and Sinead dash in last. At least he doesn’t sit with me in maths. I go back to staring out the window.

  Halfway through class, I realize I still haven’t got the hang of Pythagosaurus, or whatever he’s called, but I’m determined not to ask Hector for help. I give up on the exercise Miss Allen has set and lean my head on one hand. A little shower of snow rains down on my graph paper.

  I frown at it and pick up a few crumbs: tiny chunks of eraser, a couple of minuscule paper balls and some wads of tissue. With a sinking feeling, I run a hand through my hair, dislodging another blizzard and setting off a chorus of tittering from the row behind. If Birdie were here, I’d shake myself like a wet dog and pretend I didn’t care. Now I just comb the stuff out with my fingers and go back to my work.

  But that’s not enough of a reaction for Kitty Bond. I know it’s her, because the missiles start getting bigger. I can feel them pinging off the back of my head and shoulders. She chooses her moments; Miss Allen hasn’t noticed anything. I’m expecting a compass point to pierce my ear any minute when I hear a thud and a yelp. I turn to see Kitty rubbing her forehead and scowling, a multicoloured beanbag ball sitting on her desk.

  He might as well have thrown a signed confession at her. The whole class swivels to look at Hector.

  “Oops,” he says.

  “Those things aren’t allowed in school, Miss,” Kitty says. “Zero tolerance. He should be suspended.”

  “I don’t think it’s quite that simple, Kitty,” Miss Allen says.

  “Yes, it is, that’s what zero tolerance means.”

  “Well, yes, but…” Even Miss Allen is faltering.

  “It’s mine, Miss, I brought it to school,” I say. I might as well get suspended; it’s not like the week is going to get any better.

  “He didn’t, I did,” Hector says.

  “It’s my beanbag ball, Hector,” I hiss at him.

  “So romantic!” Kitty crows. “Coming to the rescue like a knight in shining braces!”

  This is unfair because Hector got his braces taken off a month ago. But that doesn’t matter; he could grow six inches and become a bodybuilder, and she’d still make him feel like that skinny geek with the braces. And no matter what I do, what I wear, what I say, I’ll always be a circus freak to her.

  Suddenly I’m sick of it. I stand up, knocking my chair over, and turn to face her. Kitty is instantly on her feet, like she’s been waiting for this her whole life.

  “What is your problem, Kitty?”

  “Now, folks, let’s just sit down and talk about this,” Miss Allen says, flapping her hands at us. Everyone ignores her.

  “You’re my problem, Prom Queen. You and your stupid sister think you can do whatever you want around here! You think you’re so weird, the rules don’t apply to you! Well, you’re not special, Sullivan, you’re just a freak.”

  “Oh, well excuse me for not being as normal as you, Kitty. No, really, congratulations on being so completely and totally average, it’s such an achievement. And you’ve got some nerve, by the way, standing there talking about my sister when it was your stupid boyfriend—”

  “Don’t you dare talk about him!” she screeches.

  “Why would I want to? He’s a dick; you’re welcome to him!”

  Miss Allen is rapping the desk with a paperweight now, but Kitty and I are locked in a death-stare. Even I’m starting to wonder how this is going to end when, in between the screeching and Miss Allen’s attempts at discipline, there’s a second of silence, and an odd buzzing sound fills the air.

  Miss Allen could have brought in a
riot squad of PE teachers and it wouldn’t have calmed us down, but suddenly everyone is stock-still, staring at Hector, who’s on his feet at the other side of the room, dodging a bee. He’s ducking his head, leaping about and waving his arms at it, following it with his eyes as it chases him. So we all follow it too. Except there’s nothing there.

  “Are you all right, Hector?” Miss Allen says.

  The buzzing continues and Hector jolts forwards, stomach first, as if the bee has prodded him in the back. Then he’s up on his chair, then on the desk, hopping from foot to foot as the imaginary insect dive-bombs from above. People are looking at each other, wondering who’s going to react first, and whether we’re going to laugh or laugh. Kitty’s still too furious to speak, which is lucky for Hector.

  He’s had enough of the bee now. He rolls up his graph paper and starts stalking it down the length of the classroom, over the tops of the desks. People grab their pencil cases and phones before he steps on them. The “bee” starts to circle Sinead Adeyemi and Hector’s watching it so convincingly, she goes cross-eyed as it “lands” on her forehead and the buzzing stops. He brings the rolled graph paper down – smack – on her head. Sinead blinks in disbelief and looks nervously from left to right, from Kitty to Hector. This is your cue, I want to tell her, despairing at Hector’s chances of cooperation from a Bond Girl. But as the buzzing starts again and Hector follows the bee on down the row, she smiles. Then she starts to giggle, and Miss Allen gives up trying to get Hector back on solid ground and starts to giggle too. Hector wallops a few more people on the head, and they start to laugh as well. Some of them instinctively try to dodge the bee, they can’t help themselves, and that makes everyone else laugh. He’s reached Miss Allen’s desk now. He stands on top, gasps like he’s had a great idea, and the “bee” flies right into his open mouth.

  He feigns choking, gagging, and then pokes his tongue around inside his cheeks, like the bee is going mad in there. He motions desperately at Miss Allen to pat him on the back. She gives him a thump and Hector does a difficult-looking gulp.