The Peacock Detectives

by Carly Nugent

  ‘Why would she want to have Christmas with us?’ he said. ‘She hates us.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I have a plan.’

  So today after school instead of looking for the peacocks, Jonas and I looked for Rhea. We found her on the other side of the bridge, dawdling along the road on her way home to Lee Street. When I spotted her I took a deep breath. And then I yelled, ‘Rhea! Wait!’

  She turned around. I could tell from her shape that she wasn’t happy to see us. I ran across the bridge. Jonas walked. Slowly.

  ‘What do you want?’ Rhea said when I got close to her. Her voice was a mixture of angry and sighing.

  ‘I just wanted…I was wondering…’ Now that I was close to Rhea and could see how tall she was, and how jangly her bangles were, and how unhappy her face was I started to feel unsure of my plan. I looked down at my shoes and said in one long shaky breath, ‘Do-you-want-to-come-to-my-house-for-Christmas?’

  I could feel Jonas behind me getting ready to run back across the bridge. When I looked up Rhea was staring at me the way people stare at bungee jumpers—half annoyed at their stupidity, and half impressed by it. She shook her head and turned away.

  ‘Wait,’ I said. Behind me I could feel Jonas thinking I had really lost it. Rhea waited. ‘You were right,’ I said. ‘You were right about my dad.’

  Rhea turned around. Her face shifted slightly, like a bike changing gears.

  ‘My dad is crazy,’ I said. And saying it felt like pushing a boulder to the top of a mountain. ‘He talks to himself. He doesn’t go to work. Sometimes he sits and stares at the living room wall for an hour without moving. He hardly eats. He spent all his money on ornaments. My mum doesn’t want to live with him anymore. My sister moved out, too.’ I looked down at my hands. They were shaking. ‘Anyway.’ I looked back at Rhea. ‘I just thought you should know. You were right.’

  Rhea stared at me for a long time. For a moment I thought she was going to say something, but then she turned around and started walking away. Jonas put his hand on my arm.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to go anywhere.

  ‘I’m going to stay here for a while,’ I said. I could tell Jonas understood because he didn’t try to change my mind. He nodded, and then he walked back across the bridge.

  I didn’t know what else to do, so I picked up a stick and threw it into the river. Then I walked to the other side of the bridge and watched it come out. I picked up another stick and threw it. Walked. Watched. Picked up another stick. Walked. Watched. Picked up another stick. I don’t know how long I did this for, or how many times, because while I was doing it I stopped thinking about time or Dad or Rhea or peacocks. I was only thinking about sticks and walking and watching.

  When I saw two sticks come out from under the bridge instead of one I expected to see Diana standing on the other side of the road. But when I looked it wasn’t Diana. It was Rhea Grimm.

  When Rhea walked over to look at her stick (which was a little bit slower than mine) she said, ‘Does your dad really do all those things?’

  ‘Cross my heart,’ I said.

  There was a long pause while we watched our sticks disappear down the river. When we couldn’t see them anymore Rhea said, ‘My dad used to stare at the wall, too.’

  We walked back to get two more sticks and then we threw them off the bridge. This time Rhea’s was faster. Without looking at me, she said, ‘Christmas lunch, or Christmas dinner?’

  ‘Lunch,’ I said. Rhea nodded.

  We kept playing Pooh Sticks until it got late. I told Rhea about how my dad knows a lot about stories, and she told me how her dad is really good at tennis. And even though we didn’t say it, I knew we were both thinking how weird it was that dads could be so crazy and so cool at the same time.

  This morning was Christmas morning. Dad woke me up at seven o’clock and we went out onto the deck. Simon was sitting in front of the Christmas tree watching Leo, who is much bigger now and has most of his proper feathers. He can even fly a little bit, which is upsetting to Simon because flying is something he will never be able to do. Apart from Leo’s flapping and landing, Christmas morning was really still and quiet. I thought about how Aunt Sally’s house sounds on Christmas: there are kids yelling, and Christmas music, and dogs barking, and pancakes hissing on the stove. I love Christmas at Aunt Sally’s, but there was something nicely different about Christmas in my own backyard.

  As I looked around with sleepy seven-a.m. eyes it felt like I was seeing everything for the first time. The chestnut tree with its big spreading arms, the long grass full of bugs, the rose bushes climbing along the back fence. It all felt somehow new and fresh and different, even though it was all exactly the same as it had always been. On Christmas morning in my backyard I only needed exactly what I already had. And then I realised—not suddenly and surprisingly, but slowly and quietly—that I did know what Buddhism was. It wasn’t about not needing anything—Buddhism was about not needing anything else.

  For a Christmas present Dad gave me a new notebook with a picture of a peacock on the cover. It is the best notebook I have ever owned. I felt bad because Dad’s Christmas present from me was supposed to be this story, but it isn’t finished yet.

  ‘I thought it would be finished by now,’ I said. ‘But it doesn’t have an ending.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Dad said. ‘The ending will come when it’s ready.’

  After church we set up the backyard for Christmas lunch. We pushed plastic tables together on the grass under the chestnut tree and covered them with Christmas tablecloths so you couldn’t see the wobbly joins in the middle. Dad got the barbecue ready and I put the cutlery and napkins on the tables. Simon and Leo were wearing their Christmas ribbons, Dad was wearing his good shirt, and I was wearing the new dress Aunt Sally had sent me for Christmas (which is green and blue and has a matching belt). We were ready.

  I was really hoping Mum and Roger wouldn’t arrive first, but they did.

  ‘Merry Christmas, possum!’ Mum bent down to kiss me and then went straight into the kitchen. Roger followed her, balancing lots of Tupperware containers in his arms. Mum pulled an apron out of the bottom drawer and turned on the oven. When Dad came inside and saw Mum holding a tray of glazed pumpkin he didn’t look happy.

  ‘Helen, I’ve already cooked,’ he said, which was true. Dad had spent most of Christmas Eve in the kitchen, swearing a lot and spilling things, but by the end of it the fridge was full of Christmas food.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Mum said. ‘It just means we’ll have a few leftovers.’

  Dad frowned. I could tell he knew whose food would end up being left over. I was worried for a minute that Mum and Dad were about to have a fight, but then Diana and Tom Golding arrived, so they couldn’t. Dad said hello to Diana, and shook Tom’s hand. I could tell Diana was surprised to see Dad wearing his good clothes and greeting people.

  Mum started heating some oil in a frying pan, and Dad mumbled something about the barbecue and disappeared outside. Roger opened a bottle of wine and poured some into a glass. He put his arm around Mum’s shoulders.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘should we have a Christmas toast?’ He pulled Mum close to him. I got ready to run outside before something disgusting happened. But something surprising happened instead. Mum pushed Roger away.

  ‘I’m trying to do the spring rolls,’ she said. Roger took his arm back. He stood in the middle of the kitchen like he didn’t know what to do. For a moment the only sound was hot oil popping and sizzling.

  Then a second surprising thing happened. Diana said, ‘Can I do anything?’ And she went and stood next to Mum.

  All of this behaviour was very confusing, so I was relieved when there was another knock at the door. It was Jonas and his parents.

  ‘Merry Christmas!’ Peter said.

  ‘Merry Christmas!’ Irene said.

  ‘Did you know starlight is four years old before
we see it?’ Jonas said.

  Jonas and I went outside to see Leo and Simon, and to give each other presents. I gave Jonas my copy of The Hound of the Baskervilles, and he gave me a book called Believe It or Not: Science Facts! I was reading a science fact about monkfish when Dad came over with the tongs.

  ‘I’m going to turn on the barbecue,’ he said. ‘Is everyone here?’

  Diana and Tom Golding were sitting at the wobbly Christmas tables. Mum was with the spring rolls. Roger was on the couch with a glass of wine.

  ‘Rhea’s not,’ Jonas said.

  Dad looked at me and said, ‘Then you’d better go and find her.’

  Jonas and I left the Christmas lunch and went out onto the Christmas streets. I held Simon’s lead and Leo walked-flapped beside us. Diana and Tom Golding came too, except they walked so far behind that they might as well not have been there at all. Everything shimmered in the heat like it didn’t really exist. There was nobody else around—no cars, and no pedestrians. Everyone was at home eating Christmas lunch or playing Christmas charades. Walking through Christmas-Bloomsbury was like walking through a ghost town.

  It took more than half an hour to get to Lee Street—partly because it’s really far away, but mostly because Diana and Tom Golding were walking so slowly. The street was deserted, and the only sound was the hum of TVs from inside the houses. Walking along Lee Street was like walking into a beehive.

  We walked along the brick path to Rhea’s front door. From the veranda of Rhea’s house the street looked surprisingly different—like a street that led somewhere, and not like a dead end. I knocked.

  There was silence for a long time. My ears felt like they were stretching off the sides of my head, trying to hear something—anything—from inside the house. But there was nothing. I knocked again. This time there was the sound of feet running on carpet, and the door opened.

  At first I thought there was no one there. Then I looked down. A little boy with messy hair and red cheeks was standing in the doorway.

  ‘Hi,’ he said.

  ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘What’s your name?’

  He rubbed one of his cheeks. There was something sticky on his hand, and it came off just under his eye. ‘I’m not allowed to talk to strangers,’ he said. ‘Are you strangers?’

  I knelt down so I wasn’t taller than him anymore. ‘My name’s Cassie,’ I said. ‘And this is Jonas. And that’s’—I turned around and pointed to where Diana and Tom Golding were dawdling down Lee Street—‘my sister and a boy who is her friend, but not her boyfriend.’

  The little boy’s eyes went wide. ‘You’re the Peacock Detectives!’

  I felt my face go red.

  ‘I’m Felix,’ the little boy said, and he led us through the house, which was much nicer on the inside than it was on the outside. Rhea was in the kitchen surrounded by pots and pans and flour and a big mess. Her face was red and her hair was stuck to her forehead with sweat. When she saw us her face turned even redder.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she said.

  ‘We’ve come to get you,’ I said. I looked around the kitchen. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘We’re making turkey and stuffing and pudding and custard,’ Felix said. I realised the smudge of sticky under his eye was cranberry sauce. ‘Mum had to go to work so Rhea’s in charge.’

  Rhea made a face like a squashed frog. ‘It’s chicken, Felix, not turkey,’ she said. ‘And I think the custard’s gone off.’

  ‘How many brothers and sisters do you have?’ said Diana. She had finally made it into the kitchen. Tom Golding was right beside her.

  ‘Five,’ Felix said. ‘Me, and Rhea, and Ada, and Paige, and Henry. Rhea’s the oldest, and then Henry. He’s nine.’

  ‘Why don’t you come to our place?’ Diana said. ‘We’ve got way too much food anyway.’

  Rhea looked at Diana, and then at the sticky benches, and then at me. Part of her look was angry, but another, larger part was very, very tired.

  Before the angry part of Rhea could tell us to go away, Felix noticed Leo, who was flapping his wings behind Tom Golding. ‘Is that a peacock?’ he said, and before I could blink Felix was holding Leo in his arms.

  I looked at Rhea.

  She sighed. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Let’s go, then.’

  So seven kids, two teenagers, one peacock chick, and one Brittany spaniel started walking back down Lee Street towards the river. We weren’t looking for anything except Christmas lunch, so when Felix started jumping and pointing I thought he was going crazy from hunger. But then I looked, and I saw what he was jumping and pointing at. And what he was pointing at was William Shakespeare and Virginia.

  They were on the bridge. At first I thought the shimmery heat was playing tricks on my eyes, but then I heard them. They called out to each other in that long, sad peacock voice that sounds like something is dying and being saved at the same time.

  Leo heard it too, and started chirping. I picked him up and held him carefully. Then I turned around and pressed a finger to my lips. Jonas and Rhea nodded. All of Rhea’s brothers and sisters went very still and didn’t make a sound.

  The peacocks were strutting right down the middle of the road with their heads held high, as proud as peacocks. I suppose they thought they would be safe, since it was Christmas and everyone was at home having Christmas lunch. William Shakespeare was in front, letting his tail trail lazily behind him. Virginia was at the back, and in between them were five feathery, flapping peacock chicks.

  We moved quickly and quietly off the road and into the bush. We crept crouched-down towards the bridge, careful not to crunch any loud sticks with our shoes. Jonas and Rhea were right behind me with Simon, and Diana and Tom Golding were behind the little kids. The kids didn’t giggle or talk or play. They were Peacock Detectives now, too.

  When we got to the bridge we stopped and waited by the riverbank at the edge of the road. The peacocks had stopped as well. There was a long moment where nothing happened, and the only sound was thousands of summer cicadas. Then William Shakespeare poked his head over the side of the bridge. Leo started chirping, and Simon started barking.

  And The Peacock Detectives charged.

  The peacocks saw us coming and started to run. But there were more of us, and we spread out and surrounded them. Jonas cornered Virginia against the side of the bridge and was bravely approaching her. But she lunged forward and pecked at him, and Jonas jumped out of the way. Virginia turned and ran in the opposite direction—right into Tom Golding.

  ‘I’ve got her!’ Tom Golding shouted. He had his arms wrapped gently but firmly around Virginia’s wings. When the peacock chicks saw that their mum had been captured they ran towards her. Felix picked one up, Henry got another one, and so did Ada. Even Paige had a chick cuddled in her arms.

  William Shakespeare, however, was getting away.

  ‘Take them home!’ I yelled to Diana, who was staring at Tom Golding like she had never seen him before. She nodded and they went. I held Leo—who was still chirping—against me. Then Rhea, Jonas, Simon and I chased William Shakespeare.

  I had never seen a peacock run so fast before. It must have been the open roads. Out in the empty space of Christmas afternoon William Shakespeare had room to run. And he really ran. His feet sped across the hot asphalt in a blur. Jonas and Simon were close behind him, but I could tell Jonas was getting tired. He started to slow down, and for a moment I thought we were going to lose William Shakespeare. But then Rhea lunged ahead and almost caught his tail. William Shakespeare must have felt the breeze of Rhea’s hand against his feathers, because he picked up more speed. He ran straight up the hill, and past the church. And through the gates of the school.

  The playground was just as empty as the rest of town. William Shakespeare darted past the music room, and for a second I thought he was going to keep going straight across the downball courts and into the secondary school. But at the last minute he veered right. He was going so fast that when he turned he almost fell o
ver. He was trying to outwit us. He ran with his feathers tucked behind him so his body was shaped like a rocket. He kept twisting and turning and pretending to go in one direction, then choosing another. We zigged and zagged all over the school. Then suddenly William Shakespeare made a quick right turn—towards The Snake Stairs.

  By now Rhea and Jonas were puffed and I was in the lead. I was running so fast and I was so focused on William Shakespeare’s tail that I completely forgot I’m scared of snakes and that I never go past the edge of the footpath. By the time I remembered these things it was too late—I was at the bottom of the stairs.

  I had forgotten to stomp.

  And the tiger snake was rearing up at me.

  I’ve heard stories about snakes hypnotising people, and I never really believed them. But at that moment, staring at the tiger snake breathing and lifting and flattening itself out in front of me, I was hypnotised. The top of its body was a shiny black, as dark as space. Its tummy was a clean bright yellow, the colour of spring wattle. It was hissing and the top part of its body was puffed up like a balloon. I could see its forked tongue flicking. Its eyes were open and looking. And they were looking straight at me.

  While the snake was looking at me I was surprised by two things:

  1) That it was beautiful, and

  2) I didn’t stomp, or scream, or try to run away. I just stood there—like Jonas had when he saw the snake near the river behind his house—and did nothing.

  The tiger snake moved its head back and then forward. I knew—the way I know that two plus two is four and that Simon loves bones—that the snake was about to bite me. I closed my eyes and prepared to be bitten.

  Suddenly there was a piercing squawk that broke my hypnosis and almost burst my eardrums.

  William Shakespeare ran between me and the tiger snake. He opened his tail like a shield and shook his eye-feathers, so he looked like a tree rustling in a breeze. William Shakespeare’s head was level with the snake’s head, and he bobbed it like he was getting ready to attack.