After Walter and Abby left, Dad and I put away the groceries, and I helped him make ham-and-cheese sandwiches for lunch. When we’d finished, Dad said it was time to start cleaning up the farm. ‘I’ll tackle the shed first, I think,’ he said. ‘You can bring your books if you like.’

‘Why can’t I help?’ I said. ‘I help Mum all the time when you’re away. I could clean up inside.’

I didn’t want to go to the shed. I wanted to find out more about Grandad Barney. I was certain something in the house would tell me what had happened. What about that diary Dad had been so quick to hide?

Dad was pulling on his boots at the back door when he stopped, stooped over, one boot on, one boot off.

‘Or I could, you know, sweep the verandas?’ I said. ‘They’re pretty dirty.’

Dad straightened, boot in hand. ‘Sweep?’

‘Yeah. Like at home?’

‘You sweep?’

I nodded. It wasn’t exactly hard. ‘Yeah, and other stuff. For my allowance.’

Dad raised his eyebrows. ‘Okay, you can sweep. There should be a broom here somewhere. But listen, don’t venture off, okay? I’m in the shed if you need me, and I’ll organise dinner when I get back.’

Once Dad had gone, I found a broom in the hallway cupboard. I’d just sweep for a few minutes, then I’d go back inside and find the diary. Either that, or snoop around in Grandad Barney’s room. Surely something would give me a hint?

I started by pushing gecko droppings off the windowsills and sweeping the leaves off the veranda. I wondered if any of the crocodiles from the croc farm were still on the loose. What would I do if I saw one? There were plenty of tall trees around Grandad’s garden. Maybe I’d climb the nearest tree. Crocodiles couldn’t climb, could they?

I stopped sweeping to wipe away the sweat dripping down my face. Who knew it would be so hot at Mission Beach? I was about to start sweeping again when I heard a sound.

‘Peep. Peep. Peep.’

What was that?

I stood and listened, shooing mozzies from my face.

There it was again.

‘Peep. Peep. Peep.’ It was coming from somewhere in the front yard.

I leant the broom against the bricks, and crept across the lawn towards the sound. I checked behind me, hoping Dad wasn’t watching. He was clunking around in the shed so I turned back to the trees. Fingers of light filtered down through the circular palm fronds above me, making a kaleidoscope of brightness and shadows.

The next ‘peep’ was close. I stood still as my eyes adjusted to the gloom. Suddenly, two feathery bodies raced out from behind a tree. The strange critters were no taller than my knees, and had yellowy heads and orange legs, like ducklings. Their bodies were striped with brown and yellow, and their long fluffy necks stuck out in front of them as they ran, making them look like Road Runner. I watched as they disappeared behind some bushes.

Weird!

I ran after them, pushing through the long grass, and found myself standing before a swampy creek. Murky water surrounded the bases of gnarled paperbark trees. It stank like the muddy mangroves near my house.

I turned, my heart thumping, as the critters ­reappeared. It was like they were playing hide-and-seek, whizzing past and splashing water as they went.

What were they? Their feathers were fluffy like a baby bird’s, but they didn’t appear to have wings. And even though they were about the size of an adult chicken, they were lean and elegant, not short and fat like a chook. And they definitely weren’t ducks. Their beaks were too pointy.

The chick closest to me skidded to a stop. It cocked its head and looked up, its brown eye blinking in surprise.

‘Hey,’ I whispered. ‘What you doing, mister? Having fun?’

The baby tipped its head the other way, looked at me a second longer, then darted off to find its friend. Suddenly, the second chick appeared, stepping out from behind a low hanging branch. They banged straight into each other making the second chick drop the bright red berry it was holding in its beak. I laughed as he picked it back up again, his beak stretched wide. The berry was too big for him to swallow. He looked at me, like he wasn’t sure what to do.

‘That’s too big for you, silly,’ I said. ‘Here. You have to peck at it. Like this.’ I crouched down and, with my finger, made tapping motions on the ground.

Both chicks raced to my side and started pecking at the ground next to me. Leaves were flung left and right. When they found nothing, they looked up at me expectantly.

‘But I haven’t got anything,’ I said, splaying my empty hands.

I stood up and looked across the swamp. Where were their parents?

Thinking of parents, the light was growing dim. Dad would be back from the shed any minute to cook dinner. I’d better get back.

‘See you, chicks. Maybe tomorrow?’

I turned to walk away, and the chicks skidded off into the swamp. The sound of their splashes and peeps echoed back to the veranda.

I hoped Dad hadn’t discovered that I was missing. I was relieved when I found him working on a chainsaw in the shed. He looked up when I walked in and then bent to give the chord a tug. Nothing happened. He straightened and scratched the stubbly black hair dotting his chin.

‘Maybe it’s out of petrol?’ I suggested.

‘Thanks, Einstein,’ he grunted, trying the chord once more. Still nothing.

‘Mower fuel can go off sometimes.’

‘Oh, yes?’ said Dad absently.

‘Yeah, when I mow at home—’

‘You help with the mowing? Flynnie! Sweeping, mowing, what else don’t I know about?’

‘Dad, I’m nearly ten. I can do stuff now. And you can’t keep calling me Flynnie.’

‘I know, I know. Sorry. It just seems like yesterday that I was changing your nappies.’

‘Ew! Gross.’

Dad bent down over the chainsaw again.

‘Hey, Dad?’

‘Yeah, mate?’

‘There’s …’ I wanted to ask him about the chicks. ‘I was wondering …’ But I couldn’t tell him. If he knew I’d wandered off, he’d never let me out of his sight again. So I scanned the shed for something else to ask about and noticed an ancient tractor near the far wall. ‘Was that the tractor Grandad Barney used to collect bananas? Could you teach me to drive it?’

Dad stood up and stretched. ‘Nah, mate. That one’s too big for you. Even if you are nearly ten. Tell you what, why don’t you ride up front with me when I start clearing tomorrow? You can be the navigator and I’ll do the driving.’

My heart sank. I didn’t want to ride with Dad. I wanted to see the hide-and-seek chicks again. ‘Well …’

‘Come on, you must be starving,’ Dad said. ‘I know I am. Let’s go make something to eat.’

With the smiley frog watching, Dad cooked us ‘hash’, a dish he made when he was away on the mines. He mixed instant mashed potato with Grandad’s old cans of Spam and baked beans, and squirted in a generous helping of tomato sauce. I didn’t mind it. It sure beat eating vegies.

Even the smiley frog approved. He croaked happily from the windowsill as he feasted on the insects attracted to the light from the kitchen.

After I’d helped Dad clean up, I made an excuse that I was tired, and headed to Grandad Barney’s room.

I was itching to find out more about the chicks. Tugging a bird book from Grandad Barney’s bookshelf, I hopped into bed and thumbed through it, looking for baby birds with brown and yellow stripes. I found them on a dog-eared page titled Casurius casuarius or southern cassowary.

My hands suddenly grew damp and my fingers stuck to the page. Cassowary chicks? But they couldn’t be. The babies I’d seen looked nothing like the cassowary we hit, or the statue in town.

The southern cassowary is Australia’s heaviest flightless bird, said the text. Dangerous if cornered, this important rainforest gardener swallows seeds that no other animal can. While the females lay the eggs, the male incubates them and cares for the newly hatched chicks. The chicks are dependent on their father to teach them foraging skills and will stay close to him until they are about nine months old.

So where was the dad of my hide-and-seek chicks? He should have been there, teaching them which seeds were too big for them to eat.

I scanned the book again. Male cassowaries can become very aggressive while protecting their chicks, and may—

When I turned the page to read more, a folded piece of paper fell out. It was a crayon drawing of an Easter egg with scrawly writing across the bottom. Hoppy Easter Grandad, Love Flynn xoxox

I’d sent Grandad Barney an Easter drawing? I didn’t remember that. Dad always made out that he wanted nothing to do with Grandad Barney. I wondered if he’d written back?

‘Flynn, what are you still doing up? It’s been a big day, mate.’

I quickly shut the book and tucked it under the covers. Dad’s eyes travelled around the bookshelves, like he was seeing them for the first time. He blinked and his lips quivered.

‘Night, mate,’ he said, his voice catching. ‘See you in the morning.’ He turned out the light.

‘Night, Dad.’

I lay in the dark, listening to the chorus of frogs croaking outside my window. I could understand why Grandad had raised a cassowary chick. They were so cute. Like my hide-and-seek chicks. But why had Abby mentioned Big Blue when telling me about Grandad’s accident? Cassowaries wouldn’t hurt anyone, would they? Not when they were as cute as my chicks. How did Big Blue fit into the story?

I grew sleepy, wondering where my chicks’ dad was. The book said cassowary dads stayed close to their chicks. Tomorrow I’d make an excuse not to go out on the tractor, and I’d take the chicks something to eat. They’d seemed so hungry.

I closed my eyes and was nearly asleep when Dad’s tyres squealing echoed in my head. The image of the hurt cassowary flashed into my mind. I squeezed my eyes more tightly. But the cassowary was still there, behind my eyelids, flailing on the side of the road.

My eyes snapped open.

What if the cassowary we hit was my chicks’ dad?