Flying the Coop (29 page)

‘And don't forget the legs.' Lauren hopped down from her chair and came around, diving her hands into the box and pulling out a pair of orange ribbed tights.

‘And the pièce de résistance!' Jenny dropped the costume and went back into the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with a plastic bag from which she pulled two huge padded orange objects. ‘The feet!'

‘Oh my god.'

‘This is unbelievable!' Zoe, who had joined the other two standing around the box, held up the costume. ‘And just your size, Mum!'

‘Oh no,' said Chris, shaking her head emphatically. ‘I am
not
wearing that.'

‘Of course you are.' Jenny placed one of the huge, three-toed orange feet next to Chris's foot, which looked positively Cinderella-like in comparison. ‘See? Perfect.'

‘Is it ours to keep?' asked Zoe.

‘Unfortunately, no.' Jenny stuck her hand through the costume headpiece and out through the beak, where she waved it at Chris. ‘We've got to return it on Sunday. So tomorrow's the big day. What better advertising gimmick than this?'

‘No bloody way.'

‘We'll print up some more flyers,' continued Jenny, as if Chris hadn't spoken. ‘And you can parade up and down the main street handing them out. I
bet
you'll get more sales next week after this!'

‘You
have
to be kidding.'

‘Deadly serious.' Jenny withdrew her hand and stuck a finger through each eyehole instead. ‘Can't you see the potential here?'

‘If you're so keen on the thing,
you
wear it.'

‘That would be cheating.' Jenny took her hand out and looked across at Chris, suddenly serious. ‘
You're
the one who
needs to do something decisive to demonstrate commitment. For yourself as much as anyone else. Besides, I'm claustrophobic.'

‘First I heard of it.'

‘Well, I am. And Lauren's too small, Zoe will be getting picked up too early, and if you start thinking of Dot – well, that only shows how desperate you're getting.'

‘Dot!' giggled Michael happily, pulling the padded feet over his socks and standing up unsteadily. ‘Hey, look at me, I'm a chook!'

‘You're a
something
,' commented his sister, ‘but it's not a chook.'

‘I'm gonna lay an egg.' Michael squatted down and started groaning, his face turning the same colour as his freckles with the effort. ‘Look out! Here it comes!'

‘It's not that I don't appreciate the thought.' Chris, ignoring the reproductive efforts of her son, looked at Jenny seriously. ‘I really do. But I don't have to do . . .
that
to prove that I'm committed. I'm already committed.'

‘Really? Deep down?'

‘As deep as it gets,' Chris nodded.

‘Then it shouldn't be a problem.' Jenny draped the tights over Chris's arm. ‘If you were committed –
deep down
– then you'd recognise this as a brilliant move and, even though you'd be reluctant, you'd still do it. For the rewards it'll bring.'

‘I don't care what you say.' Chris plucked the tights off her arm and dropped them into the cardboard box. ‘I am
not
wearing that thing.'

‘But you have –'

‘Not a chance in hell.'

From:
Neil Mackaway

Date:
Friday, 3rd November 2006. 8.46PM

To:
Christin Beggs

Subject:
Hi again

Hi again. First, in answer to your questions from yesterday: (1) Yes, garlic would definitely cause irritation to an alpaca's eyes – but I can't think why anyone would put it on the eyes in the first place so it shouldn't really be a problem. (2) I really don't know what goes ‘tut, tut' – is that a joke? (3) With regard to my uncle and my mother, yes, I think there might be a bit of history there as I believe they dated briefly before she met my father. Why? (4) Afraid I only had one idea – have you thought of advertising in the local paper to increase your sales?

Well, hope you're having better weather down there than we are. Rain for the past three days.

Cheers, Neil

From:
Christin Beggs

Date:
Friday, 3rd November 2006. 9.23PM

To:
Neil Mackaway

Subject:
Re: Hi again

Hi Neil, thanks for the info. I know some of my questions may sound odd (like the garlic and the alpaca!), but it all helps. And there's something I've been wondering if I should mention, but I didn't want to seem like a gossip – but I think maybe you should know. Especially as you say they were once dating. Because it looks like they might be again. Actually, it's only been three dates so far, so maybe it's nothing. But I don't think your father is terribly impressed. Oh, and thanks for your idea re the egg sales. An ad in the local paper
would
be a good move.

Chris

A
ctually, after the first hour, it wasn't so bad – once she'd learnt that if she kept her head tilted back ever so slightly,
then
she could see where she was going. And after she'd discovered that the best method of walking was to raise each oversized foot at least six inches in the air before putting it down. And once she'd realised that turning quickly meant that her well-padded posterior stood a very good chance of wiping out any pedestrians who happened to be passing by at that particular moment.

Unfortunately these lessons came at a considerable cost to several early-morning shoppers, including one elderly lady who, with her wheeled walking frame, had paused in front of a handicraft shop to examine a tapestry display. And been promptly flattened against the plate glass when Chris, who was behind her, had accidentally managed to catch one set of chicken toes underneath her foot, causing her to stagger sideways and hit the elderly lady in the back of the head with a flailing wing. It had all been terribly embarrassing, especially when her victim managed to right herself and, turning to see what had hit her, started whimpering at the sight of the huge feathered creature looming over her solicitously.

The whole debacle attracted quite a crowd, which no doubt Jenny would have said was good for publicity, but which Chris just found humiliating in the extreme. At least nobody could see her face because it was well hidden, if a trifle sweaty, behind the enormous headpiece with its floppy comb and huge orange beak. So afterwards, if she ever met any of these people again, she could always claim that they had hired an actor for this little gimmick and she herself had been nowhere near a chook suit. Ever.

Fortunately the accident with the little old lady occurred just after Chris had placed her wicker basket of eggs on a nearby bench to give her arm a rest, and therefore the eggs themselves had been saved from destruction. It had been Jenny's bright idea to bring the eggs along and hand them out with the flyers. Chris hadn't thought much of the notion at the time and thought even less of it now that she had to face the rather bemused expression of various people who were handed a single egg and then wondered where the hell to put it.

But after two and a half hours of flip-flopping up Healesville's main street and handing out flyers and eggs, Chris had become desensitised to the stares and the whistles and the frightened screams of young children.
And
the number of men who thought they were the first one to call out: ‘Now
there's
a good looking bird!' Her basket was half empty, her feet were numb, and her entire body felt as if it had been anaesthetised at some point. It was simply a matter of lifting a foot up and placing it in front of the other, one after the other, while flapping flyers in the air and thrusting eggs at surprised shoppers. However, it was around this point in time that a new problem began to make its presence known – pretty soon she was going to need to go to the bathroom. And given that the tights were underneath the bodysuit which, in itself, would probably
not even fit into one of the toilet cubicles – this was going to make life interesting.

Chris sat down on a nearby bench and, plonking the basket down beside her, straightened her orange legs out in front with a sigh of relief. She folded her wings across in front of her and clenched and unclenched her hands to stretch her fingers. Although the wings covered her entire arm, coming to a point about two inches past her longest finger, the material around her hands was thin enough that she could still grasp objects. Which had helped considerably when she needed to change gears on the way into town this morning.

From this vantage point she could see the hotel over the road, where a few people had settled themselves in the beer garden for an early lunch. They looked across at her with interest and she flapped one tired wing at them in acknowledgement.

The hotel itself was a very attractive, character-filled old building that dominated the main street and set the tone for the quaint, picturesque shopping strip. Many of the buildings were of that solid construction that dated back at least eighty years, although every now and then a few more modern shops appeared, standing out like sore thumbs. The street had all the standard businesses: chemists, butchers, post office, banks etc – and what seemed like more than its fair share of antique and touristy gift-shops. There were also, now that it was nearing the middle of the day, an awful lot of people.

Chris crossed her legs and started playing a game whereby she had to pick the Healesville residents from the tourists. The young couple who had just emerged from a rather twee souvenir shop with a gift-bag each were definitely tourists, as was the overly loud family wearing matching Healesville Sanctuary caps. But the teenagers hanging around the bus stop comparing mobile phones were definitely residents. And so was the elderly lady she had flattened earlier, who was now
coming down the footpath with her walking frame and giving Chris a rather apprehensive look.

Chris smiled back, and then remembered that any facial expressions couldn't be seen through her beak. So she held out an egg instead, but the woman shook her head quickly and clomped over to the other side of the path, gaining as much distance between herself and Chris as she possibly could.

‘Can
I
have an egg please?' One of the teenagers, a stocky, scruffy-haired boy, had come over from the bus stop and was grinning at her with his hand out.

‘Sure.' Chris, rather touched by his enthusiasm, handed him a smooth, ivory-coloured egg and watched as he carried it gently over to his companions, who were all looking on curiously. Once there he immediately slapped it onto the head of another boy and laughed uproariously as the yolk slithered down his hair and plopped onto the pavement.

‘Frigging
bastard
!' His victim ran a hand through his hair and then stared with disgust at the gooey mess dripping from his fingers. ‘I'll get you for that!'

Chris jumped up, grasping her basket just as the egg-splattered boy came rushing over.

‘Can I have an egg too?'

‘No.' Chris clutched the basket to her chest protectively.

‘C'mon! You gave
him
one!'

‘Well . . .' Chris glanced over his shoulder to where the stocky boy was still bent over with laughter. ‘Okay, just one.'

After handing him an egg, Chris headed as quickly as possible down the street and away from the fight that was about to happen. The laughter – and language – of the teenagers floated behind her as she concentrated on lifting her feet the required six inches. Lift – and place. Lift – and place.

A middle-aged couple pushing a Safeway trolley passed by so, guessing that they were Healesville residents, she handed
them both an egg and a flyer and then continued on. Lift – and place. Lift – and place. Just past the craft shop with the tapestry display, Chris spotted the real estate agent's where, just four months ago, she had first seen her fantasy in the window. She narrowed her eyes as she stalked in its direction and, coming to a halt by the plate-glass window, stared at the properties on display. No farms this week, just a range of residential houses, looking neat and trim and far less loaded with complications.

A youngish couple with a perfectly bald baby in a stroller paused by the narrow window display on the other side of the shop door and, after giving Chris a rather perplexed look, began to gesture at one of the properties there. By tilting her head back a trifle, Chris could see that it had a large SOLD sticker plastered across it.

‘There it is, Jeff,
our
house. In only three more weeks.'

‘Actually it'll be more the bank's than ours,' said Jeff glumly.

‘Stop worrying! We'll make a few cutbacks with our budget and we'll be fine!'

‘Good morning, Jeff! Morning, Belinda!'

Chris started with surprise as she recognised the voice but Frank didn't so much as glance in her direction. Instead, leaving the door open, he headed straight over to the young couple and shook Jeff's hand enthusiastically. Chris stared at the back of his head – and the demarcation line between his real hair and the rodent-brown of the toupee.

‘Hi, Frank.' Jeff looked a bit embarrassed. ‘Just having a squiz. Again.'

‘Excellent!' Frank sounded upbeat. ‘No second thoughts, I hope?'

‘Oh, no. We just –'

‘Because I'll tell you something I probably shouldn't. But what the hell. You know when you put the deposit down? See, I wondered if you were being a bit . . . well,
impulsive
. But
then last time I took you out there again, I just looked at the two of you in the house and I realised that you knew, didn't you? You just
knew
that you were right for the place. And that the place was right for you.'

‘Yes!' said Belinda happily. ‘You're right!'

‘And I'll tell you something else, too. You've probably noticed how much more confident I am now, haven't you? Go on, be honest.'

‘Actually, yes,' admitted Jeff with a glance at his partner.

‘Well, it's because of you! All because of you!'

‘
Us
?'

‘Because you're my first sale! My
very
first sale!' Frank clapped one hand on Jeff's shoulder and then shook his head ruefully. ‘See, it's like this, I've been with Fielders for months now, but I haven't made a sale. Not
one
. They say it's all to do with the confidence but how can you get the confidence unless you make a sale? And then how can you make a sale without the confidence? It's a conundrum, isn't it?'

‘Um, yes, I suppose so,' said Jeff doubtfully.

‘But now my problems are over! And it's because of you. I was almost ready to throw it all in, you know – yep, almost ready.'

‘I'm so glad you didn't.' Belinda beamed at Frank. ‘Because we
love
the house. And no
way
are we having second thoughts. Are we, Jeff?'

‘S'pose not. No, none at all.'

‘Excellent! That's excellent!'

‘Why, you bastard,' blurted Chris furiously. ‘You absolute
bastard
!'

Frank whirled around in surprise, his mouth dropping open as he took in the sight of the huge chicken standing by the real estate display waving a wing at him angrily. His eyes travelled rapidly from her beak area down to her two huge clawed feet and then back up again.

‘What the –'

‘I thought
I
was your first, hey? Isn't that what you said?'

‘Well, um, that is – who the hell
are
you?'

‘I'm . . .' Chris hesitated as she remembered her desire to keep her identity secret. The last thing she wanted was to be known ever after as the nut in the chicken suit.

‘Well?' Frank was frowning now and, behind him, Belinda had removed the bald baby from the stroller and was holding it protectively against her chest.

‘Who
am
I you ask?' Chris drew herself up to her full height and then prodded Frank in the chest with the tip of one wing. ‘I'm your worst nightmare, that's who I am.'

‘My
what
?'

‘And when you least expect it, I'll be there. You'll get yours.' Chris glared at him angrily and then, being very careful to lift her feet properly, flip-flopped past with her head held high. When she got to Jeff and Belinda, who had both moved back a step, she paused to reach into her basket and pull out two eggs. ‘Here, have an egg each.'

‘Ah. Thanks.'

‘Don't mention it.' Chris continued on down the street, her mind boiling with what she had just discovered. All that rubbish about never having made a sale was only a ploy. Even his clothes and that ridiculous toupee were probably deliberate, just to lull his victims into a false sense of complacency. Before very long, Chris had herself convinced that she would never have bought the farm at all if it hadn't been for Frank's lies. That she would have pulled out of it on that very first visit if not for the fact that she had felt so sorry for him. Bastard.

Chris would probably have kept stalking ahead, ignoring all the interested stares, until she had left the shops behind and entered the residential area of town, had it not been for an incessant heaviness around her nether regions that reminded
her she needed the bathroom.
Real
soon. Accordingly she readjusted her priorities and shovelled Frank aside for the moment while she tried to work out where the most logical place would be for public conveniences. The hotel would obviously be a safe bet, but she categorically refused to flop her way around those premises, basket over one arm, while she hunted down a toilet. Instead she stopped and gazed back along the street, hoping she would spot a huge sign that would point her in the right direction. But all she saw was the length of the main street – which now looked
very
long – and a middle-aged couple who were just getting out of a car they had parked by the kerb.

‘Excuse me?' Chris approached them, tilting her head back to see better.

‘Um, yes?'The woman, a rather attractive blonde, looked at her quizzically.

‘Well, aren't you a good looking bird!' said her husband heartily.

‘Ha, ha,' Chris replied politely. ‘But I was just wondering if by any chance you'd know where the toilets are around here?'

‘Toilets?' repeated the guy with a grin. ‘Don't tell me you're house-trained?'

‘Don't be ridiculous, John.' His wife gave him an exasperated look and then turned her attention back to Chris. ‘Certainly. If you go back up to that real estate agent, you'll find a little alley. They're just down there.'

‘Thanks very much.' Chris started walking back the way she had just come, now rather annoyed with herself for not remembering where they were. Because that, of course, was where Michael had needed to go on that fateful day when she had first seen the farm advertised. So it was his fault too.