The Peco Incident (25 page)

‘Yessss,’ hissed Nick beside me.

But already Saxton was leaning towards the microphones. ‘That’s not possible: the owner’s dead.’

‘Oh,’ said Arthur, somewhat put out by the news. ‘That’s a bit awkward, isn’t it? Then, I don’t know, I suppose she could go to a wildlife park or something.’ He recovered his calm. ‘I’m sure something can be worked out.’

Nick grabbed my arm. ‘You bet it can, Arthur!’ he yelled at the screen, excitedly. ‘You bet it can — just come along and see us.’

NetNews that night led with the headline ‘Harriet the Heroine’. They had shots of healthy-looking albatrosses tended by smiling workers. These were followed by an animated graphic of the process used to make the serum. It was well done, getting the message across without the boring words that Dr Matthews had used. Then they went live to Jim Black, who was at the research centre where all of this was done.

‘I’m at the McIntosh Research Centre, not far from Dunedin,’ he began. ‘And I’m going to interview the heroine of this story. But before I do, I’m required to put on this surgical mask, as she’s still not totally clear of the H6N3 virus.’

As he finished putting on the cotton mask, the camera pulled back to a wider view, and there was Harriet, sitting on her stand. Around our family there was a collective gasp of surprise. We’d hoped to see a video clip of her, but here she was live, almost in the lounge as she so often had been before being taken away. She looked much the same as always, except for a patch of missing feathers on the left side of her chest where her pink skin was crossed by a scar.

‘This is Harriet,’ said Jim, moving closer to her perch. ‘Hello, Harriet!’

‘Hello!’ said Harriet. ‘I’m Harriet the Parriet. Who are you?’

‘I’m Jim.’

‘Hi Jim! Hi Jim!’

Jim responded with a little wave.

‘Give us a kiss,’ continued Harriet. ‘Give us a kiss.’

So Jim leaned forward for Harriet to touch her beak on his mask. She did so. The cotton can’t have been to her liking, though, for immediately she pulled back, let out a squawk, and then shook her head in disgust. We burst into laughter — Jim Black had met his match.

He looked directly at the camera, and gave us a sheepish grin. ‘I have to tell you that not all birds react like that when they kiss me.’

‘Yeah right!’ said Harriet. ‘Yeah right!’

More laughter. There was also giggling coming from the television set, and I could imagine the research centre staff in the background enjoying the famous interviewer getting his comeuppance from one of their inmates.

Jim turned back to Harriet. ‘Now, now Harriet,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You don’t have to be like that.’

I expected Harriet to shake her head as well, but instead she bobbed up and down in an exaggerated nodding routine. This time there was loud laughter from the centre staff.

‘OK, Harriet,’ said Jim, trying to look serious. ‘Show me where you had your operation.’

She seemed to think about that for a moment, before moving her head in circles — a sure sign that she didn’t understand the question.

Jim Black decided to help her out. ‘Was it there?’ he suggested, reaching forward and touching the bare patch on her chest.

‘Help! Help!’ screeched Harriet, moving to the other end of her stand. ‘Murder! Murder!’

Jim pulled his hand back quickly. ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ he said to the camera. Then to Harriet, he asked, ‘Did it hurt you?’

It was the wrong question.

Harriet used the swear word that Dad had taught her. Not once, but several times. And because it was live television, there was no way of bleeping it out.

Jim threw his hands in the air. ‘Hold it! Hold it!’ he cried. ‘You’ll get me into trouble with the Broadcasting Standards Authority.’

But Harriet was on a roll. She gave him her full range of swear words — ones that she’d collected from Murph over many years of their living together. If Jim Black hadn’t panicked, she would have stopped. But he kept waving his arms, which she took as encouragement. On and on it went until Jim finally indicated to the cameraman to cut the filming. For a moment the screen went blank, then an advert came on. It was one that had a dog using the b-word. After Harriet’s performance it seemed most appropriate, even though the language was a little tame by comparison.

O
n the twenty-ninth of January we returned to Dunedin Airport. It was time for Nick to go home. This time there were more than just Mum and me to witness the event. Dad had got the day off to go out with us, and Cathy was waiting at the airport — her and dozens of other people. But they were not there to farewell Nick; Harriet was the one they wanted to see. She would be travelling north with Nick, as he was now her official caregiver.

How this came to be took some time to work through, and started with the execution of Murph’s will. While he lived his life as though he were poor, his bank records revealed that he was in fact a very rich man. How he became so wealthy was a mystery. The lawyer certainly didn’t know, and we found no clues when we cleaned his house. Of course when the people
of Portobello discovered he was rich, they had lots of theories, most of them involving some previous criminal activity. We doubted that, but without any evidence our views were ignored.

According to the will, most of his money — hundreds of thousands of dollars — was to go to the Royal Forest and Bird Society. On top of that a trust fund of $50,000 had been set up for my education and Harriet’s care: I could study at university or anywhere else, on the understanding that I kept Harriet happy for the rest of her life.

I was overwhelmed when I heard the news. I’d been thinking that going to art school might be cool, and now it was possible. With that amount of money I could aim for whatever I wanted, and looking after Harriet would never be a chore. But it turned out that I didn’t even have to do that. Murph had arranged things so that I could pass that responsibility onto others so long as I checked on her at least twice a year.

I’d like to say that it was an easy decision giving Nick first turn with Harriet, except it wasn’t. I had lots of selfish thoughts about keeping her for myself. Mum was the first to mention a different possibility. She’d seen the changes in Nick’s behaviour whenever he was around Harriet, and she suggested he should look after her for a while. As Mum and Dad were two of the trustees of my fund, the suggestion soon became a decision. The other trustee — the lawyer — then organized the permit that made it legal.

Eight days before Nick was due to go back to Hastings, Harriet returned home for a wonderful reunion. She seemed unchanged from all her experiences: if anything, she was even
cheekier than before. It was absolutely fantastic to have her about the place again.

Everything seemed to happen at once around that time. The emergency at the albatross colony was declared over when the first egg hatched a healthy bundle of white fluff. Bryce Shreeves was charged with the inhumane treatment of animals and was bailed to appear at a later date. Roost was in court on the same day charged with offences under the Biosecurity Act. He pleaded guilty and was remanded in custody for sentencing at a later date.

Brio was charged, but did not appear in court. She was still unable to move anything except her arms and head. According to Cathy, the doctors thought her injuries were permanent. This could mean that she might never go to prison for the harm and heartache she’d caused.

Surprisingly, I no longer cared too much about what happened to her. The way things had turned out meant she’d never do any other acts of terrorism, and that was enough for me. While nothing could bring Murph back to life, in Harriet we had the next best thing. Every time she opened her mouth we heard words that reminded us of her previous owner, and Harriet was never reluctant to open her mouth.

Especially so on that day as I wheeled her from the airport car park across to the terminal. Nick now had a new plaster that was suitable for walking, but still needed the support of a single crutch, so I was given the job of escorting Harriet.

Her cage was mounted on a trolley in much the same way as a travel bag. As it bounced over gutters and ramps, she
screamed ‘Help!’ and ‘Murder!’, much to the delight of others who were moving to or from the terminal. Most of them seemed to know who she was, and there were many greetings of ‘Hello, Harriet the Parriet.’

At the terminal we were met by Cathy and a public relations officer from the airline. Cathy was there to represent BIRT in place of Colin Saxton, who was on leave until his handling of the Peco Incident had been reviewed. Apparently, the bosses thought that if he’d listened to Nick and me, then the albatross emergency could have been avoided — which, of course, was exactly right.

The public relations officer was there to greet us because the airline was providing free seats for Nick and Harriet on the flight to Napier.

‘Welcome to Dunedin Airport,’ he said, as we approached the open doors. He bent over to Harriet’s cage. ‘And a very special welcome to you, Harriet.’

‘Who are you?’ asked Harriet in her rudest tone.

‘I’m Graham,’ beamed the publicity officer, fully expecting to get her usual welcome.

But instead she gave a snort and ruffled up her feathers. Graham looked most put-out.

I took pity on the man. ‘She has trouble saying some names,’ I explained. ‘So instead she gets all huffy.’

Graham nodded. ‘That’s OK. Maybe she’s a bit nervous about all these people.’ He indicated the crowd lined up behind the ropes that stretched through the terminal. ‘Perhaps we should move through now so we can get to somewhere a bit quieter.’

Harriet soon showed that it wasn’t the crowd that had upset her. Quite the opposite: she loved being surrounded by so many people. She put on quite a performance, calling out to them, posing for photographs and going through several of her bobbing routines; all this encouraged by cheers and laughter from the audience. She was like a star working the red carpet on Oscars’ night.

Eventually we made it through to a private space for those travelling on the same flight as Harriet. It overlooked the luggage area where bags from the latest landing were beginning to circulate. I looked down and smiled to myself, remembering Nick’s arrival when he had almost come to blows over the ownership of a bag. The Nick I knew now was a vastly different person. In those six weeks, I had come to think of him not as a stupid cousin but as a friend — one whom I was sure I would miss as soon as he left. But then we wouldn’t be separated for too long. The trust fund required me to visit him at least twice a year. There would be plenty of opportunities for new adventures, and maybe even some more broken bones.

While Graham was doing Nick and Harriet’s ticketing, we moved to a corner where we could say our goodbyes with some privacy. To my surprise, Nick was a bit emotional, especially when Mum and Cathy each gave him a hug. Dad shook hands wordlessly, and then it was my turn. We looked at each other for a moment, unsure of what to do. Then remarkably, we were gripping each other in a hug, the way rugby players do.

‘See you, Nick,’ I said, as we separated. ‘Make sure you look after Harriet well, or I’ll have to sack you.’

‘Sure, boss,’ he replied, with a little giggle. ‘She’s likely to snitch on me if I don’t.’

‘Too right! Too right!’ said Harriet.

I crouched down to be level with her cage. ‘And goodbye to you, too, Harriet.’

‘Give us a kiss. Give us a kiss,’ she said.

So I did.

After that there didn’t seem much left to say. Fortunately, Graham returned and said it was time for Nick to go through to the departure lounge. At the same time a small boy with a plaster on his arm came up to Nick.

‘I’ve got a plaster, too,’ he said proudly.

‘So you have,’ said Nick. ‘How did you do that?’

‘Fell out of a tree,’ replied the boy. ‘Mummy got very cross.’

‘Yes, mummies often do,’ said Nick, knowingly. ‘Are you going on the plane, too?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, when you’re allowed to move around, you come and see me and I’ll introduce you to my parrot.’

‘OK,’ said the boy, giving a big smile.

‘Come on, Jack.’ It was the boy’s mother. ‘We’ve got to get on the plane now.’

‘See you later,’ said Jack, taking his mother’s hand.

‘You bet,’ replied Nick with a wink.

‘We must go, too,’ said Graham, taking hold of Harriet’s trolley.

Amidst lots of farewells, Nick turned and reluctantly followed Graham down the corridor.

When they were halfway along I thought of something.

‘Hey, Nick!’ I called out.

He stopped and turned around. ‘What?’

‘I don’t think you should introduce Harriet to that little boy.’

He gave me a puzzled look. ‘Why not?’

‘His name’s Jack,’ I replied.

‘So? What difference does that make?’

‘Well, I don’t think you’ll want her screeching “Hi Jack! Hi Jack!” all throughout the flight.’

The change to Nick’s expression was wonderful to watch. The questioning look slowly morphed into a wide, wickedly evil grin.

‘Oh yes, I do!’ he said, giving me the thumbs-up. ‘I most certainly do.’