by Janet Reid
Granny Rags
Janet Reid
IP Kidz
an imprint of Interactive Publications
Treetop Studio • 9 Kuhler Court
Carindale, Queensland, Australia 4152
[email protected]
ipoz.biz/IP_Kidz/Kidz.htm
First published by IP Kidz, 2013
© Janet Reid, 2013 (text)
© Tom Hermann, 2013 (illustrations)
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owners and the publisher of this book.
Printed in 12 pt Book Antiqua on 20 pt Astonished.
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Author: Reid, Janet.
Title: Granny rags / Janet Reid.
ISBN: 9781922120267 (ebk.)
Target Audience: For children.
Subjects: Children’s stories.
Dewey Number: A823.4
Cover and internal illustrations by Tom Hermann
Book and cover design by Anna Bartlett
For Alistair
—my rock
Acknowledgements
My thanks go to all who have given me help and encouragement while writing this book, especially Ivy, Connor, Carmen, Alison, Ben, Sherri, Bridie, Penny, Bronte, Marcia, Barb, Rose, Edwina, my husband Alistair and my sons Cameron and Don, the Samford Writers and the Grey Street Girls, John Downs for his photography, and Duncan Richardson for writing about a time banana.
Thanks to IP for once again putting their faith in my writing.
And a very special thanks to my brilliant editor, Anna Bartlett, for her endless help and tireless patience as she helped me whip this book into shape.
Chapter One
‘Hey, are you a new boy?’ called a voice.
Tim squinted in the bright sunshine. The park looked deserted.
Then someone stepped out of the shade of the picnic shelter and sauntered towards him. He wore faded cut-offs and a tattered t-shirt a size too small, and his feet were bare. Blond hair hung over his eyes and down onto his shoulders.
‘Nice bike y’got,’ the boy said as he came closer.
Tim gripped the handlebars tightly. ‘Yes, it’s new. I got it for Christmas.’
‘Can I take it for a ride?’
No.
‘Ah … sure.’ Tim pulled off his helmet and looked at the boy’s hair, wondering … ‘You want to use this?’
‘Nah. S’okay,’ said the boy, tapping the side of his head. ‘I’ve gotta thick skull.’ He threw a leg over the bike and pushed down on the pedals.
‘No wheelies, okay?’ Tim called after him, and he watched as his bike disappeared around the corner. Two minutes later he was still waiting.
‘Great,’ he muttered. ‘Dad’ll kill me.’
Then a bike bell rang behind him. Tim jumped out of the way as the boy skidded to a stop beside him.
‘Cool,’ said the boy. ‘Wish I ‘ad a bike like this. So, are you goin’ to school here?’
‘Yeah,’ said Tim. ‘Grade five.’ Tim’s shoulder began to tingle and his hand automatically slipped up to rub it.
‘Hey, me too. What’s y’name? Mine’s Lockie.’
‘Ah … Tim. Tim Trickett.’
‘So, Tim, y’wanna go and ‘ave a look?’
‘A look?’
‘Yeah. Round the school.’
‘Are we allowed?’ asked Tim.
‘Course we’re allowed. Who’s gunna stop us? Come on.’
Ten minutes later, Tim and Lockie were standing on the edge of the oval. Tim gaped at the size of it. It had to be at least three times as big as the oval at his old school.
‘Plenty of room to play footy,’ said Lockie. ‘Most of us big boys play here all the time.’
Time?
‘Ah, I’ve got to go,’ said Tim. ‘I’m supposed to be home for lunch.’
‘You eat lunch?’ asked Lockie. ‘On a Sunday?’
Tim glanced sideways at Lockie. ‘Yes,’ he said, cautiously. ‘Don’t you?’
Lockie shrugged. ‘Depends,’ he said. ‘Dad reckons that y’shouldn’t eat too much on a Sunday. Reckons it’s a day of rest, and if y’restin’, y’don’t need to eat much. I think it’s cos there’s nothin’ much left in the house worth eatin’ by then.’ He kicked at a dead tuft of grass.
‘So … I’ll see you in the morning then,’ Tim said. ‘Back here. For the first day of school.’ His shoulder itched.
‘Yeah. Guess so.’ Lockie didn’t look up; just kicked at the tuft of grass until it came away. Then he looked for another tuft to attack.
‘Ah … do you want to come home with me?’
‘You mean for lunch?’ said Lockie, his face brightening. ‘Yeah, that’d be great. Where d’ya live?’
Tim pointed in what he hoped was the right direction. ‘Over that way,’ he said. ‘Wood something street.’
Lockie’s eyes widened. ‘Not the house down Woodville Street? Big old fancy place? Brick? Verandah? Overgrown garden?’
Tim nodded.
‘Cool,’ said Lockie. ‘That’s been empty for yonks.’
‘How come?’
‘Don’t know. Kenny, that’s m’dad, he reckons it’s haunted by the old lady who used to live there. It’s a pretty cool house. I’d love to have a gander inside.’
‘Gander?’
‘Yeah. You know – a gander – a look.’
Tim didn’t have a clue what this kid was talking about. ‘You going to tell your parents where you’re going?’ he asked.
‘Nah. It’s cool,’ said Lockie.
‘Won’t they worry?’
‘Nah. Course not. Why would they?’
Hmmm. Stranger Danger for a start.
Chapter Two
Lockie stood on the front path, staring at the house.
‘Where do you think the ghost lives?’ he whispered to Tim.
Tim looked at Lockie, waiting for him to laugh, but he didn’t. Did he really believe the place was haunted?
‘Ah, I don’t think there is a ghost, Lockie. I think—’
The front door swung open, and both boys jumped.
‘There you are,’ said Dad. ‘I was just about to send out a search—’
He noticed Tim wasn’t alone.
‘Ah, Dad. This is Lockie. I’ve … ahm, asked him home for lunch.’
‘Oh, well, that’s good.’ Dad turned and called down the hallway. ‘Honey, set an extra place for lunch. Tim’s brought a friend home.’
‘You set the table? For lunch?’ Lockie asked in a whisper. ‘This I gotta see.’ And he stepped up onto the verandah.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I’m Lockie McKenzie. Me and Tim’ll be in the same class at school. We’ve already been up there and ‘ad a look around. What’s for lunch?’
‘Sandwiches,’ said Dad, surprised at the question.
‘Beauty. My favourite,’ said Lockie, stepping past Dad and into the house. Dad turned back to Tim and raised his eyebrows.
‘I’ll just put the bike away,’ mumbled Tim, and he walked off down the side of the house. By the time he got to the kitchen, Lockie was buttering bread.
‘And m’dad reckons that the old lady who lived here was a bit, you know …’ And Lockie whizzed his finger round the side of his head.
‘Lockie says it’s haunted,’ said Tim, taking a seat.
‘Yeah, I d’know,’ said Lockie. ‘I reckon Dad was just sayin’ that t’scare me.’ Ignoring the tongs, he picked up some ham and squashed it between his two
pieces of bread.
‘So, whatta y’guys gunna be doin’ ‘ere? Y’know, for work?’ Lockie asked.
‘Well, I’ve got a job down at the supermarket,’ said Mum. ‘I start there tomorrow after I’ve taken Tim to school.’
‘So y’gunna be a check-out chick?’ said Lockie.
Mum laughed. ‘Yes, I guess that’s what I’ll be, among other things – you know, packing shelves, mopping floors. Now Ben here …’
Please, Mum, don’t tell him what Dad does …
‘… well, he’s got a new job up at the hospital. That’s why we moved here.’
‘Y’gunna be a wardsman up there?’ Lockie asked, shoving the last of his sandwich into his mouth.
Ben and Mandy laughed while Tim cringed. ‘No,’ said Mandy, ‘he’s the new DON.’
‘Don? Don who?’ Lockie plucked an apple from the fruit bowl and bit into it.
‘Not “who”. What. DON stands for Director of Nursing.’
Lockie just stared at her, mouth open, a piece of apple teetering on the tip of his tongue.
‘Like the matron in the old days,’ said Mum. ‘The head nurse.’
Lockie spluttered, almost choking. ‘You mean you’re a nurse?’ He gawped at Ben. ‘But you’re a bloke.’
Ben laughed. ‘Lockie, lots of blokes are nurses these days.’
‘Are they? I never knew that. Kenny – that’s m’dad – he reckons m’sister should get up to the hospital and get a job as a nurse. He says it’s a real good job for a girl.’
‘Well, yes, it is a good job for a girl, Lockie, but it’s a good job for a … bloke … too. You could be a nurse when you grow up.’
Lockie threw back his head and laughed. ‘I can imagine what m’dad would say if I went home and told ‘im I wanted to be a nurse.’ And he took another bite of his apple.
‘Did I hear you say something about going up to the school before?’ said Mum.
‘Yeah. Tim wanted to see the classroom and stuff, so I took him up.’
What? It wasn’t my idea. Tim’s shoulder itched.
‘Well, I’m glad Tim’s got a friend for the start of school tomorrow.’
Tim glared at his mother. What am I? Back in grade one?
Lockie tipped back on his chair until it rested against the cupboard. Tim glanced at his father, waiting for him to say something. He was always hammering on about kids who hurt themselves because they leaned back on their chairs.
But his father didn’t say anything. He just stood up and stretched. ‘Well, I’d better get back to the unpacking,’ he said. ‘We’ve still got thirty-seven boxes to go.’
‘Can Tim and me go exploring?’ asked Lockie. ‘I could show ‘im where everything is.’
‘Well …’ said Dad. ‘I don’t want him tired for tomorrow. It is the first day of school, remember. And he still has some of his own boxes to unpack.’
‘Oh, let him go,’ said Mum. ‘It’ll do him good to get out and about. Just don’t be too long, Tim. Remember we’re having takeaway for tea, and I want you to get an early night with school starting tomorrow.’
Lockie frowned and was about to say something, but before he could, Tim jumped up. ‘Come on, Lockie. Let’s go.’
‘Don’t forget your hat,’ called Dad as they pushed their way out of the kitchen.
‘Early night?’ said Lockie as soon as they were outside. ‘Do they always worry about y’like that?’
Without thinking, Tim’s hand crept up and touched his shoulder.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘You’d think I was still a baby, hey.’
‘Nah, it’s kinda nice. Y’wanna go down to the creek? I’ll show y’where I go fishin’ sometimes. You like fishin’?’
‘Never tried it,’ admitted Tim.
‘What?’ said Lockie. ‘Y’never been fishin’? Cripes, you’ve been livin’ in the city too long, I reckon. Come on. I’ll race ya.’ Lockie took off and disappeared around the bend at the end of the street. Tim chased after him, and found himself on a dirt road, leading out of town.
A few minutes later, he found Lockie waiting in the shade of a spindly tree next to an old rusted mailbox.
‘What took y’so long?’ said Lockie, grinning. He wasn’t even puffing. Tim sank down beside him and while his breathing slowed, he looked about at the paddocks with their tumbled-down fences. He couldn’t believe how small Rowington was. They’d hardly gone anywhere and they were out of town.
‘Come on,’ said Lockie. ‘The creek’s not much further.’
Ten minutes later, they were both staring down the bank of the creek at the waterhole below.
‘It’s usually bigger than this,’ said Lockie. ‘We ain’t had rain in ages, so it’s startin’ to dry up. I reckon it’ll be too dry to fish soon.’
‘Is it always this dry out here?’ Tim asked.
‘Nah. It’s just cos we got some el nemo thing happening. Mrs Banks, she was our teacher last year, she was tellin’ us all about it. It means that we ain’t gunna get much rain for a while. M’dad says she’s right, too. He says lots of people reckon we ain’t gettin’ rain cos of this global warmin’ stuff, but it ain’t that at all. It’s cos of this el nemo thing.’
‘Ah … I think it’s called El Nino,’ said Tim.
‘Yeah, yeah. That’s it. El nemo. So you’ve heard of it too?’
‘Yes,’ said Tim, smiling to himself. ‘We did it last year as well, but our teacher said it might change soon. She said that—’
‘Y’see that?’ shouted Lockie, pointing at the far bank of the waterhole. ‘Did y’see it?’
‘See what?’ All he could see were some ripples on the water.
‘I reckon it mighta been a platypus or somethin’. Dad reckons there’s some of them about.’
Tim had seen a platypus once, in a waterhole when he and his mum and dad had gone camping up in the mountains. This waterhole didn’t look anything like that one.
‘Do you ever catch any fish?’ he asked Lockie, to change the subject.
‘Course I do. Caught one this long …’ Lockie held his hands wide apart, ‘… just before Christmas. So, do y’reckon y’wanna try it sometime?’
‘Yeah. I guess so. Don’t have a rod though.’
‘S’okay. I’ve got plenty. Come on, let’s walk along the creek. I’ll show y’where m’grandad reckons he saw a crocodile once. He reckons it was at least four metres long and that it used to come up out of the creek at night and find a cow to eat, and that would last ‘im about a week before he had to come back out for another one.’
‘Really?’ said Tim. ‘A crocodile? Out here?’
‘Yeah, though no one else has ever said anything about it, so I reckon Grandad mighta been just pullin’ m’leg.’
They wandered down an old cattle track, past fallen trees and shrunken waterholes. Grasshoppers clicked out of the grass ahead of them. One landed on Tim’s arm and he yelped and tried to brush it off.
‘It’s alright,’ laughed Lockie. ‘They won’t hurt ya. Y’gotta get used to ‘em now that you’re out in the country. Come on. It’s not much further.’
‘Don’t you worry about snakes?’ asked Tim as they walked through long grass, the cattle track having petered out.
‘Nah. M’dad reckons they get outta y’way if y’make enough noise. Look, there it is.’
Ahead of them was a large waterhole, at least twice the size of the first one. ‘Why don’t you fish here?’ asked Tim.
‘What? And get eaten by a crocodile? No way,’ said Lockie.
‘I thought you said your grandad was pulling your leg,’ said Tim.
‘Yeah, I reckon he was, but I ain’t takin’ no chances.’
Just then, a mob of cows with calves wandered down from the far bank to have a drink.
‘Shhh,’ whispered Lockie, ducking down, then pointing up. Above them was an outcrop of boulders. ‘Let’s get up there. We’ll see more.’
From their vantage point the boys watched as the cows pushed each other out o
f the way to get a drink while the calves frisked around, butting each other.
Next thing there was a loud plop in the water. The cows reared back, turned, and ran up the bank with their tails in the air, the calves galloping along behind them.
‘Did ya see that? Do y’reckon Grandad might’ve been right about the croc after all?’
‘No. Look,’ said Tim.
The boys watched as a huge dog paddled across the waterhole then pulled itself up onto the bank and shook itself. The spray of water caught the sun as it arced out, like a sprinkler on a lawn.
‘Look at the size—’ started Lockie.
But at that moment they heard voices, and two men walked to the edge of the bank on the far side of the waterhole. They were so close Tim could see their faces clearly, and their voices carried across the short distance between them.
‘Bloomin’ cows,’ said one of the men. He was skinny and wore a khaki shirt and shorts, and he had an old felt hat pushed back on his head. ‘They’re always wandering along the creek. Crawling through fences and getting into my pasture. I should round them up and send them to the meatworks.’
‘You won’t have to do that if we play our cards right,’ said the other man, grinning. He was dressed in long trousers, shirt and tie and looked out of place – hot and uncomfortable. ‘I think you and I can make a small fortune on this development project, especially now we’ve got the Russell farm tied up.’
‘What about the other block?’ asked the skinny man, pointing across the creek.
‘No worries there. I’ve worked out a way to … convince a certain person that it would be in her best interest to sell her land …’ The man gave a wheezy laugh and his stomach bounced up and down. Then he leaned in close to his companion. Tim couldn’t hear what he was saying.
The skinny man laughed and said, ‘Do you think she’ll fall for it?’
‘She won’t have a choice. Now where’s that dog?’ He gave a shrill whistle as they turned away and the boys heard no more.
‘Who were they?’ whispered Tim.
‘I know that bloke with the tie,’ Lockie whispered back. ‘He’s Oliver Baxter’s uncle. Oliver’s in our class at school. And the other bloke’s a farmer, I think. Seen ‘im round. Don’t know ‘is name, but. Y’don’t s’pose he was a croc hunter, do ya?’
