Granny Rags

by Janet Reid

  ‘Ohhhh. I think Nursy Trickett is a little bit upset that we’ve found out his secret,’ said Oliver. ‘Still, good to know we have someone around to fix us up if we’re sick, hey, Chloe.’

  ‘Yeah, and I wonder if Mr Martin is going to have a dress-up day for all the jobs,’ said Chloe. ‘I’m sure one of the nurses at the hospital could lend Tim a dress—’

  ‘I just told you, he doesn’t wear a dress,’ said Tim, letting the stupid, petty jibes dig at him.

  ‘Touchy, isn’t he,’ said Oliver, laughing.

  ‘Yeah, well. What about your dad?’ said Tim. He knew he should stop right there, but he couldn’t help himself. ‘Sounds like he’s just an office girl really.’

  The group fell silent; the air chilled as everyone waited for the explosion.

  Oliver’s eyes narrowed and a cloud of red seeped up his neck and onto his cheeks. The muscles in his jaw twitched, as though they wanted to pop out of his face, and everyone heard the bones in his hands crack as he locked his pudgy fingers. Somewhere, someone sucked in a breath.

  Then Lockie started to laugh. ‘Imagine if your dad had to wear a skirt to work, Oliver,’ he said. ‘Then he’d be just like Tim’s dad, hey.’

  Oliver looked from Tim to Lockie and back again. Then he stood up.

  ‘You two are idiots, you know that?’ he said as he stomped his way through Chloe’s group of girls and headed for the oval.

  The bell hadn’t even rung.

  ‘Where did you go at lunchtime?’ Lockie asked as he and Tim walked out the school gate and down the dusty footpath that afternoon.

  ‘Ahm, to the library,’ Tim admitted.

  ‘The library? What d’ya wanna go there for when y’coulda been playin’ footy?’

  Tim shrugged.

  ‘But you’ll wanna join the footy team, won’t ya?’ asked Lockie.

  ‘Probably not,’ said Tim. ‘Dad says there’s a swimming club in town. I might join that.’

  ‘Swimmin’, hey,’ said Lockie, wrinkling his nose as if swimming had a bad smell to it. ‘Okay. But y’might wanna come and watch the footy sometime. Y’might change y’mind then.’

  Tim kicked a pebble off the path. He doubted it.

  They walked on in silence towards the supermarket where Tim’s mum worked.

  ‘So, looks like I have t’take ya fishin’ on Sunday,’ Lockie said. ‘Can’t tomorrow. It’s footy sign-on. Y’sure y’don’t wanna join up?’

  Does he ever give up? ‘Nah. I’ll stick to swimming.’

  The supermarket doors slid open and the cool air greeted them. Mrs Trickett stood at the checkout, packing groceries in green bags.

  ‘Hi, you two,’ she called as she swiped the customer’s card. ‘Good day at school?’

  No. The kids found out that Dad’s a nurse.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Lockie. ‘We had a couple of tests this morning. Easy as. And sport this arvo – we played baseball and I hit a homer. I reckon I’d be good at baseball if I played it.’

  Mrs Trickett smiled as she waited for the customer to key in a pin number. The receipt churned out of the till and she handed it over. ‘Have a good weekend,’ she said as the woman picked up her bulging bags.

  ‘I can carry those for ya,’ said Lockie, reaching forward. ‘Tim, give us a hand, will ya?’

  ‘What nice young lads …’ muttered the woman. ‘Thank you, boys. It’s the blue car …’ and the three of them were out the door before Mrs Trickett could say a word.

  When they came back, she said, ‘That was very kind of you both.’ Tim blushed. He knew he wouldn’t have thought of doing something like that on his own. Lockie just grinned.

  ‘Now,’ said Mum, ‘how about a Slush Puppie for you both? My shout. You look like you need something to cool you down.’

  ‘Cor. Thanks, Mrs T,’ said Lockie. ‘Can I have a blue one?’

  Mum laughed and dug into her pocket for some money. She gave Tim a ten dollar note. ‘Off you go,’ she said. ‘I’ll be finished at four. Wait outside for me.’ Then she added, ‘And I want some change from that note, too.’

  They were sitting outside at a rickety metal table when Oliver turned up.

  Tim’s Slush Puppie turned to molten lava in his stomach.

  ‘Hey,’ said Oliver, dropping his bag on the ground beside Lockie. He grabbed a spare chair from a nearby table and sat down on it – back to front. Tim braced himself, thinking about the comment he’d made earlier in the day about Oliver’s father. But Oliver didn’t mention it. Instead he ran his fingers through his spiky hair and said, ‘So, Lockie, you taking nursy kid down to visit Granny Rags on the weekend?’

  Lockie tipped his cup and swallowed the last of his ice. His top lip and tongue were blue. ‘Yep,’ he answered. ‘Goin’ on Sunday.’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Tim. ‘I thought we were going fishing on Sunday.’

  Lockie and Oliver both looked at him.

  ‘Same thing,’ said Lockie.

  Tim frowned.

  Oliver’s lip curled up in a sneer. He leaned forward so he was only inches from Tim’s face. ‘I’ve heard Granny Rags loves fish – took some out to her myself once – so you better make sure you catch something,’ he said. ‘But just be sure she doesn’t get hold of you. I hear she likes to beat little kids like you. And I hope you haven’t got a dog, either.’

  ‘Well, I’m done for the day,’ said a voice. All three turned to see Mrs Trickett standing behind them, bag slung over her shoulder.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, noticing Oliver. ‘You must be another friend of Tim’s. I’m his mother, Mandy Trickett.’

  Oliver stood and muttered something about a check-out chick, then swaggered away. Tim hoped his mother hadn’t heard.

  That night, Tim lay in bed thinking about his disastrous first week at his new school. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, now he was supposed to go visit this old lady, Granny Rags. As he gazed up at the ceiling, he listened to the noises of the night – a cricket chirping outside his window, in the distance a dog barking …

  Then Tim remembered the comment Oliver had made outside the supermarket. Something about having a dog. What had he meant by that?

  Chapter Five

  Lockie showed Tim how to put bait on the hook. Soon a small lump of meat dangled from the end of his line.

  ‘Now watch this,’ said Lockie with authority. He flicked his own rod back over his shoulder and let the line fly into the water, landing it somewhere in the middle of the waterhole. ‘Now you have a go.’

  Tim tried. The hook snagged on a clump of grass behind him. He tried again. This time it landed at his feet.

  ‘Here, I’ll do it for ya,’ said Lockie, grabbing the line. ‘You can do it next time.’

  They sat in the shade, their backs against the trunk of an old river gum, and waited. A half-hearted breeze rippled the water, and thin patches of green grass poked up around the waterhole. An oasis, thought Tim. He would have enjoyed the peacefulness if he hadn’t been thinking about Granny Rags and having to take her a fish.

  ‘Lockie? Why am I supposed to take a fish down to Granny Rags?’ asked Tim. ‘I mean, why not a, I don’t know, a pie or something?’

  ‘Dunno,’ said Lockie. ‘But it’s what Oliver did. So, will y’go?’

  Tim shrugged. ‘Gotta catch something first, haven’t I?’ he said. After all, if he didn’t catch any fish—

  Just then, he felt a tug on his line.

  Lockie whooped and jumped up. ‘Here, I’ll show y’how to bring it in.’

  The small silver-grey fish jumped about on the end of the line as Lockie reeled it in. For a moment, Tim felt sorry for it. ‘It’s not very big,’ he said. ‘Maybe we should throw it back.’

  ‘Nah. It’s good,’ said Lockie, pulling out the hook. ‘I reckon Granny Rags will like it. Here, put it in the esky.’

  The fish flapped its tail pathetically as Tim slipped it into the esky full of ice that Lockie had brought along with him. Tim had been surprised how well prepared L
ockie was.

  ‘How do you know Granny Rags likes fish?’ he asked.

  ‘Why wouldn’t she? Everyone likes fish.’ Lockie picked out another piece of meat and threaded it onto Tim’s hook. ‘Anyway, good as anything to take down to her. Oliver reckons she likes ‘em. Here, have another go at casting.’

  What would Oliver know? thought Tim, snatching the rod out of Lockie’s hand. He swung it back and flicked. Away went the line, and the hook and sinker plonked into the middle of the waterhole. Wish it was Oliver on the hook, Tim thought.

  ‘Hey, we’ll make a fisherman of y’yet,’ said Lockie, and he settled back down against the gum tree and pulled a paper bag out of his backpack. ‘Y’want somethin’ to eat? I’ve made sandwiches.’ There was a choice – peanut butter or jam.

  They ate in silence. The breeze had dropped and the heat pressed down on the still water. Just like the visit to Granny Rags pressed down on him, thought Tim.

  ‘This is stupid,’ he said suddenly, almost surprising himself. ‘I’m not going to be talked into doing something just because Oliver says so.’

  Lockie threw the last of his second sandwich into his mouth, then said, ‘He’ll give y’heaps till y’do it, y’know.’

  Tim shrugged. ‘He’ll give me heaps anyway.’

  Lockie said nothing.

  ‘Come on, Lockie. You know it sounds pretty dodgy.’ Tim could hear the whine in his voice. ‘I mean, really – taking fish down to an old lady? It doesn’t make sense.’

  Lockie scrunched up the paper bag and tossed it into his backpack. ‘Please y’self. Don’t worry me,’ he said. ‘I ain’t the one who’s gotta face Oliver tomorrow. He’ll laugh at ya, y’know. Tell ya you’re a baby in front of everyone.’

  ‘Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,’ muttered Tim. ‘Make a change from calling me nursy.’

  They lapsed back into silence until there was a tug on Lockie’s line.

  When they had caught five fish, Lockie said, ‘Okay, I reckon that’ll do us. We can have two fish each and there’s one for Granny Rags.’

  ‘I said I wasn’t going,’ said Tim stubbornly.

  Lockie shrugged. ‘It’s there if y’want it.’ He pulled a plastic bag out of his backpack and slipped in one small fish, then held the bag out to Tim.

  Tim felt like thumping his head against the giant gum behind him. Couldn’t Lockie see that he didn’t want to do this?

  ‘Tell you what,’ said Tim, reaching for the bag. ‘How about you come too? Then you can introduce me.’

  ‘No way,’ said Lockie. ‘I ain’t goin’ anywhere near a witch.’

  ‘You don’t really believe that stuff, do you?’ said Tim.

  Lockie shrugged. ‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘Maybe she is. Maybe she ain’t. Only one way for ya t’find out.’ And he reached down and gathered up the fishing gear.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Tim. ‘You’ve never met her, have you?’

  ‘Course not,’ said Lockie.

  ‘How come? You’ve lived here all your life. How come you’ve never had to go down there with fish?’

  ‘Cos I ain’t never been the new boy, that’s why,’ said Lockie.

  ‘So how come Oliver did it?’

  ‘Cos ‘e only came last year,’ said Lockie. ‘He used t’live in the city but ‘is dad came back and started working for Barry Baxter, cos that’s ‘is brother.’

  ‘Well, Oliver can’t be the only new kid you’ve had at the school,’ said Tim, surprised Oliver hadn’t lived in Rowington all his life. ‘What happened before? You know, when new kids came?’

  ‘Dunno. Can’t remember anything happenin’. We don’t get many new kids here. But come to think of it, we did get this new kid in grade three and he didn’t take any fish when he went to visit her.’

  ‘There you go, then,’ said Tim. ‘I think Oliver’s just made up this bit about the fish.’

  ‘Nah, he wouldn’t do that,’ said Lockie.

  Tim wasn’t so sure. He was beginning to think he was being set up, but he wasn’t going to let Oliver get the better of him. He knew then what he was going to do: he’d go down that road and he’d meet Granny Rags so he could tell everyone just how wrong Oliver was about her.

  He snatched the plastic bag from Lockie’s hand and marched off in the direction of the old mailbox and the track that led down to Granny Rags’ house.

  ‘Does that mean y’gunna do it?’ said Lockie, bouncing along behind him.

  Chapter Six

  Long grass on either side of the dusty track swayed in the gentle breeze, as if nodding its approval of what Tim was about to do. But when the sun dipped behind a stray cloud, the afternoon seemed suddenly eerie, and Tim wished he was anywhere but heading towards Granny Rags’ house.

  He looked back. The mailbox was hidden from view. Could he just pretend to go down to Granny Rags’? Say that she wasn’t at home? But somewhere deep down, he felt curious. Anyway, he thought, how scary could the old lady be?

  He walked on and saw that the track didn’t just lead to Granny Rags’ house; it went further, past her place. Could he just keep going? But when he came level with the house, he stopped. It looked empty and derelict with its peeling paint and rusted roof. The front door beyond the sagging verandah was closed but the windows were open, and faded curtains danced in the breeze as though they were beckoning to him.

  He stepped forward and pushed the gate. It creaked as he opened it. He stopped; looked about. There was no movement; no sound. Tim walked along the cracked path, with its weeds and grass poking through, and placed a hand tentatively on the railing of the front stairs. He looked up at the closed door, eager now to see what secrets it hid.

  ‘And what do you think you’re doing?’

  Tim jumped, his heart ricocheting about in his chest. There, coming round one side of the house, was the old woman. He couldn’t see how old she really was; she was wearing a big hat that flopped down over her face. She brandished a black stick as she strode towards him, faster than Tim thought possible.

  ‘What do you want?’ she shouted, waving her stick in his face. Tim stepped back and his foot caught in a wide crack in the path. His hands waved in the air as he tried to right himself, but it was too late. He fell flat on his back beside the path, and the plastic bag holding the fish flew through the air and landed on his face.

  ‘Ugh,’ he said as he pulled himself backwards in fright, trying to shake the fish off, as if it were a snake. A shadow fell over him and, as he looked up, the old woman loomed above.

  ‘What have you got there?’ she asked. ‘Answer me, lad.’

  ‘It’s … ah … I’ve brought you a fish,’ he stammered.

  She reached down and snatched up the packet. ‘Oh, it’s cold,’ she said, as if surprised. ‘Is it fresh?’

  ‘Ah … yes. We just caught it. Down at the creek.’

  ‘Well, in that case, thank you very much. Now, you’ve had your bit of fun so you can get going.’ And she turned away.

  Tim lay there – amongst the weeds and grass – stunned. Was that it? All this hype and that was it? He hadn’t even managed to get a good look at her. He pulled himself up and watched as she strode back to the corner of the house. ‘What are you going to do with it?’ he called.

  The woman stopped and turned back to face him. ‘What do you think I’m going to do with it?’ she asked. ‘What do you do with fish?’

  ‘Well, I eat them—’

  ‘And that’s exactly what I intend to do,’ she said, turning away again.

  ‘Wait—’ Tim scrambled to his feet. ‘I could help you?’ Could he?

  He took a couple of steps towards her. She tilted her head back. He could see her eyes now, narrowed with suspicion.

  ‘You? Help me? Have you ever gutted a fish before?’

  ‘Well … no. But—’

  She turned away again. ‘Come on, then. You can help me if you want. The kitchen’s out the back.’

  As Tim followed, he saw there was a shed down the
back corner of the yard, looking as if it could topple over at any moment. An old rusted car was parked inside it, almost hidden by long grass. Behind the shed was a fence, the wire rusted and broken, and the paddock beyond was overgrown. Anything could be living in there.

  The house was just as dilapidated at the back as it was at the front. The stumps were leaning, and Tim wondered how the whole thing was still standing.

  ‘In here,’ called Granny Rags. ‘I’m in the kitchen.’

  Tim looked at the four steps he needed to climb to get inside. They looked alright—

  ‘Come on,’ Granny Rags shouted. ‘Or I’ll be finished before you get here.’

  He tested the first step to be sure it was solid, then bounded to the top in one stride – just to be on the safe side. As he walked into the kitchen, he was surprised at how clean and tidy the room was.

  Granny Rags stood at the table holding a sharp knife. Her hat was off now, and she didn’t look nearly as old as Tim had first thought. Her long, grey hair was pulled back in a plait that dropped almost to her waist, and apart from the wrinkles around her eyes, her face was almost smooth. Her pale blue eyes seemed to hold some sort of mischief. Only her worn and faded dress made her seem old.

  He watched as she deftly scraped the scales off the sides of the fish, then sliced through its underbelly, letting the guts spill out onto the paper she had beneath it. Tim felt his stomach churn uncomfortably.

  ‘You might as well sit down,’ she said, nodding towards a chair. ‘I can see you’re going to be no use.’

  It’s my first time, Tim wanted to say, but he pulled out a chair and sat watching as she finished. She placed the filleted fish in a shallow bowl, covered it with plastic and put it in the fridge, then wrapped the scraps in the paper and placed them on the bench behind her.

  ‘I’ll bury those later,’ she said. ‘Now, how about a drink before you get going?’

  ‘Oh, no. I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘I’ve got milk. Or cordial if you’d prefer,’ she said as she placed a glass on the table.

  ‘I should really get going,’ said Tim, standing up. What was he thinking? He shouldn’t be here at all. If his parents knew—