by Janet Reid
What was he going to say? That someone was planning to sort her out?
Granny Rags leaned on her broom, waiting.
‘Ah, I just came to tell you that … ah … we didn’t go fishing today. So, you know … I couldn’t bring you any fish.’
‘You came all the way out here just to tell me you weren’t coming?’
‘Well, no, not exactly. We, ahm, went exploring today. Because we didn’t go fishing, and, well, there were these two men …’ He paused, not knowing what to say.
‘You mean Barry Baxter and friend,’ said Granny Rags.
Tim’s eyes rounded. ‘You know about Barry?’ he asked.
Granny Rags’ lips tightened and her knuckles turned white as she gripped the broom. She was looking beyond Tim, out at the track. ‘Oh, yes. I know about Barry. Some people,’ she said into the distance, ‘just can’t take no for an answer.’
Then her eyes focused back on him. ‘What’s that?’ she asked, and she reached forward to touch his left arm.
Tim pulled away, his shoulder suddenly aching.
‘You’re bleeding,’ said Granny Rags.
Tim looked down. ‘Oh, I scratched it on a …’ He didn’t want to say he’d been hiding in the bushes – from Barry Baxter. ‘… down at the creek,’ he finished weakly.
‘Well, you’d better come in and I’ll clean it up,’ said Granny Rags.
A few minutes later Tim was sitting at the kitchen table, his scratch washed and covered with a bandaid.
‘Can’t be too careful,’ said Granny Rags, closing her first-aid kit. ‘Now, how about a drink, and something to eat?’
As Tim made his cordial drink, not too strong this time, Granny Rags switched on the jug. Then she opened a packet of Nice biscuits and put some on a plate.
‘So, when am I going to meet your friend Lockie?’ Granny Rags asked as she poured herself a cup of tea.
‘Ah, I don’t know,’ said Tim, wondering if Lockie was already down at the mailbox waiting for him. ‘Perhaps if we go fishing next weekend, we could bring some fish down for you.’
‘Yes, do that,’ said Mrs Ragdale. ‘I enjoyed the last one. And I’d like to meet this friend of yours. You said he plays football, didn’t you?’
‘Yes. And he’s asked me to go to a “bring a friend” day at the football club.’ Tim waited to see what Granny Rags would think of that.
Across the table she clasped her hands together and beamed at him. ‘You’ll enjoy that, Tim Trickett.’ Tim wasn’t so sure, but he nodded anyway.
‘Ah, do you … miss going to the football matches?’ he asked.
‘Yes, Tim, I do,’ she said. ‘I used to watch the big games on the television, but it stopped working and I’ve never bothered to get it fixed.’
For a moment she seemed lost in the past. Then she looked back at Tim. ‘Well, I’d better not hold you up,’ she said, draining her tea cup. She stood, leaving Tim no choice but to stand as well.
‘So, I’ll see you next weekend then,’ he said as he walked down the back steps.
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she called after him.
Tim stopped then, and turned back. ‘Mrs Ragdale,’ he started, not sure what to say. ‘You’ll … ah, you’ll be alright, won’t you?’
A shadow seemed to pass over Granny Rags’ face, then she nodded. ‘Yes, Tim Trickett. I’ll be alright.’ She turned and walked back into the house without another word.
Chapter Eleven
‘What did she say?’ asked Lockie as soon as Tim reached the mailbox.
‘She said she knows about Barry Baxter already,’ Tim told him.
‘So we don’t have to worry then? Like, about what he said about sorting her out?’
Tim thought about this for a moment, then said, ‘I think we should tell someone.’
‘Who? You mean like go to the police?’
‘No, not the police. I don’t know, maybe our parents or something.’
‘Dunno about that,’ said Lockie. ‘Don’t reckon m’dad’d like me sticking m’nose in someone else’s business. ‘Specially old Granny Rags’.’
Tim thought about what his parents might say, especially since he still hadn’t told them about visiting Granny Rags. Somehow he felt he shouldn’t put it off any longer. Then he had an idea.
‘What if we just tell them about Barry? And how he reckons he’s going to sort someone out? We won’t have to say anything about visiting her.’
Lockie shivered. ‘Okay, but let’s get outta here. It’s starting to give me the creeps.’
When Tim got back home there was a strange car parked out the front, and as he walked through the front door he could hear voices coming from the back of the house.
‘Is that you, Tim?’called his father. ‘Come out and meet Dr Wong from the hospital.’
Tim walked down the long hallway to the back verandah.
‘Dr Wong’s staying for dinner,’ said his mother, standing. ‘Speaking of which, perhaps I’d better go and put something together. Tim, have you got any homework you need to finish? Oh, what’s wrong with your arm?’
‘Ah, it’s just a scratch,’ he said, walking back into the house.
Go on, tell her. Tell her Granny Rags put the bandaid on.
But he didn’t. ‘Lockie had some bandaids in his bag,’ he said. As soon as he said it, he realised Lockie hadn’t had a bag today.
Before his mother could say anything, though, Dad called, ‘Mandy, don’t forget there’s still some salad in the fridge.’
Tim took the chance to slip away. As soon as he was safely in his room, he ripped off the bandaid.
‘What’d y’parents say?’ Lockie asked Tim the next morning as they walked to their classroom.
‘I didn’t get a chance to tell them,’ said Tim. ‘They had Dr Wong over for dinner and he stayed half the night. I was in bed when he left. What about yours?’
‘Yeah, I asked m’dad about Barry Baxter and he reckons ‘e heard at work that Barry was gunna bulldoze the Russell farm. Even gunna bulldoze the hills, ‘e says.’
‘Can he do that?’ asked Tim, wondering if Barry planned to bulldoze Granny Rags’ place as well.
‘Yeah,’ said Lockie. ‘M’dad reckons there’s a machine y’can get that does it and he said he’d probably get to help make the roads out there, too.’
‘What do they want roads for?’ asked Tim, confused.
‘Dunno,’ shrugged Lockie. ‘Maybe they’re gunna—’
‘So, did you go see old Granny Rags again on the weekend?’ Oliver asked as he stuck his head in between them, gripping them tightly by the shoulders. Tim was just glad it was his right shoulder, otherwise … He tried to pull away, but Oliver’s hold was firm.
‘Ah, I reckon you did,’ sneered Oliver, when neither Tim nor Lockie answered. ‘Did you take my advice about the fish then, Trickett?’
‘We didn’t go fishing,’ Tim answered, almost gagging. Oliver’s breath smelt like the bottom of a rubbish bin.
‘That’s a real shame. But if you want to go visit her, you’d better be quick. I hear she won’t be living there much longer.’
Tim stopped walking. Oliver stepped back and folded his arms. ‘Oh, I guess she didn’t tell you that then,’ he said as he watched Tim’s surprised face.
‘And how would you know that, Oliver?’ Tim asked.
‘Let’s just say a little birdie told me.’ He smirked and walked away, calling over his shoulder, ‘You’re not the only one who goes out to visit Granny Rags, you know.’
Tim and Lockie watched as Oliver sauntered up the path, knocking into a couple of little kids on the way. ‘Watch where y’goin’,’ he growled at them.
‘Lockie,’ said Tim slowly, ‘I think—’
But the bell rang at that moment, and Tim didn’t get to finish his sentence. Mr Martin was already standing on the top step, waiting for the class to line up.
Tim wished he didn’t have to wait until Sunday to see Granny Rags. He wanted to tell her wha
t Oliver had said. Oliver had seemed so sure that she would be leaving soon.
As it turned out, Tim didn’t have to wait that long.
When he reached the shop on Thursday afternoon, Tim’s mother was busy scanning a trolley load of groceries through her checkout.
‘By yourself today?’ she asked as he pulled off his backpack.
‘Yeah, Lockie’s playing footy at school.’
‘You know, you could too, if you wanted to.’
Tim shrugged.
‘These ready to go yet, Mandy?’ It was Jacob, twirling a set of car keys around his finger. ‘Oh, hello Tim. How’s school? Don’t suppose you want to give me a hand with this lot, do you?’
‘He’d love to,’ said Mandy. ‘Tim, help Jacob load these into the van, will you?’ She packed a small bottle of green cordial, some Monte Carlo biscuits, and a couple of magazines into the last bag.
Tim picked up two of the bags and followed Jacob out of the store.
‘Where are you taking them?’ Tim asked.
‘It’s a delivery. For Mrs Ragdale.’
Tim stopped. ‘Can I go with you?’ he asked.
‘Sure,’ said Jacob. ‘But it won’t be much fun. Just out there and back.’
‘I don’t mind.’
‘Well, you’ll have to check with your mum first.’ Jacob reached over and took the two bags Tim was carrying. ‘I’ll put these in the van. You go and ask.’
Tim was back by the time Jacob was ready to go.
‘Mum said it’s okay, as long as I don’t get in the way.’
‘Good,’ said Jacob. ‘Could do with a bit of company. It’s a bit spooky out there. I guess you know the story from school.’
‘Story?’
‘Yeah. The one about Mrs Ragdale. Or Granny Rags, as all the kids at school used to call her.’
‘They still do,’ muttered Tim, looking straight ahead.
‘Ah,’ said Jacob. ‘So you know the story then. Have they tried to get you to go out there yet?’
Tim felt his face redden.
But just then Jacob braked suddenly as a car cut in front of him. When they started to move again, Jacob changed the subject.
‘So, you enjoying your new school?’ he asked.
‘It’s okay,’ said Tim. Be better if Oliver wasn’t there. ‘Did you go to school here?’
‘Yeah. And finished high school over at Coalview last year. I want to go to uni but I’m taking a gap year first. You know, save a bit of money.’
Jacob flicked the blinker when he reached the rusted mailbox, and turned up the track towards Granny Rags’ place. The van bounced over the ruts and, despite the rain last weekend, dust billowed up around them.
Jacob did a U-turn and pulled up beside the rusty gate.
‘Oh, look at that,’ he said, pointing across the yard.
‘What?’ said Tim, then, ‘Oh.’
He clambered out of the van and looked across the yard at the rusted roofing iron, strewn over the grass. ‘It’s the shed,’ he yelled and ran through the gate, leaving Jacob sitting in the van.
‘Granny Rags! Where are you?’ he shouted, and as he rounded the house, he bumped right into her, almost knocking them both over. He looked up at her with frightened eyes. ‘What’s happened? What’s happened to the shed?’
Granny Rags looked over at the mess in the backyard, then jumped as someone else came round the corner. The colour drained from her face and she stepped back and clutched her hands to her chest.
‘Tim, what are you doing?’ said Jacob. ‘I’m really sorry, Mrs Ragdale. Tim here just got a bit excited.’
‘It’s alright. Really,’ she said. ‘I … ah … know Tim.’ She gave Tim a quick smile. ‘He even brought me a fish once, didn’t you, Tim?’
Jacob raised an eyebrow. ‘Well that’s alright then. I just didn’t want him barging in on you and making a nuisance of himself.’ He looked over at the mess across the yard. ‘Ah … has something happened here?’ he asked.
‘It was just the wind,’ said Mrs Ragdale. Tim thought she sounded nervous. ‘It was about to fall down anyway,’ she continued. ‘Now, I guess you’re here with my grocery order.’
‘Yes,’ said Jacob. ‘Come on, Tim. Make yourself useful. Come and carry some of the bags, will you?’
‘You can bring them into the kitchen if you like,’ Mrs Ragdale called after them.
A few minutes later, as they were heading back to town, Jacob said, ‘So you have been conned into coming down here.’ His lips twitched. ‘You know, it was the same back in our day. You had to come down to see Granny Rags before you were one of the local kids. Thought it might have petered out by now, though. Shame really. She seems such a nice old lady. Too nice to be annoyed by school kids.’
‘Yes. I think so, too,’ said Tim.
‘Does your mum know you’ve been out there?’
Tim looked out the window at the brown paddocks, hoping that Jacob wouldn’t see the guilty look on his face.
‘Ah, no,’ he mumbled. Then he thought of Barry Baxter. ‘Jacob, do you think that shed fell over by itself?’
Jacob shrugged. ‘Don’t see why not. It did have a bit of a lean to it. Why?’
‘Well, it’s just that …’
Should he tell Jacob about Barry Baxter?
‘Just that what?’ asked Jacob.
‘Well …’ Tim started. ‘It’s just that Lockie and I were out here the other day and we heard someone say that, well, that they were going to sort Mrs Ragdale out.’
‘Sort her out?’ Jacob gave Tim a sideways glance. ‘You sure you weren’t watching a movie or something?’
‘Yes. No. I mean I’m sure that’s what I heard.’
‘Why would anyone want to sort out Mrs Ragdale?’ Jacob asked.
‘What if they wanted her to leave?’ said Tim.
Jacob’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Now I’m sure you’ve been watching too many movies,’ he said. ‘Going down there to annoy her is one thing, but sorting her out? I think you must have heard wrong. Anyway, pushing over a shed that was about to fall over anyway is hardly sorting someone out, is it?’
‘I guess not,’ said Tim. Jacob had a way of putting it that made it seem like there was nothing wrong.
‘And what was that about the fish?’ asked Jacob.
‘The fish?’ Tim was puzzled. ‘What fish?’
‘The one you gave to Mrs Ragdale,’ said Jacob.
Tim frowned. ‘Ah, that’s what we’re supposed to do. You know, when we go down to visit her. We’re supposed to take her a fish.’
Jacob pulled a face. ‘New one on me,’ he said. ‘Back in our time, we were only supposed to go down there and annoy her. You know, knock on the front door then run off and hide. That sort of thing.’
‘Oh,’ said Tim.
‘You ever heard of stranger danger?’ asked Jacob, changing the subject.
‘Stranger danger? You mean Mrs Ragdale? She’s not a stranger.’ He wanted to laugh at the idea, but then he muttered, ‘Though she might be in danger …’
‘And if she is,’ said Jacob, pulling into the parking bay at the back of the shop, ‘all the more reason to tell your parents.’
Tim sighed. Jacob was right.
Chapter Twelve
Lockie held up his arm and licked the dribble of sauce that ran down from his sausage burger. ‘Didn’t know so many kids came to this,’ he said as he looked around the swimming pool in the dying light of the evening. ‘There’s a heap here I’ve never seen before.’
‘I think some of them come from Coalview and … what’s that other little town that starts with S?’ Tim asked.
‘Stratonvale,’ mumbled Lockie as he bit into his burger.
The swimming had finished for the night, and everyone was enjoying the free barbeque. Parents stood together talking. Some were filling a table with cakes and sweets, and others were running after toddlers who were venturing too near the water. A few of the kids who were finished eating were back in the pool, mu
cking about.
‘You know what’d be cool?’ said Lockie. ‘A fire.’ And he took another bite of his burger.
‘A fire?’ Tim felt his voice squeak as fear raced through his body and settled on his shoulder. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You know, like a campfire,’ said Lockie. ‘So we could all sit around and talk.’
Tim took a bite of his burger but it tasted like cardboard. ‘I think it’s a bit too hot for a fire,’ he said. There was no way he’d be going anywhere near a fire – not even a campfire.
‘Shame y’didn’t win y’race,’ said Lockie, changing the subject. ‘Why don’t y’try takin’ off that rash thingy that y’wear? You’d go faster then.’
‘My rash vest?’ No way. ‘Too cold without it,’ said Tim, but he knew that wasn’t the reason. He just didn’t want the other kids staring at his shoulder. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s find a quiet spot where we can talk.’
‘Talk about what?’ asked Lockie.
‘Granny Rags,’ whispered Tim. ‘You’ll never guess what I did this afternoon.’
They found a quiet spot at the side of the grandstand and, as they finished their burgers, Tim told Lockie how he’d gone out to deliver groceries to Granny Rags that afternoon.
‘And when we got there, her shed was knocked down,’ said Tim.
‘You mean the one with the car in it?’
Tim stopped chewing. The car. He’d forgotten there had been a car parked in the shed. For a moment, he wondered why Granny Rags even had it if she never went anywhere. Now he guessed it was hidden underneath the old roofing iron.
‘I’d—’
‘You there, Barry?’ said a voice from somewhere above them.
‘Up here, Ray.’
Tim looked up and saw the glow of a mobile phone screen above them, lighting up a man’s face. He nudged Lockie and whispered, ‘It’s Barry Baxter.’
‘Why are you here?’ said Barry. ‘You haven’t got kids in the swimming club, have you?’
‘No,’ said the other man – Ray. ‘Mine are more into the contact sports. Thought your kids might have been too.’
‘My boy is,’ said Barry. ‘He plays footy with his cousin, Ollie. It’s my daughter who likes to swim. So, what’s on your mind?’
