by Janet Reid
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, hanging his head. ‘I told the class about how you hit the dog.’
He heard Mrs Ragdale draw in a wheezy breath.
‘I didn’t mean to. It was just that Oliver – that’s Barry Baxter’s nephew – he was going on about you selling your place and, well, I kind of lost my temper.’
He glanced up into her pale blue eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.
Mrs Ragdale gave him a half smile. ‘It’s alright,’ she said. ‘It was a long time ago, and if this Oliver is anything like his uncle … well, never mind that. You were going to tell me about your … secret.’
Tim knew then that it was the right time to talk about it.
‘There was a fire,’ he started, the words difficult to get out. ‘I … it …’
‘A bushfire?’ asked Mrs Ragdale, gently. ‘Like the one yesterday?’
‘No,’ said Tim, his breath catching. ‘In our house.’
‘Oh, Tim. I’m sorry. Did you lose … someone?’
Tim looked into Granny Rags’ eyes, and in that moment, he realised how lucky he was. He hadn’t lost anyone to that fire.
‘No,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t a big fire. Just some curtains, and … well … my new t-shirt.’
Mrs Ragdale’s brows pulled together. ‘What happened?’ she asked.
‘It … it was my birthday,’ he said. ‘I was six and I had a party. Mum made me a Darth Vader cake—’
Mrs Ragdale’s brows creased even more.
‘You know, from Star Wars,’ said Tim.
Her frown deepened.
‘Never mind. I’ve got the DVDs at home. I’ll let you watch them sometime. Anyway, Darth Vader has this lightsaber, like a sword,’ he continued, ‘and Mum lined the candles up along the blade of the lightsaber. But the curtains blew across the cake just as she lit them, and the next thing everything was on fire.’
‘Oh, Tim. That must have been awful for you. Was anyone hurt?’
Tim’s shoulder throbbed.
‘You were hurt?’ said Mrs Ragdale. ‘Oh, Tim, I’m so sorry. How bad was it?’
Tim lifted up his sleeve and showed Mrs Ragdale the scars.
Her fingertips gently traced the raised skin that covered most of his shoulder. ‘You were so lucky,’ she whispered. ‘And I am so grateful that you didn’t let this stop you from coming to save me yesterday.’
When Tim looked into her eyes, he saw that they were brimming with unshed tears.
‘I’m glad, too,’ he said. And silence fell over them once again.
It was Tim who broke it this time.
‘Can I ask you something, Mrs Ragdale?’ said Tim.
‘Of course you can,’ she said.
‘Why did you stay a recluse? I mean, didn’t you get lonely, out there by yourself?’
Tim heard Mrs Ragdale draw in a breath.
‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,’ he added quickly.
‘Now you’re sounding just like me, Tim Trickett. Yes, I did get lonely, but somehow it seemed just as lonely when I went out. You know, with Bob gone. I found it hard to go out and mix with people after he died.’
‘But … ah, didn’t that just make you even lonelier?’
Mrs Ragdale nodded. ‘Yes, I guess it did, but it seemed easier at the time. Then after a while it just didn’t seem to matter. Don’t get me wrong. People came to visit me; called me on the phone. Invited me out. But they gave up eventually. In the end, staying out there by myself just seemed to be the easiest thing to do.’
‘Like you were hiding?’ said Tim.
Mrs Ragdale nodded. ‘Yes, like I was hiding. Not much different from you, really. Hiding your scar.’
‘But—’ Tim started to protest, but there was a loud knock at the door.
‘G’day,’ came a voice. ‘Can I come in?’
Lockie didn’t wait for an answer. He bowled right over and sat on the end of the bed.
‘What d’ya reckon about what Tim did last night?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ said Mrs Ragdale. She glanced at Tim, who had gone red again.
‘He caught the bloke who lit the fire,’ said Lockie proudly.
‘Did he?’
‘Yeah. With a real footy tackle, too. I reckon ‘e ‘as t’sign up for footy now—’
‘Ahem,’ came a voice from the door.
All three turned.
There, holding a huge bunch of flowers, was Mrs McGregor. Without thinking, Tim and Lockie both stood up straight as if expecting they’d be told to sooner or later.
‘Marjorie?’ said Mrs McGregor, ignoring the two boys. ‘I heard I’d find you here.’
‘Oh, my,’ said Mrs Ragdale. ‘It’s Judy McGregor.’ And a tear slipped down her cheek as she held out her arms to her old friend.
‘Time to leave, I think, boys.’ Tim turned to see his father standing behind him. ‘I think these two need a bit of time to catch up,’ said Ben Trickett.
Granny Rags and Mrs McGregor didn’t even notice as they left the room.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The sun was dropping towards the horizon when the car pulled into the driveway. Mrs Ragdale, sitting in the back seat, looked out at the house.
‘You live here?’ she said, turning to look at Tim, who was sitting beside her.
‘Yes,’ said Tim, puzzled. ‘Why?’
‘I grew up in this house,’ she said.
‘Did you?’ said Tim, his eyes wide. ‘Was it supposed to be haunted then, too?’
‘Tim. Too many questions,’ said Ben as he opened the driver’s door.
But Mrs Ragdale just laughed.
‘No, it wasn’t,’ she said. ‘But I have heard the stories. I think it’s supposed to be my mother’s ghost that does the haunting.’
‘Your mother?’
‘Yes, she lived here until she died,’ said Mrs Ragdale. ‘Bob and I tried to get her to come and live with us, but she just refused. She never went out, so I’m not surprised that people thought the house was haunted if they saw a shadow pass by a window, or saw a lamp light on in the middle of the night.’
‘Well, I hope you don’t mind spending some time back in your childhood home then, Mrs Ragdale,’ said Ben as he opened the car door for her, and helped her out.
‘I look forward to it,’ she said, using her walking stick to steady herself. ‘Anyway, it will only be for a couple of days, surely.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Ben. ‘Remember, the doctor only let you out of hospital because you have me to look after you.’
‘Yes, yes. I know. Now let me see this house.’
Mandy came to the front door. ‘Hello, Mrs Ragdale,’ she said. ‘Come in. I’ve got your room ready and dinner’s almost on the table. I hope you don’t mind fish.’
Mrs Ragdale laughed and winked at Tim. ‘I love fish,’ she said.
‘Mum, Mrs Ragdale use to live here. When she was a girl,’ said Tim.
‘Did you?’ said Mandy, taking Mrs Ragdale’s arm and leading her into the house. ‘Well, come and I’ll show you your bedroom. I hope you like it. It looks out onto the back garden.’
‘Oh,’ said Mrs Ragdale as she stepped into the room. Tim could see from the look in her eyes that she was also stepping back in time.
‘Is everything alright?’ asked Mandy anxiously.
‘Just perfect,’ said Granny Rags as she walked over to the window and looked out on the garden. ‘This was my room, you know. When I was young. Right up until I married Bob. Thank you so much …’
Mandy tapped Tim on the arm and beckoned him out.
‘I think she needs a minute to herself,’ whispered Mum. ‘Come and help me with dinner.’
Later, as they all sat around the kitchen table eating grilled fish with steamed vegetables, Mrs Ragdale told them how she and her husband used to fish.
‘Bob and I often spent a quiet afternoon down at the creek,’ she said with a sparkle in her eye. ‘There were plenty of fish in the waterholes back then
and we always caught enough for a meal or two. ‘
The spark faded and Mrs Ragdale sighed. ‘Then we had a couple of dry years, and the fishing never seemed to be the same. And after Bob passed away I never went fishing again.’
Gloomy silence settled over the dinner table for a moment before Mrs Ragdale smiled across at Tim.
‘But my friend here brought me a fish, didn’t you, Tim? That was the first fresh fish I’d had in years, you know.’
‘Was it?’ said Tim, surprised.
Mrs Ragdale’s eyebrows pulled together slightly, then she said, ‘Well, apart from one time, just last year, when a rather nasty boy dropped in a couple of fish, but you could hardly say they were fresh.’
Oliver, thought Tim. So it was him who started this fish thing with Granny Rags.
‘I’ve heard about the kids going down and annoying you, Mrs Ragdale,’ said Mandy. ‘You know, if they were being a nuisance, you should have told someone.’
‘Oh, mostly it was just a bit of fun for them,’ said Granny Rags. ‘They’d come down and pretend to be scared of me because I was supposed to be a witch. No, it was just that one time last year … But enough of that. Tim, I’ve never really said thank you for bringing those library books, have I? I’ve so enjoyed reading them.’
Mandy’s eyes narrowed for a moment. Tim avoided her gaze; instead, he chased a bean around his plate.
‘Did I tell you that the detectives were back in this afternoon?’ said Ben, changing the subject. ‘They’ve charged the man you caught last night, Tim.’
‘Well, I’m pleased about that,’ said Mrs Ragdale. ‘He was the one who attacked me. Nasty piece of work, too. Was he working for Barry Baxter?’
‘Apparently Barry said he’d only hired this guy to look into ways to develop that old Russell farm,’ Ben said. ‘I don’t think the police believe him but they can’t prove anything.’
‘That Barry Baxter has been hassling me for months to sell,’ said Mrs Ragdale. ‘Now I suppose he’ll get off scot-free when he’s been behind this all along.’ She put down her knife and fork. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I seem to have lost my appetite. And it’s such a delicious meal.’
Ben reached forward. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, closing his hand over hers. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. I believe the police have cautioned Barry. Told him that if anything else was to happen to you or your property they’d be back onto him. Now, how about a cup of tea?’
Mrs Ragdale dabbed her lips with her serviette. ‘Yes, that would be lovely, thank you,’ she said.
After dinner, Tim and Mrs Ragdale were in the lounge playing a game of Scrabble when the doorbell rang.
‘Ah,’ they heard Ben saying, ‘glad you could get here. She’s down in the lounge. How did it go this evening?’
Mrs Ragdale and Tim looked at each other.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Mrs Ragdale.
Tim shrugged.
A moment later, Lockie came in, grinning from ear to ear.
‘Guess what?’ he said. ‘M’dad’s gunna get me a bike. Reckons it’s time I ‘ad one. We’ll be able t’do some real exploring now. How are ya, Mrs Ragdale?’
‘Much better, thank you, Lockie,’ said Mrs Ragdale, standing. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. I didn’t get a chance to thank you this morning. I’m sure if you hadn’t got help so quickly, I would have lost my house—’
She stopped as someone else walked into the room. Someone she recognised immediately. ‘Oh, my,’ she said. ‘Kenny McKenzie? Is that really you? Why, you haven’t changed a bit.’
Kenny laughed and patted his stomach. ‘Now I reckon that’s not exactly true,’ he said. ‘A bit of good livin’ has caught up with me—’
‘Oh, nonsense.’ Mrs Ragdale flapped a hand at him. ‘You look as good as you did back then, when all the girls were chasing you. I believe one of them caught you, too. Jill Goodchild, was it?’
Kenny laughed again – a real belly laugh this time. ‘Yeah, that’s right. And a fine catch she made too.’ He looked up at the ceiling, scratching his ear. ‘Or is it the other way around?’ he said.
‘Whichever it is,’ said Mrs Ragdale, ‘you’ve a fine son here. Without him and Tim I doubt I’d be here now.’
This sombre thought caught everyone off guard. Then Kenny ruffled his son’s long hair and said, ‘Yeah, ‘e’s not a bad little runt, is he? His mum and me, we reckon we’ll keep ’im for a while yet.’
Lockie just grinned.
‘Kenny, take a seat,’ said Ben. ‘Can I get you a tea? Or a coffee?’
‘Coffee’s good, thanks. White. Three sugars.’ And Kenny parked himself on the arm of the old sofa opposite Mrs Ragdale.
‘Do you still play football then?’ she asked him.
‘Nah. Not anymore. Did m’knees in a coupla years back. The doc told me it was time to leave it to the young blokes. But I’m president of the club now.’
Ben and Mandy came back with a tray of coffee and biscuits, and milk for the boys.
Kenny dunked his biscuit into the hot coffee and tossed it into his mouth. Then he put the mug on the corner of the coffee table.
‘Okay,’ he said, pulling himself up straight and looking at Mrs Ragdale, ‘the reason I’m ‘ere is …’ He wiped his mouth on the off-chance of a stray crumb. ‘We had an extraordinary meeting of the footy club tonight, Marjorie, and it’s all fixed. The lads are getting together to see about your house.’
Mrs Ragdale opened her mouth, but Kenny waved her down. ‘Now, this is not up for discussion, you know. Bob did a lot for the club, and this town, and you did too. You never missed a match back then as I remember. This is our way of sayin’ thanks and we’re real sorry it’s taken so long for us to get around to it. We shoulda been lookin’ out for you all along.’
‘But …’
Kenny flicked his hand again. ‘No “buts”. That’s the way it’s gunna be,’ he said and reached for another biscuit. Into the coffee and into his mouth it went. He munched once and swallowed. Then he looked at Mrs Ragdale again, his eyes narrowed.
‘There’s a coupla things you can do for us, though,’ he said. ‘For a start, we’d love y’to come along to the matches again. See the young lads playin’. And the other thing is …’ Kenny cleared his throat. ‘It’s somethin’ we shoulda asked y’years ago. We’d like you to consider becoming the club’s lady patron.’
Mrs Ragdale’s hand shot to her mouth and tears welled up in her eyes. ‘Kenny McKenzie,’ she said, ‘it would be an absolute pleasure.’ And she stood up and did something she never thought she would do. She leaned forward and kissed Kenny on the cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘Well, here’s to patrons and football clubs,’ said Ben, raising his coffee mug and saluting the occasion.
‘Hear, hear,’ everyone replied.
‘What’s a patron?’ asked Lockie, bewildered. ‘Does it mean y’gunna start playin’ footy or somethin’?’ He looked up at Granny Rags.
‘No,’ she laughed. ‘It means I’ll give my support. You know, go along to the matches. Be there at the grand finals.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Maybe give out trophies.’
‘Cool,’ said Lockie. ‘Y’ll have to play footy now, Tim. Even if y’just the reserve.’
‘Only if you come to swimming club,’ Tim retorted.
‘Me? Swimmin’? No way,’ said Lockie.
The room fell silent.
‘I ain’t learnin’ to swim,’ said Lockie, turning pale. ‘People drown swimmin’.’
More silence.
Then Kenny cleared his throat. ‘Lockie,’ he said sternly, ‘it’s time.’
Photo by John Downs
Janet Reid grew up on a dairy farm with hay sheds and pigsties, old abandoned farm machinery, and lots of open space. It was a haven for hours of story weaving with her sister between milking cows, feeding calves and pigs, and sneaking milk for stray cats.
She went into teaching and taught in places from the cane fields in Central Queensland to Br
isbane before retiring to concentrate on her writing. She lives on the northern outskirts of Brisbane with her husband, two sons and a very ‘human’ cat called Kelsey.
