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, mucking 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?’

‘I just wanted to see how things were rolling,’ said Ray. ‘You know, with our little project.’

‘You could have rung me at the office.’

‘Yeah, I know, but I was just passing. Saw your car. Thought I’d drop in. Any progress with that block down by the creek?’

‘You mean Mrs Ragdale’s? Yeah, there’s been some progress, but I haven’t convinced her yet. But I will.’

‘Yeah? What if she still says no?’ asked Ray.

‘Well, let’s just say I’ve … hmmm … found someone who will take care of it for me,’ said Barry. ‘I’ve a feeling he’ll be able to – shall we say – talk her into selling.’ And he laughed. ‘Anyway, I see there’s a table full of desserts over there and I’m about to go and help myself. I’ll give you a call when …’ Barry’s voice faded away as the two men moved down the steps of the grandstand.

‘Did you hear that, Lockie?’ whispered Tim. ‘I bet this other person was the one who knocked the shed over.’

‘Y’reckon?’ said Lockie. ‘Dunno about that. That shed looked pretty wobbly. Anyway, Jacob saw it. What’d ‘e reckon?’

‘He just thought I’d been watching too much TV,’ Tim admitted.

‘There y’go then,’ said Lockie. ‘It probably just fell over.’

‘But what about this other guy?’ said Tim. ‘The one Barry says he’s got to take care of Granny Rags? The one he was just talking about?’

‘Yeah, dunno about him,’ said Lockie. ‘Y’think we could go and get some dessert now?’

Tim sighed. ‘Sure,’ he said and followed Lockie to the dessert table. But he couldn’t help thinking that Barry Baxter was planning something. And whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

The next day in school, Mr Martin told the class more about the community project they were working on at the moment.

‘We’re going to be looking at the history of our local area,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk about when the area was first settled, and why. And we’ll explore the changes that have occurred in the past. And perhaps even look at the community’s future direction and what may happen to this area in years to come.’

Tim was beginning to work out what was going to happen in the future – Barry Baxter was going to bulldoze as much as possible.

‘Now, for the first part,’ continued Mr Martin, ‘you’re going to write a report about some part of the history of the community. For this you’ll need to talk to someone who’s lived here for some time. Parents and grandparents would be a good start for most of you. Or a neighbour.’

Great, thought Tim. Who was he going to talk to? He hardly knew anyone in the area.

Then he thought of Granny Rags—

‘After you’ve given the reports, we’ll finish up with a special afternoon when you can invite the person you got your information from along to the school to celebrate the community’s history.’

Tim’s idea fizzled. How would he get Granny Rags to come along to school when she was a recluse?

And she had no car now anyway.