Chapter Fourteen

‘Mum, can I join the town library?’ asked Tim.

The Tricketts were just finishing their Sunday night tea: a treat – fish fingers, grilled, with potato wedges and salad. No carrots or broccoli.

‘Why?’ asked his mother. ‘What’s wrong with the school library?’

‘It’s just that we’re doing a unit on the local history and I thought I might get more information from the town library.’

‘Well, we’re both on afternoon shifts this week, so you’ll just have to wait till Saturday … no, isn’t that the day you’re going to football with Lockie? Maybe next week we can do it.’

‘But the unit will be half over by then,’ complained Tim. ‘Couldn’t I go by myself? I could ride my bike. It’s not far.’

Tim’s parents looked at each other, then Dad shrugged. ‘I don’t see why not, Mandy. He’s always careful on the roads. Besides, it’s time he started doing things for himself.’

Yes. Tim was surprised it had been so easy.

The next afternoon Mrs Simmons, the librarian, handed Tim his new library card.

‘Now, did you have self check-outs at your last library?’ she asked.

‘I didn’t go to the town library back there,’ Tim admitted. ‘I got all my books from school.’

‘Well, come and I’ll show you how to use them. It’s very easy.’ And she led him to the scanners that would let him check out, and check back in, the books that he borrowed.

Good, thought Tim. That way no one would know what he was borrowing.

‘Now, how about a quick tour?’ said Mrs Simmons. ‘Follow me.’

‘… this is the junior fiction section, and round here is the non-fiction. Over there are videos and DVDs you can borrow and …’

‘Can you tell me where I can find stuff on local history?’ asked Tim.

Mrs Simmons nodded approvingly. ‘You must be in Mr Martin’s class. He said some of you might come in. We have a wonderful collection in our local history section.’

She turned, heading to an open room at the back of the library.

‘Now, was that all you were after?’ she asked ten minutes later. Tim had two thin books and some pamphlets on the early history of the area.

‘Ah, I thought I might get a couple of books,’ said Tim, eager to get on with his plan. ‘You know. Just to read.’

‘Yes, of course. Well, I’ll leave you to it then. Just give me a hoy if you need any help.’

Tim waited until Mrs Simmons was back at her desk before ducking into adult fiction. He picked three books off the shelves before slipping back to the junior fiction section. The first of the Harry Potter books was on display, and he decided it was time he read that. Next to it was a book called Jason Chen and the Time Banana. He wondered what a time banana was and had just started reading the blurb when a voice behind him said, ‘How are you going?’

Tim jumped and dropped his books.

‘Oh,’ said Mrs Simmons. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ She bent down to help Tim pick up the books.

‘Oh, what’s this?’ she asked, holding up one of the books. ‘A Christmas Honeymoon? Tim, you realise this is adult fiction?’

‘Ah … yes.’ Tim could feel himself going red. ‘It’s, ah, for my mum.’

‘Hmmm. Well, your mum should really be coming in to get her own books,’ said Mrs Simmons.

‘Yes,’ said Tim. ‘But she’s … she has to work every day this week so she asked me if I’d get her a couple of books while I was here. She said she likes love stories.’ Then just to sound convincing, he added, ‘These are love stories, aren’t they?’

‘Yes, they are,’ said the librarian. ‘See, they’ve got a heart sticker on the spine. I’ll let you take them this time, but tell your mother to come and join the library herself. Now, what you need is a bag to carry all these in. Let’s see if I can find something for you.’

She made her way to the counter, opened cupboard after cupboard until she found what she was looking for.

A few minutes later, helmet strapped on, Tim was heading out of town. The books, secure in their calico bag, dangled over the handlebars. If he was quick, it would only take him about ten minutes to get to Granny Rags’ house, and he’d be back before either his mother or father knew he was gone. Even as he thought it, he knew he should really tell them about Granny Rags. Perhaps tonight. But how was he going to explain all the times he’d already been out there?

He turned at the mailbox and bumped down the dusty track towards Granny Rags’ house. As he got closer, he saw something he didn’t expect to see – a silver car, parked out the front of the house.

Granny Rags had a visitor.

He coasted off the track and down under a tree, propping his bike against the tumbled-down fence. Even before he could take the books from the handlebars, he heard the shouting.

‘You’ll be sorry,’ a man yelled. ‘This is the best offer you’ll ever get. And look at this place – it’s a dump.’

Tim peered through the shadows and hanging branches of the tree – and froze. Barry Baxter stood pointing to the shed, collapsed in a heap in the grass.

‘That will just be the start,’ Barry shouted, just a hint of triumph in his voice, as he waved some papers about furiously. ‘You’ll be begging me to buy this dump soon. And guess what? You won’t be getting an offer as good as this then.’ And he scrunched the papers up in his fist and strode away.

But where was Granny Rags? Careful to stay within the shadows, Tim leaned forward. There she was, holding a broom and looking angrier than he’d ever seen her. She wore no hat and her silver-grey hair, not pulled back in its usual long plait, fanned out over her shoulders and down her back. At that moment she really did look like a witch.

‘Get off this land, Barry Baxter,’ she said in a low and threatening voice. ‘Get off, and don’t ever come back, do you hear?’

Barry turned abruptly and walked back towards her until he was just inches from her face. ‘You just remember this,’ he sneered. ‘One day you’ll wish you’d signed this contract.’ He looked up at the house. ‘And you know what?’ he added menacingly. ‘I reckon this old … shack … is only fit for a match.’

He turned away, then spun back, like a snake about to strike, and hissed, ‘And I’ll make you pay for what you did to Hobo all those years ago.’

He marched back to the car, fumbling for the keys in his pocket. “Chirp” – the lock clicked and the blinkers flashed twice. He yanked at the door and tossed the papers onto the passenger seat. Tim could see his face, red and twisted with anger, as he squeezed himself in behind the steering wheel.

Dust and pebbles scattered as the car skidded onto the track and headed towards town. Only as it turned the corner did Tim dare come out from under the tree.