Chapter Sixteen

It was Thursday before Tim plucked up the courage to go and see Mrs McGregor. He stood at the door of the grade one room wishing he had Lockie with him, but Lockie was playing footy down on the oval.

‘Can I help you?’ came a voice from somewhere within. Tim peered into the classroom and eventually spotted Mrs McGregor on the floor at the back. What was she doing?

‘Tom, is it?’ she said, hauling herself to her feet.

‘Ah, Tim,’ said Tim, wondering if it wasn’t too late to change his mind.

‘Well, Tim, what is it?’ she snapped.

Tim’s shoulder tingled and he swallowed, his mouth dry.

‘I just wondered if, ah, I could ask you some questions about the history of Rowington.’ He said it quickly before he changed his mind. ‘It’s for our class project. For Mr Martin.’

‘Oh,’ said Mrs McGregor, her hard eyes softening. ‘Yes, of course. What would you like to know?’

‘Ah, just anything about when you first came to Rowington.’ How many years ago was that? he wondered.

Mrs McGregor’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is it your father who’s the new matron up at the hospital?’

‘Ah, he’s called the DON,’ said Tim, reddening. ‘Short for Director of Nursing.’

Then Mrs McGregor laughed. ‘Of course. Sorry. Can’t have him dressed up in a matron’s uniform, can we? Well, how about I tell you about the hospital then? Would that be alright?’

Tim nodded.

‘Do you want to do this now?’ she asked. ‘You can ask your questions while I finish getting the room ready for the day.’ She didn’t wait for an answer, just made her way back to where she’d been sorting books on the floor.

Twenty minutes later, when the first bell rang, Tim had heaps of information about the Rowington hospital and everything that had happened to it over the last fifty years. And he realised Mrs McGregor wasn’t nearly as scary as he had thought. Actually, she reminded him a bit of Granny Rags.

‘Thanks, Mrs McGregor. Ah, there was something else,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think you’ll be able to help me.’

‘What’s that?’ she asked.

‘Well, Mr Martin wants us to invite the person we got information from to come in for a special afternoon, but you’ll be teaching, won’t you?’ he said.

Mrs McGregor raised an eyebrow. ‘Hmmm,’ she said. ‘Leave it with me, Tim. I’ll talk to Mr Martin about it. Now, talking of Mr Martin, you’d better get going.’

‘Thanks, Mrs McGregor,’ said Tim as he pushed his way past a line of grade one kids.

‘Oh, and Tim …’ called Mrs McGregor.

Tim turned back.

‘Who was it suggested you come and talk to me?’

Tim hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘Ah, it was Mrs Ragdale,’ and wondered what reaction he’d get.

Mrs McGregor’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Marjorie Ragdale?’ she said. ‘Have you been talking to her lately?’

Tim nodded.

‘How is she?’ Mrs McGregor asked.

Tim wanted to say that he was worried because Mrs Ragdale was being harassed by Barry Baxter and that Barry was trying to get her to sell her house. But then the second bell rang so he just said, ‘Yeah, she’s alright.’ And he ran off in the direction of his classroom.

The next afternoon, Mr Martin reorganised the classroom so that everyone was sitting in a big circle.

‘Now, I’d like each of you to briefly tell the class some of the things you’ve found out about our local area so far. Just a couple of facts will do. Chloe, let’s start with you.’

Chloe rolled her eyes and turned to her friends and giggled.

‘Well,’ she said, standing, ‘I asked Mum where she used to get her hair cut when she was little and she said there used to be a hairdresser down in Murphy Street back then, but my pop said when he was little his mother used to cut his hair with a pair of clippers. Like, his mum used to almost shave off most of his hair so he wouldn’t get nits. And if he did get nits, she’d shave the lot off.’

The girls giggled again, and some of the boys started scratching their heads.

‘Well, thank you for that, Chloe,’ said Mr Martin. ‘And I hope that’s not gum you’re chewing. Now let’s see. Who will we have next …’

One by one, the kids in the class shared their information. Then it was Oliver’s turn.

‘Well, sir,’ he said as he lumbered to his feet, ‘I found out something that’s happening now. There’s going to be a new industrial estate built just outside town. My Uncle Barry says that it’s going—’

Oliver turned and looked straight at Tim.

‘—right down to the creek and that there’s just one more farm to buy, but Uncle Barry reckons that the person who owns it will be selling it soon. Probably by next week. Uncle Barry says that this is going to be the best thing that’s happened to Rowington in a long time.’

Oliver crossed his arms and smirked at Tim.

‘Who do y’reckon ‘e means?’ whispered Lockie, digging Tim with his elbow. ‘Not Granny—’

‘Yes, I’m sure he means Granny Rags,’ said Tim through gritted teeth. ‘But Granny Rags won’t sell, I’m sure of that.’

‘Right, thanks Oliver,’ said Mr Martin. ‘You can let us know what happens then. Now let’s see, how about you, Tim? Have you managed to find out anything?’

Tim stood and told the class what Mrs McGregor had told him yesterday about the hospital.

When he was finished, Lockie said, ‘Tell ‘em about the high school and the library and that. You know, what—’

Tim cut him off with a look that would sizzle sausages.

‘What was that about the library?’ asked Mr Martin.

‘Ah, nothing, sir,’ said Tim.

‘Come on, tell us,’ Mr Martin urged. ‘We’d love to hear more about the library in Rowington. Who told you about it?’

Tim didn’t want to say. His hand automatically reached for his shoulder, and he glanced around the class.

Oliver was tipping back on his chair, arms folded across his chest. ‘I reckon I know who it was, sir.’

‘Oh?’ said Mr Martin, frowning at Oliver.

‘I reckon it might be that old lady that lives down near the creek. She used to be a librarian once, sir. That’s what my Uncle Barry says anyway.’

Chloe and her friends started giggling again, and whispering amongst themselves.

‘That’s enough, girls,’ said Mr Martin. ‘Now, who’s this lady, Oliver?’

‘Her name’s Granny Rags, sir,’ said Oliver.

The class fell silent.

‘Tim’s been goin’ down to see her, sir,’ said Oliver. ‘I reckon it was her who told him about the library.’

How would Oliver know he’d been going down there, apart from that first time? Then Tim thought of Barry Baxter, parked on the side of the road last Monday afternoon. Had he guessed that Tim had been down to see Granny Rags?

‘I’m sure she’s got a real name, Oliver,’ said Mr Martin.

‘Her name’s Mrs Ragdale,’ Tim blurted out before Oliver could say any more.

The class fell silent once again, and Tim could see a malicious grin spreading across Oliver’s face before he turned to Chloe and whispered something. Chloe and her friends snorted with laughter.

‘I said enough, girls,’ Mr Martin snapped at them. He turned back to Tim. ‘Are you going to bring this Mrs Ragdale to our afternoon?’

‘Ah, no,’ said Tim. ‘She … ah … she doesn’t drive, sir.’

‘Just as well, too,’ muttered Oliver, just loud enough for everyone to hear. ‘Otherwise we’d have no dogs left in town.’

At that moment, Tim remembered the comment Oliver had made weeks ago about owning a dog. Now he realised what he’d been getting at.

And he realised Oliver knew about Mrs Ragdale hitting Barry Baxter’s dog all those years ago.

‘She wouldn’t have hit it if your uncle had kept it on a leash,’ shouted Tim. Too late, he remembered he’d promised Granny Rags he wouldn’t say anything about the dog she’d hit.

Oliver’s lip curled up smugly. ‘Is that what she told you?’ he said. ‘Can’t wait to tell Uncle Barry that when I see him. And just so you know, Hobo was a purebred Rottweiler and he was worth a lot of money.’

‘Boys, what’s this all about?’ demanded Mr Martin. ‘And what does it have to do with our local history?’

‘Tim’s telling the story,’ said Oliver, not taking his eyes off Tim’s.

‘Tim?’ Mr Martin raised an eyebrow.

Tim opened his mouth to say something but then paused. He’d already said too much.

‘Ah, it’s nothing really, sir,’ he said. ‘Just something I heard about. Nothing to do with the local history.’

Mr Martin looked at him for a long moment, then said, ‘Well, let’s stick to the topic, will we? Now, who’s next?’ And Mrs Ragdale and the story of the dog were forgotten.

But as the class was leaving that afternoon, Oliver leaned towards Tim and whispered, ‘It’s payback time, I reckon.’ He smirked at Tim before pushing his way out the door.

Tim felt a shiver run from his head to his toes. What did Oliver mean by that?