Chapter Four

‘Okay, class,’ Mr Martin said on Friday. ‘We’ve got a few minutes before lunch so we’re going to start our social science project for the term.’

He turned and wrote “Our Local Community” on the whiteboard.

‘We’ll start with something simple,’ he said as he wrote. ‘We’re going to look at all the jobs people have in our community. And we’re starting with the jobs your parents have.’

Tim felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. No. Anything but this. And his shoulder throbbed.

‘Oliver, why don’t we start with you?’ said Mr Martin.

Oliver stood and looked around the class with squinty eyes, as if daring anyone to laugh at what his parents did.

‘My mum, she works in the butcher shop, selling meat, and my dad, he works for my Uncle Barry. Uncle Barry’s a real estate agent.’

‘So does that mean your father sells property, Oliver?’ asked Mr Martin.

Oliver hesitated. Then he said, ‘No. He helps in the office. My Uncle Barry says he’s real good at organising stuff, like ads in the paper and … stuff like that.’

‘So, I guess you could call him an office manager,’ said Mr Martin, writing the words up on the whiteboard.

Oliver grinned. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘That’s what he is. An office manager.’

‘That’s good, Oliver. Thank you. Okay, next we’ll have …’

Lockie’s hand shot up as Mr Martin looked around the room. Tim slouched down in his chair, hoping he’d never be picked.

‘Tim,’ said Mr Martin, looking right at him. ‘How about your parents? Want to tell us what they do?’

Tim wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole as all eyes turned his way. Reluctantly he rose from his chair, his tongue feeling like a piece of cotton wool in his mouth.

‘Ah …’ he started. ‘My mum, she works at the supermarket—’

‘Yeah. She’s a check-out chick,’ said Lockie beside him.

The class laughed and Tim felt the blood rising to his face. His shoulder ached.

‘That’s enough, Lockie,’ said Mr Martin. ‘Let Tim tell his own story.’

Do I have to?

But the class grew silent as they waited to hear what his father did. He licked his lips, but still he hesitated.

‘And his dad’s a—’ started Lockie.

‘Lockie,’ warned Mr Martin. ‘Come on, Tim, we’d all like to know.’

‘He’s the DON,’ blurted Tim.

The class was silent.

Then Oliver snorted. ‘You mean like a crime boss?’ he said. ‘Hey, everyone. The mafia’s come to town.’

The class laughed.

‘I don’t think Tim means that sort of don,’ said Mr Martin patiently. ‘Tim, you want to elaborate?’

No. ‘Ah, it means he’s the director of nursing. Up at the hospital.’

There was not a sound in the room. Then Chloe said, ‘You mean he’s a nurse?’ Everyone started talking at once then, and Tim felt himself turn a peculiar shade of beetroot.

‘That’s enough,’ said Mr Martin. He was about to say more but the bell rang. It could have rung a minute earlier, thought Tim as he dropped back on his seat. He wondered where he could hide for the lunch hour. Perhaps the library …

But before he could finish his lunch, Oliver slid onto the bench beside him.

‘Now, what were we talking about yesterday?’ Oliver said, helping himself to a grape from Tim’s lunch box. ‘Before Mrs McGregor interrupted us?’

‘Still don’t reckon he’ll do it,’ snorted Chloe, who was hovering close by with her pack of friends.

Tim looked down at his grapes, his appetite gone. He didn’t even know what it was he was supposed to do, but he was sure he wouldn’t want to do it.

‘He’ll do it,’ said Lockie, beside him.

Gee, thanks, Lockie.

‘What?’ said Tim. ‘What am I supposed to do?’

‘Well,’ said Oliver, popping another grape into his mouth, ‘it’s all about going to sort out our local witch.’

As soon as Oliver said the word witch, Tim understood. This was about that old woman who lived down near the creek.

Granny Rags.

Oliver grinned. ‘I reckon he knows who we’re talking about. So, Lockie, you’ll sort him out then? Make sure he goes through with it?’

‘Yep,’ said Lockie as he pushed another sandwich into his mouth.

‘Goes through with what?’ asked Tim.

‘You’ll see,’ said Oliver, standing.

Then he sat down again, a smirk spreading across his face like a tidal wave.

‘So,’ he said, ‘your dad’s a nurse, hey. What does he wear to work, a nurse’s uniform? A neat little white dress?’

‘Yeah,’ said Chloe. ‘And does he wear a little cap on top of his head?’

Tim knew this would happen as soon as the kids found out what his father did. It had happened in his last school, too.

‘As a matter of fact, he does have a uniform but he mostly wears scrubs,’ he said, then he pointed a finger at Chloe and his voice rose a notch. ‘And for your information, Chloe, nurses haven’t worn caps for years.’

‘Ohhhh. I think Nursy Trickett is a little bit upset that we’ve found out his secret,’ said Oliver. ‘Still, good to know we have someone around to fix us up if we’re sick, hey, Chloe.’

‘Yeah, and I wonder if Mr Martin is going to have a dress-up day for all the jobs,’ said Chloe. ‘I’m sure one of the nurses at the hospital could lend Tim a dress—’

‘I just told you, he doesn’t wear a dress,’ said Tim, letting the stupid, petty jibes dig at him.

‘Touchy, isn’t he,’ said Oliver, laughing.

‘Yeah, well. What about your dad?’ said Tim. He knew he should stop right there, but he couldn’t help himself. ‘Sounds like he’s just an office girl really.’

The group fell silent; the air chilled as everyone waited for the explosion.

Oliver’s eyes narrowed and a cloud of red seeped up his neck and onto his cheeks. The muscles in his jaw twitched, as though they wanted to pop out of his face, and everyone heard the bones in his hands crack as he locked his pudgy fingers. Somewhere, someone sucked in a breath.

Then Lockie started to laugh. ‘Imagine if your dad had to wear a skirt to work, Oliver,’ he said. ‘Then he’d be just like Tim’s dad, hey.’

Oliver looked from Tim to Lockie and back again. Then he stood up.

‘You two are idiots, you know that?’ he said as he stomped his way through Chloe’s group of girls and headed for the oval.

The bell hadn’t even rung.

‘Where did you go at lunchtime?’ Lockie asked as he and Tim walked out the school gate and down the dusty footpath that afternoon.

‘Ahm, to the library,’ Tim admitted.

‘The library? What d’ya wanna go there for when y’coulda been playin’ footy?’

Tim shrugged.

‘But you’ll wanna join the footy team, won’t ya?’ asked Lockie.

‘Probably not,’ said Tim. ‘Dad says there’s a swimming club in town. I might join that.’

‘Swimmin’, hey,’ said Lockie, wrinkling his nose as if swimming had a bad smell to it. ‘Okay. But y’might wanna come and watch the footy sometime. Y’might change y’mind then.’

Tim kicked a pebble off the path. He doubted it.

They walked on in silence towards the supermarket where Tim’s mum worked.

‘So, looks like I have t’take ya fishin’ on Sunday,’ Lockie said. ‘Can’t tomorrow. It’s footy sign-on. Y’sure y’don’t wanna join up?’

Does he ever give up? ‘Nah. I’ll stick to swimming.’

The supermarket doors slid open and the cool air greeted them. Mrs Trickett stood at the checkout, packing groceries in green bags.

‘Hi, you two,’ she called as she swiped the customer’s card. ‘Good day at school?’

No. The kids found out that Dad’s a nurse.

‘Yeah,’ said Lockie. ‘We had a couple of tests this morning. Easy as. And sport this arvo – we played baseball and I hit a homer. I reckon I’d be good at baseball if I played it.’

Mrs Trickett smiled as she waited for the customer to key in a pin number. The receipt churned out of the till and she handed it over. ‘Have a good weekend,’ she said as the woman picked up her bulging bags.

‘I can carry those for ya,’ said Lockie, reaching forward. ‘Tim, give us a hand, will ya?’

‘What nice young lads …’ muttered the woman. ‘Thank you, boys. It’s the blue car …’ and the three of them were out the door before Mrs Trickett could say a word.

When they came back, she said, ‘That was very kind of you both.’ Tim blushed. He knew he wouldn’t have thought of doing something like that on his own. Lockie just grinned.

‘Now,’ said Mum, ‘how about a Slush Puppie for you both? My shout. You look like you need something to cool you down.’

‘Cor. Thanks, Mrs T,’ said Lockie. ‘Can I have a blue one?’

Mum laughed and dug into her pocket for some money. She gave Tim a ten dollar note. ‘Off you go,’ she said. ‘I’ll be finished at four. Wait outside for me.’ Then she added, ‘And I want some change from that note, too.’

They were sitting outside at a rickety metal table when Oliver turned up.

Tim’s Slush Puppie turned to molten lava in his stomach.

‘Hey,’ said Oliver, dropping his bag on the ground beside Lockie. He grabbed a spare chair from a nearby table and sat down on it – back to front. Tim braced himself, thinking about the comment he’d made earlier in the day about Oliver’s father. But Oliver didn’t mention it. Instead he ran his fingers through his spiky hair and said, ‘So, Lockie, you taking nursy kid down to visit Granny Rags on the weekend?’

Lockie tipped his cup and swallowed the last of his ice. His top lip and tongue were blue. ‘Yep,’ he answered. ‘Goin’ on Sunday.’

‘Hang on,’ said Tim. ‘I thought we were going fishing on Sunday.’

Lockie and Oliver both looked at him.

‘Same thing,’ said Lockie.

Tim frowned.

Oliver’s lip curled up in a sneer. He leaned forward so he was only inches from Tim’s face. ‘I’ve heard Granny Rags loves fish – took some out to her myself once – so you better make sure you catch something,’ he said. ‘But just be sure she doesn’t get hold of you. I hear she likes to beat little kids like you. And I hope you haven’t got a dog, either.’

‘Well, I’m done for the day,’ said a voice. All three turned to see Mrs Trickett standing behind them, bag slung over her shoulder.

‘Oh,’ she said, noticing Oliver. ‘You must be another friend of Tim’s. I’m his mother, Mandy Trickett.’

Oliver stood and muttered something about a check-out chick, then swaggered away. Tim hoped his mother hadn’t heard.

That night, Tim lay in bed thinking about his disastrous first week at his new school. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, now he was supposed to go visit this old lady, Granny Rags. As he gazed up at the ceiling, he listened to the noises of the night – a cricket chirping outside his window, in the distance a dog barking …

Then Tim remembered the comment Oliver had made outside the supermarket. Something about having a dog. What had he meant by that?