Chapter Five

Lockie showed Tim how to put bait on the hook. Soon a small lump of meat dangled from the end of his line.

‘Now watch this,’ said Lockie with authority. He flicked his own rod back over his shoulder and let the line fly into the water, landing it somewhere in the middle of the waterhole. ‘Now you have a go.’

Tim tried. The hook snagged on a clump of grass behind him. He tried again. This time it landed at his feet.

‘Here, I’ll do it for ya,’ said Lockie, grabbing the line. ‘You can do it next time.’

They sat in the shade, their backs against the trunk of an old river gum, and waited. A half-hearted breeze rippled the water, and thin patches of green grass poked up around the waterhole. An oasis, thought Tim. He would have enjoyed the peacefulness if he hadn’t been thinking about Granny Rags and having to take her a fish.

‘Lockie? Why am I supposed to take a fish down to Granny Rags?’ asked Tim. ‘I mean, why not a, I don’t know, a pie or something?’

‘Dunno,’ said Lockie. ‘But it’s what Oliver did. So, will y’go?’

Tim shrugged. ‘Gotta catch something first, haven’t I?’ he said. After all, if he didn’t catch any fish—

Just then, he felt a tug on his line.

Lockie whooped and jumped up. ‘Here, I’ll show y’how to bring it in.’

The small silver-grey fish jumped about on the end of the line as Lockie reeled it in. For a moment, Tim felt sorry for it. ‘It’s not very big,’ he said. ‘Maybe we should throw it back.’

‘Nah. It’s good,’ said Lockie, pulling out the hook. ‘I reckon Granny Rags will like it. Here, put it in the esky.’

The fish flapped its tail pathetically as Tim slipped it into the esky full of ice that Lockie had brought along with him. Tim had been surprised how well prepared Lockie was.

‘How do you know Granny Rags likes fish?’ he asked.

‘Why wouldn’t she? Everyone likes fish.’ Lockie picked out another piece of meat and threaded it onto Tim’s hook. ‘Anyway, good as anything to take down to her. Oliver reckons she likes ‘em. Here, have another go at casting.’

What would Oliver know? thought Tim, snatching the rod out of Lockie’s hand. He swung it back and flicked. Away went the line, and the hook and sinker plonked into the middle of the waterhole. Wish it was Oliver on the hook, Tim thought.

‘Hey, we’ll make a fisherman of y’yet,’ said Lockie, and he settled back down against the gum tree and pulled a paper bag out of his backpack. ‘Y’want somethin’ to eat? I’ve made sandwiches.’ There was a choice – peanut butter or jam.

They ate in silence. The breeze had dropped and the heat pressed down on the still water. Just like the visit to Granny Rags pressed down on him, thought Tim.

‘This is stupid,’ he said suddenly, almost surprising himself. ‘I’m not going to be talked into doing something just because Oliver says so.’

Lockie threw the last of his second sandwich into his mouth, then said, ‘He’ll give y’heaps till y’do it, y’know.’

Tim shrugged. ‘He’ll give me heaps anyway.’

Lockie said nothing.

‘Come on, Lockie. You know it sounds pretty dodgy.’ Tim could hear the whine in his voice. ‘I mean, really – taking fish down to an old lady? It doesn’t make sense.’

Lockie scrunched up the paper bag and tossed it into his backpack. ‘Please y’self. Don’t worry me,’ he said. ‘I ain’t the one who’s gotta face Oliver tomorrow. He’ll laugh at ya, y’know. Tell ya you’re a baby in front of everyone.’

‘Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,’ muttered Tim. ‘Make a change from calling me nursy.’

They lapsed back into silence until there was a tug on Lockie’s line.

When they had caught five fish, Lockie said, ‘Okay, I reckon that’ll do us. We can have two fish each and there’s one for Granny Rags.’

‘I said I wasn’t going,’ said Tim stubbornly.

Lockie shrugged. ‘It’s there if y’want it.’ He pulled a plastic bag out of his backpack and slipped in one small fish, then held the bag out to Tim.

Tim felt like thumping his head against the giant gum behind him. Couldn’t Lockie see that he didn’t want to do this?

‘Tell you what,’ said Tim, reaching for the bag. ‘How about you come too? Then you can introduce me.’

‘No way,’ said Lockie. ‘I ain’t goin’ anywhere near a witch.’

‘You don’t really believe that stuff, do you?’ said Tim.

Lockie shrugged. ‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘Maybe she is. Maybe she ain’t. Only one way for ya t’find out.’ And he reached down and gathered up the fishing gear.

‘Hang on,’ said Tim. ‘You’ve never met her, have you?’

‘Course not,’ said Lockie.

‘How come? You’ve lived here all your life. How come you’ve never had to go down there with fish?’

‘Cos I ain’t never been the new boy, that’s why,’ said Lockie.

‘So how come Oliver did it?’

‘Cos ‘e only came last year,’ said Lockie. ‘He used t’live in the city but ‘is dad came back and started working for Barry Baxter, cos that’s ‘is brother.’

‘Well, Oliver can’t be the only new kid you’ve had at the school,’ said Tim, surprised Oliver hadn’t lived in Rowington all his life. ‘What happened before? You know, when new kids came?’

‘Dunno. Can’t remember anything happenin’. We don’t get many new kids here. But come to think of it, we did get this new kid in grade three and he didn’t take any fish when he went to visit her.’

‘There you go, then,’ said Tim. ‘I think Oliver’s just made up this bit about the fish.’

‘Nah, he wouldn’t do that,’ said Lockie.

Tim wasn’t so sure. He was beginning to think he was being set up, but he wasn’t going to let Oliver get the better of him. He knew then what he was going to do: he’d go down that road and he’d meet Granny Rags so he could tell everyone just how wrong Oliver was about her.

He snatched the plastic bag from Lockie’s hand and marched off in the direction of the old mailbox and the track that led down to Granny Rags’ house.

‘Does that mean y’gunna do it?’ said Lockie, bouncing along behind him.