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"THIS IS THE LAST WEEK," said Tammy, holding open the manure bag while Randy shovelled the stuff in. Mondays were always a big day for some reason. Maybe the horses got something extra in their Sunday dinner.
"Yeah," grunted Randy, working fast. His muscles had stopped aching by the end of week two. Now he was shovelling like a body-builder. And they were winning the competition hands down!
"I don't know, though," said Tammy suddenly. "It seems like cheating or something."
"Eh?"
"Holding back that money."
"Ah." Now he understood. Since last Wednesday they had been keeping back more and more of their earnings. It had been his idea.
"No, it's good," he said, pausing to rest. "It's already working. Look at Chas and Tweety - this time last week they were bringing in two bucks a day, sometimes nothing. Now they're up to six or eight bucks a day. This morning they doubled their total, just in one weekend."
"They've been doing their best," said Tammy forgivingly.
"Nah," said Randy with a sneer, "they were slacking because they could see the writing on the wall – "
"Hey, that's good, Randy, that's really good!" said Tammy, interrupting him. "You're so clever with words."
Randy shrugged, mumbled something and glanced up at her. "I mean, you know, the progress chart at the school office."
"Yes," she giggled. "I know you meant that!"
Whenever she giggled Randy got this strange, exciting, scary feeling in his guts.
"Yeah, well anyway," he continued hastily, "you've got to admit it's working. It's good for the school."
"Yeah, that's true," she agreed reluctantly. "It is working. It is good for the school."
"Yeah," mused Randy, looking around for the next horse apple, "it was a mistake us doing so well in the first two weeks ..." No, that didn't sound right. "...I mean it's been really great and all, and you're terrific ... I-I-I mean a terrific fundraiser," he added quickly, realising he was beginning to sound too friendly, but that didn't sound right either.
"I mean, like, you're okay too, you know, as a person ..." Quickly he put his face down and began to shovel busily. "Right!" he said a moment later, "Four bags done."
He grabbed the sack and heaved it onto the wheelbarrow by himself, hoping the strain would disguise his reddening face. "That's a load. What say you head down now and start selling these while I bag some more?"
"Okay," said Tammy, blowing out her mouth like she was getting tired of the whole thing. "Okay." She took the handles of the wheelbarrow and started towards the gate.
Randy paused to watch her go, noticing how nice her elbows looked from behind. He was still standing there like a moron when Mr Bennithorpe appeared from nowhere and said, "So it's the last week, then?"
Randy jumped with fright. "Eh? Oh, oh yeah!"
"Going well then? You on target?"
"Yeah, yeah, looking good." (What target?)
"Great." Mr Bennithorpe paused as though he was about to say something more. Randy wondered what it was leading up to. The donation, perhaps? He did some quick number-crunching. Maybe, just maybe, he could keep a bit of the donation back ... no, it would have to be all of it. Tammy was just too darn good at accounting, she didn't miss a cent. And she was too damn honest too. If she found out about it, and Randy didn’t hand it all in, it might get back to Bennithorpe and then ...
"It's a shame you'll be going," Mr Bennithorpe was saying.
'Eh? Oh yeah." (Huge relief more like!)
"I could do with a little extra help around here."
"Uh-huh." Randy's mind was on other things.
"Yes," Mr Bennithorpe waffled on, "it's quite difficult these days, you know, getting someone like yourself who's prepared to get off his butt and do some honest work – "
Randy was still thinking about money and Tammy’s elbows so what Mr Bennithorpe said next came as a real surprise.
" – so could you and your girlfriend do an afternoon a week to start with?"
'Oh! Uh, uh ..." said Randy, like a choking dog, "Uh, uh yeah. Thanks, thanks a lot!"
"Good on you, mate!" chuckled Mr Bennithorpe, sticking out his hand for a handshake. Randy saw it coming and grabbed the man's hand hastily, getting him around the fingers instead of the palm. The handshake was a mess but Mr Bennithorpe said nothing. Then Randy realised something about how the man had asked his question.
"But, ah. . ." he began, wondering how to put it.
"Mmm?"
"Well I, uh, I can't answer for Tammy. She's, she's very much her own person. You'll have to ask her separate."
"Oh yes, of course," said Mr Bennithorpe, "I was going to anyway."
Randy wasn't sure if that was entirely true, but didn’t poke at it. What he did need to do was bee there when Bennethorpe asked her the same question. The look on her face ...
"Right, I'll come with you. Ah, by the way, you know how you said, like, if we kept up the shovelling and all that . . ."
"Oh yes," said Mr Bennithorpe. "Let's see..." He dug into his pocket and pulled out a sizeable wad of money. Randy glanced politely away. It wasn't cool to drool.
"Here you go," he said, smoothing out a fiver and passing it to Randy. "I hope it all goes well for your team."
Randy took the note, smiling as humbly and as gratefully as he could manage. "Gee, thanks Mr Bennithorpe." (Five bucks? Five lousy bucks?!)
Well, it damn-near made up for what he lost to those thieving scumbags last month. And as long as Mr Bennithorpe didn't mention it to Tammy. So he folded the five-dollar note and carefully put it in his pocket. "Thank you very much!" he said again for good measure as they started for the gate. They walked together down the drive, through the big fancy gateway, and the short way down the road to the stall.
Mr Bennithorpe didn't mention the donation, he just asked Tammy about the job.
"Oh super, yes, thank you!" she said, very enthusiastically. "Will I get a chance to work with the horses?"
"Oh, maybe," said Mr Bennithorpe warmly. "Would you like to do that sort of thing?"
"Oh yes!" she said. "Grooming or riding ..."
Mr Bennithorpe chuckled. "Let's just see about the grooming and feeding first, shall we, and of course the mucking out." Here he glanced at Randy.
"Oh, I'd like to do grooming too," said Randy quickly, horrified by the prospect of being a pooper-scooper for the rest of his working life.
"Yes, yes," said Mr Bennithorpe, "there'll be plenty to keep you both busy I'm sure. Now, I must be off. Good luck with your last week," and he headed back towards the farm.
"What a lovely man!" said Tammy.
"Yes," agreed Randy guiltily. 'Just lovely."
Suddenly the tiny bump in his pocket had begun to feel like a radioactive boulder, but he said nothing more and got busy. He was not going to hand it in. No. He deserved it, he totally deserved it. All the work he had done - all the organising and bum-kicking and sign-painting and poop-scooping and sack-humping, and the aching muscles and the worry and the planning, and all the afternoon TV he'd missed. Hell yeah: he deserved it!
So the fiver stayed right there in his pocket through the rest of Tuesday and all of Wednesday and all of Thursday too, while Randy worked like never before, scouring the paddocks for every meadow muffin he could find no matter how fresh or ancient it was.
Because he had to win. He just had to win!