by Janet Reid
And he couldn’t face a fire.
Then he imagined Granny Rags, in her house, right in the path of the angry flames.
‘Lockie, I’m going to get Granny Rags. That fire’s heading right for her house. You’ll have to get help.’
But Lockie was frozen. Tim grabbed his shoulders and shook him. ‘Lockie. Go! Now! Get help! Get the fire brigade. Your dad. Someone. Anyone!’
Lockie’s eyes snapped back to look at Tim. ‘Will y’be alright down there?’
No. His arm throbbed. Felt like it was on fire. Again.
‘Yes, but hurry. Be quick, Lockie.’
Tim turned and headed down the track. When he glanced over his shoulder a moment later, Lockie was gone, the fishing gear dumped in the middle of the road.
Chapter Eighteen
By the time Tim pushed his way past the rusty gate at the front of the house, his heart was hammering and he was gasping for breath. The smoke stuck to his tongue and clung to the back of his throat. He could hear the fire eating up the dry grass in the paddock behind the house, and the air was thick with blackened ash.
‘Mrs Ragdale,’ he shouted as he rushed up the back stairs and hammered on the door. ‘Are you in there?’ No sound came from inside the house. Tim pounded the door again. ‘Granny! Granny! Are you there?’
Still nothing.
How close was that fire? How long would it take for help to arrive? He looked over his shoulder at the bush behind the house and could see the flames reaching into the air. What if Granny Rags was out there? In that thick grass? He’d never find her.
‘No,’ he muttered, ‘she has to be here.’ And he reached down and turned the knob.
The closed-up house was cool and quiet. And eerily dark. Tim shut the door behind him and walked down the hallway to the kitchen.
It was empty.
‘Granny?’ he called. ‘Are you here?’ The only sound Tim could hear was the fire moving closer. He walked further into the house.
Tim had never been past the kitchen, and as he crept deeper into the old house he felt as if he was intruding. On his right, he passed a bedroom – neat and tidy. Was this Granny Rags’ room? Tim couldn’t tell, but there was no one inside. The next room was another bedroom, also neat and tidy. But no Granny Rags.
Across the hallway, a door was ajar. Tim pushed it open, and saw a lounge chair and the corner of an old television set.
‘Granny, are you in here?’ His voice faltered and his hands began to sweat as fear gripped him. Something bad had happened. He was sure of it. His arm ached as he pushed the door a little wider and …
There was Granny Rags. Lying on the floor on her side, her arm up over her head and her long grey hair fanning out over the worn carpet. Her eyes were closed.
She’s dead, thought Tim, but then he saw a movement – a finger twitched. And he heard a soft moan.
He rushed forward and knelt down beside the frail figure.
‘Granny, can you hear me?’ Tim grabbed Mrs Ragdale by the shoulders and shook her. ‘Granny, wake up. You have to wake up,’ he shouted. ‘There’s a fire.’
Granny Rags groaned and rolled onto her back.
That was when Tim saw the gash on her forehead. Granny Rags had hit her head.
The crackle of flames sounded closer now, and the smell of smoke was stronger. Tim’s arm throbbed.
‘Granny Rags, I’m going to help you up. We have to get out before the fire gets here.’
‘Tim?’ It was little more than a murmur. Mrs Ragdale’s eyelids fluttered and she looked up, disoriented. Then she focused on Tim. ‘What are you doing …?’
‘No time,’ he said, and pulled her up as gently as he could. ‘Come on, I have to get you out.’
He was surprised how light Granny Rags was as he helped her to her feet. ‘Put your arm around me,’ he said, and then steered her out of the room.
Looking down the hallway, Tim thought it might be too dangerous to go out the back way. He didn’t know how close that fire was now but it sounded a lot louder than before. ‘Can we get out the front?’ he asked.
Granny Rags coughed. ‘Yes, but you have to be careful on the verandah. The floor boards. Some of them … rotten …’ And she coughed again.
They reached the door and Tim grabbed the knob and turned it. The door didn’t give. It was stuck. Locked.
‘Granny, the door’s locked. The key. Where is it?
A gnarled finger pointed up. Tim could see a large old-fashioned key hooked on a nail beside the door jamb. He grabbed it and, with shaking fingers, pushed it into the keyhole. It wouldn’t turn. He tried again, heart pounding. This time it fitted. He heard a click and the door opened. A moment later they were outside.
Tim knew he needed to get Granny Rags out to the road, away from the house and the long grass, if they were to have a chance of escaping the flames. But first, they had to get across the verandah. Tim could see where the floorboards were rotting away.
‘I’ll go first,’ he shouted above the roar. ‘When I get to the stairs, you come across.’
Granny Rags nodded. ‘Be careful, Tim. Test the boards first.’ And she started coughing again.
Tim knew the verandah floor would be strongest where there were nails. That’s where the support beams would be underneath. He took a tentative step and the boards held his weight, so he moved forward quickly until he was at the top of the stairs. ‘Take my hand,’ he called, reaching back. ‘I’ll help you across.’
The roar of the flames was getting louder, but now Tim could just make out the sound of a siren somewhere in the distance. Would they make it in time?
‘How safe are the steps?’ Tim yelled.
Granny Rags shook her head. ‘Rotten,’ she called. ‘You’ll be safer to jump.’
‘But what about you?’
‘I’ll be careful,’ she said. ‘Now hurry. Jump.’
Tim looked at the steps – five of them. It wasn’t that far.
He jumped. As he landed he felt his ankle jar, but, ignoring the pain, he went back to help Granny Rags. She clung to the railing as she carefully stepped on each rotting plank.
The sound of sirens was getting closer.
‘Quick, out onto the road,’ he yelled, and he almost dragged her away from the house.
Huddled in a ditch on the far side of the track, Tim and Granny Rags watched as two fire trucks pulled up beside them. The fire fighters, wearing their yellow coats and helmets, wasted no time. Hoses were attached and pumps started. Then water spurted out over the flames that seemed to be almost licking the side of the house.
Granny Rags coughed and spluttered beside him, struggling to sit up straight. ‘My house …’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘Can they save my house?’
‘I don’t know,’ Tim whispered back, trying to get a better look at what was happening. Fire fighters were running everywhere, and Tim noticed that one of them was Lockie’s dad, and another was his teacher, Mr Martin.
Then Tim heard another siren – a different one – and he turned to see an ambulance coming through the smoke. He stood up, waving as it pulled in beside the fire engines, its lights still flashing in the haze.
The door opened and Ben Trickett jumped out.
‘Dad,’ called Tim. ‘Dad, we’re over here.’
Ben ran towards them, calling over his shoulder to the ambulance officer who’d been driving. ‘Connor, over here. Come and help me.’
And as Ben reached his son, he grabbed him into a tight hug.
The next few minutes were a blur. Ben carried Tim while Connor picked up Granny Rags as if she were a doll. Before they knew it, they were in the back of the ambulance with oxygen masks over their faces.
Tim glanced over at Granny Rags. Her eyes were closed; her skin grey. His father had already strapped her onto the gurney and was checking her blood pressure.
‘I think we need to get her to hospital as quickly as possible, Connor,’ said Ben, and he started listening to her chest with his stethoscope.
/> ‘Will she be alright?’ asked Tim, pulling the mask from his face.
Ben frowned. ‘I hope so, Tim. She’s inhaled some smoke, but I’m more worried about this head injury. It looks serious. Connor, is it safe to leave?’
Just then the radio crackled, and Connor reached for the receiver. When he finished talking, he turned back to Ben.
‘There’s another ambulance on its way. It’s just coming through Rowington now. Should be here in less than five minutes. Can we wait that long?’
Ben checked Mrs Ragdale again. He listened to her chest, and pulled back her eyelids to check her eyes.
‘Why do we have to wait?’ asked Tim, starting to panic about Granny Rags. ‘Why can’t we go now?’
Ben glanced up at his son. ‘We don’t want to leave the scene in case someone else needs us. But as soon as the other ambulance is here, we’ll be on our way. Connor, can you turn this thing around so we’re ready the moment the others get here? Tim, into that seat and buckle up. It could be a fast ride back to town.’
It seemed an age before they heard more sirens coming towards them.
Chapter Nineteen
By the time Tim was taken into emergency at the hospital, his mother was there. She had tears in her eyes and her brow was knitted in worry. ‘Hi, Mum,’ he said, lifting the oxygen mask from his face. Then he started to cough.
‘Don’t make him talk, Mandy,’ said his father, putting the mask back in place and checking the oxygen flow. ‘It’s best if he’s quiet for a while.’ He looked down at Tim. ‘I’ll get a nurse to take you to a room and she’ll put some ice on that ankle. Mandy, you can stay with him. Make sure he behaves himself.’
The doors to the emergency room swung open and Dr Wong strode in.
‘What have we got, Ben?’ he asked.
‘I’ll see you later,’ Ben said, giving Mandy and Tim a nod before turning away. ‘Over here, Andrew. We’ve got smoke inhalation and a head injury—’
Tim heard no more as his father pulled the curtain around Mrs Ragdale’s bed.
‘I hope she’s going to be alright,’ he said to his mother, lifting his mask once more.
‘She’s in good hands,’ said Mum, her eyes shadowed with worry. ‘You just get that mask back on.’
The blinds were closed; his room dark. Tim dozed but woke every time a nurse came to check on him. At one stage a policeman poked his head round the corner but went away again. All the time, his mother stayed with him.
When his father came back, he pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed, glancing grimly at Mandy.
Suddenly wide awake, Tim felt panic seize him and he pulled the mask from his face. ‘It’s Granny Rags, isn’t it?’ he cried, trying to sit up. ‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’ Tears pricked his eyes.
Ben pushed Tim gently back down on his pillows. ‘No, Tim. She’s fine. At least she will be after a couple of days in here,’ he said. ‘We’re keeping her in the intensive care ward tonight. That way someone will be with her the whole time. But there is something quite serious I have to talk to you about.’
He glanced again at Mandy.
‘Tim, some detectives want to talk to you. About Mrs Ragdale. They want to know how you found her. Why she was caught in the fire. Are you feeling up to talking to these guys?’
Tim nodded. ‘Yes, but I don’t think I can tell them much. I just saw the fire and ran to see if Gran … ah, Mrs Ragdale was alright.’
‘That’s fine. They’ll probably just ask you a few questions. We’ll be here, too. I’ll just go and get them.’
The detectives, both wearing jeans and t-shirts, followed Ben back into the room.
‘Hello, Tim. I’m Tara, and this is Duncan,’ one of them said, and they held up their warrant cards. ‘We’re just going to ask you some questions about today.’
Tara sat next to the bed and pulled out a notebook and pen before giving Tim a reassuring smile. ‘Let’s start with the fire. Can you tell us when you first noticed it?’
Tim told them the story of how he and Lockie had seen the smoke, and the flames, and how he had sent Lockie for help while he went down to check on Mrs Ragdale.
‘And when you went into the house,’ said Tara as she clicked her pen, ‘you say you found Mrs Ragdale on the floor of the lounge. Is that right?’
Tim nodded.
‘Unconscious?’
‘Yes,’ said Tim. ‘There was blood on her forehead. About here.’ He pointed to his own forehead, just above his left eye. ‘There was a cut.’
‘And when you found her, how was she lying? On her back?’ Tara was frowning.
‘No. She was more, well, on her side. Like this.’ Tim rolled until he was not quite on his back, and threw his arm up over his head.
‘Was she near a coffee table? Something she may have hit her head on?’
Tim tried to remember how the room looked.
‘No, I don’t think there was a coffee table in the room. Just some old lounge chairs and a TV against one wall.’
Tara went over her notes again, tapping her pen against her teeth. ‘Well, Tim, you’ve been great.’ She stood up, flipped her notebook closed and slipped it into her back pocket. ‘If you remember anything else, just let us know.’
As the two detectives walked out, Tim heard Tara say, ‘…don’t see how she could have got that gash from a fall …’ And Duncan said, ‘… and that fire was no …’
And a memory niggled at the back of Tim’s mind. Was he forgetting something?
Chapter Twenty
‘The nurses will keep a good eye on you,’ said Ben when he told Tim he was to stay in hospital for the night.
Tim didn’t mind. He had the ward to himself, and the TV. But ten minutes into The Simpsons, he was asleep.
When he woke, the room was dark except for a faint strip of light around the closed door, and there was no noise. It took him a moment to remember he was in hospital.
Heavy with sleep, Tim rolled over to make himself comfortable again.
‘Glad you’re awake.’ The gravelly voice was just a whisper.
Tim’s eyes flew open. There, just inches away, he could see the faint outline of a face; could smell bad breath – garlic and … what? Beer?
He tried to sit up, but a strong hand caught his shoulder, pushing him down, pinning him to the bed.
‘I think you should learn to mind your own business,’ the man rasped. ‘Should learn not to interfere in things that don’t concern you.’ And strong fingers pressed down on Tim’s scars. He glanced at the hand that had him pinned. And he saw … what was that? The fingers tightened and Tim yelped in pain.
Footsteps sounded out in the hallway.
The man hissed and let go.
The door opened and a thin beam of light shone through the darkness. Tim heard shoes squeak softly across the lino floor, and a nurse looked down at him.
‘What are you doing awake, Tim?’ she whispered. ‘Can’t you sleep?’
She reached down and rested a cool hand on his forehead but Tim just stared up at her with frightened eyes.
‘Can I get you anything? A drink of something?’ she asked.
‘A man … There’s a man in here.’ His voice was just a whisper.
The nurse’s brow furrowed. ‘Did you have a bad dream?’ She pulled a chair over and sat down beside him as she switched on the night light. She saw his hands shaking and reached over to cover them with her own. ‘Would it help if you talked about it? Sometimes when you talk about bad dreams—’
‘It wasn’t a dream,’ said Tim, louder this time. ‘There’s a man in here. He … he said something about minding my own business.’
The nurse frowned. ‘No one’s been in here, Tim. The doors are locked. People can’t just wander into a hospital at night. You must have had a dream.’
‘No. No, it wasn’t. I swear.’ He moved to sit up, his hand rubbing his shoulder. He looked about, sure the man would still be there. But he wasn’t.
Where did he go?<
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‘Is something wrong with your shoulder?’ the nurse asked, leaning over to pull back Tim’s pyjama top.
‘Oh,’ she gasped, seeing the red marks where strong fingers had pressed down on Tim’s skin. She glanced nervously around the room then reached for the buzzer and pressed it until someone came to answer it.
Tara already had her notebook out and her pen ready when she and Duncan walked into the room. ‘Wow,’ she said, ‘you certainly know how to get attention.’ She grinned down at Tim, but her eyes were deadly serious. ‘Tell us about this man.’
The nurse reached over and took Tim’s hand, giving him courage.
‘It was dark … I couldn’t see him,’ he said.
‘Was he wearing a mask?’ asked Duncan.
‘I … don’t think so,’ said Tim.
‘What makes you say that?’ asked Tara.
Tim had to stop and think.
‘Well,’ he said slowly, ‘it didn’t sound like he had a mask on. I mean, if you wear one of those plastic masks, your voice is all echo-y, isn’t it?’
‘What about a cloth mask?’ suggested Duncan.
‘No,’ said Tim. ‘His voice wasn’t muffled. And besides, I could smell his breath.’
Tara’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh. Did it smell like anything in particular?’
‘Garlic. And beer, I think.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Tara as she made a note of this. ‘Not much, but still. Might be helpful. Anything else, Tim? Anything at all.’
Yes, thought Tim. But what?
He was trying to remember what it was when his parents arrived. The nurse stood and Mandy took her place.
‘Can we just go back to Mrs Ragdale?’ said Tara, a moment later. ‘You said that you and Lockie were just coming back from fishing when you noticed the fire. I just wondered, have you and Lockie been out to Mrs Ragdale’s place before today?’
‘Yes, he has,’ said his mother before he could answer. ‘He was out there a couple of weeks ago. With Jacob from the shop. He was taking a grocery order out.’
‘Nothing unusual when you went out there that day?’ asked Tara.