Changeling's Island - eARC (16 page)

“Isn’t Tim there?” asked Molly. “Or I’m sure you can just pay Mum when she comes back.”

“Tim’s gone to work on Mr. McKay’s boat. And I don’t pay later.”

“We’ll come down. Don’t come up,” said Molly, thinking to herself that anything was better than the old woman driving and crashing because she couldn’t see.

“That’s too much trouble,” said Mrs. Ryan.

“I have to walk Bunce, the dog. I’ll bring him along on the lead and walk him back along the beach. Really, that would be fun for me,” said Molly searching for excuses. “Otherwise I’ll be sitting here alone.”
With a book, a computer, music and a project for school,
but she didn’t say that
.

That got Molly a chuckle from the old lady. “You get used to it. I’d got used to the quiet before Tim came. Now, I miss the noise when he’s not here. There’s the radio, but it’s not quite the same.”

“It doesn’t answer back, like he does.”

That got another laugh. “Oh, too right, he does that. All right. That’d be good of yer. I’ll see yous later.”

“So? Did she bite you?” asked her mother, coming through, wiping her hands.

“No. She was quite nice. Actually, chatty. She says she owes Dad a big cream cake. She wants some stuff, wants to give you the money. I said I’d go down with you with Bunce and walk back.”

“But I’ve just cleaned the car. She can pay me on the way back.”

So Molly had to explain. Fortunately, Mum was pretty easy about that kind of stuff, and Bunce was of course delighted. “He’ll be disappointed not to see Tim. The two of them behave like hooligans together,” said Molly, patting him.

“I didn’t know they got on,” said her mother.

“Bunce? You’d swear he thinks he’s Tim’s guard dog. Honestly.”

“Oh, really? I remember he was a bit protective of you at first,” said Molly’s mother.

“They behave like two lunatics together now. He even swam out to rescue Tim. They’re besties now. Whenever I yell at Bunce, he runs to Tim.”

“You didn’t tell me about this rescue.”

“Oh, Tim swam after a nautilus shell, and saw a seal and got a big fright. Buncy swam out to him and they swam in together. It wasn’t a big deal, and Tim got a scare and learned a lesson. Don’t tell his nan. She’d have a fit and ban him from the beach.”

“It’s really not safe swimming…”

“I know,” said Molly, feeling guilty that she’d told her mother the story. “And I think he does too, now. He said he wouldn’t do it again, and he really meant it.”

At the farm house, the old woman was waiting with a list—written in a painfully neat hand on a page of an old exercise book, only she’d missed the ruled lines—and the money neatly folded. “Thank you. And maybe if your man is going in on Tuesday or Wednesday, I could get a lift down.”

“He’s got some guests to fetch on Monday morning. I’m going down to do some shopping to feed them and to get a new seal for the toilet cistern. That has to be done before they get here. I’ll get him to call you.”

“You wouldn’t be buying vegetables, would yer?” asked Mrs. Ryan.

“Well, yes. Some. Our growing isn’t as good as Mike says yours is.”

She clicked her tongue. “We’ve got tomatoes coming out of our ears, and more than we c’n use of just about everything else. I told that man of yours…”

“I know, he told me, but he’s got his pride,” said Molly’s mother.

“It gets in the way, sometimes,” said Tim’s grandmother wryly. “Nearly tripped me up this morning, and it turned out I’d been made a fool of by someone else. I’m more in debt to your man for that bit of kindness than I can say, or I’d never have found out. I’ll have a basket of tomatoes, beans, lettuce and spuds for yer. And if yer run out with these guests, well, yer don’t have to drive all the way to town.”

“You’re a honey, Mrs. Ryan. People on the island have been so good to us.”

It looked like it’d been a while since anyone had called the old lady “a honey.” Molly’s mother did it to everyone, of course. She even called Bunce a honey, sometimes. But after a few moments Tim’s gran gave a skewed smile. “They can be if they like yer. How long do yer think you’ll be? I don’t want to pick the veggies too early.”

“About two hours. I’ll be back just before one, I should think. Whitemark is never quick. Too many people talk to me. Molly can give you a hand.”

Molly rather resented being volunteered. “I’ve got to get back to my project, Mum.”

“There’s the afternoon, and tomorrow, love,” said her mother, getting into the car and waving as she started to drive off.

“It’s fine,” said the old woman. “I’ve done for meself for nearly seventy years, girl. I don’t need no help.” And she promptly stumbled over a pinecone, proving that wasn’t entirely true.

“Oh, I don’t mind. I’d actually like to see your garden,” said Molly hastily coming up with a politeness. “It was just Mum organizing my life again.”

That got a snort. “I’ll tell her how well it didn’t work for me. So you’re in class with my grandson, eh? Does he work hard? Have friends?”

“We share some classes. Yeah, I think he does. He’s kind of quiet. He goes to the library a lot, but he seems to get on with the guys in class. Whenever, like, group stuff is going on, he’s involved.”

“Different from my time,” said the old woman as they walked to the garden. “Black girls had to watch while the others played hopscotch.” She pointed to Bunce. “You stay outside, or I know his kind, he’ll help us dig.”

That kind of got over the awkwardness of the previous statement, and Molly told the story of Bunce burying the potatoes her dad had dug up. They talked, picked beans—Molly noticed the old woman was doing it essentially by feel, and missing a few. But she seemed in a very mellow mood and wasn’t that hard to talk to. She had some fascinating stories too, about the island fifty years back when it was far wilder and even more isolated.

Tim’s gran straightened up. “I need a cup of tea,” she said. “I’m dry with all this talking. And yer ears are bent double with it. Sorry. I had such a good surprise with them cows, and no one to tell. Best news since they told me Tim was comin’. And that was the best news I’d had for twenty years. I didn’t tell that woman that, though.”

“So…you want him here?” asked Molly. That hadn’t been the impression Molly had gotten from Tim.

She nodded. “Oh my word, yes. This is Ryan land. It’s empty without one. And…ah well, girl. Let’s go and have a cuppa. There’s a bone your hound could have.”

It was weird, now that Molly realized how little Mrs. Ryan could see, how well she knew her own kitchen. She moved the kettle onto the heat on the woodstove. Got out mugs…looked faintly guilty. “You wouldn’t be wanting proper tea cups, would you?”

“Um. No. We don’t have any at home. I, like, never know what you have to do with the saucers when you need to use your hands.”

“Heh. My husband’s aunt, she was very posh, had them cake forks. I always thought it was just to embarrass me. But I bake a better sponge than she ever did.”

The old woman went to the ancient refrigerator, and came out with a bottle of beer…and walked over to the corner and poured a little into a bowl on the floor. “Yer deserve it,” she said, and put the beer bottle back in the fridge.

Molly wondered if it was milk…but that came out of a jug. So she asked. The old lady smiled. “The wee folk. I have one working on the farm. Tim has one following him about too. They’ll drink milk, but this is a reward for them.”

Molly was glad to drink her tea in silence then. Just when she had started to think Tim’s nan was kind of normal.

* * *

It had been a good week, Tim thought, whistling to himself as he carried the cardboard box to the little curio shop. Jon was pleased with Gran’s cows, Gran was pleased with Jon’s check, which she’d turned into money, promptly, and paid the “thieving council” their rates. She’d even given Tim money to buy new jeans before putting the rest into her tin box. “Yer old ones feel all worn out,” she’d said. It was true.

The day he’d taken six paper nautilus shells to the curio shop, he had not even moved the money into his secret neck pouch. Instead, he’d gone into the little shop that sold clothes, cutlery, newspapers, books and all sort of other things. It had been his lucky day—although he felt he’d let himself down, not keeping the money—because they had some really cool runners out on special, and in his size. So he’d splashed out and bought them.

Anyway, he’d been down to the beach again, and found more shells, and had brought them with him into town that Friday. He was so busy doing mental calculations about the value of the shells and where his money supply was right now that he wasn’t paying a lot of attention, and the person coming the other way around the corner wasn’t either, until they walked smash into each other.

The policeman’s take-away cup of coffee went flying. So did Tim’s box.

This time it was Tim’s turn to start apologizing. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

The copper looked thoughtfully at him, obviously placed him. “What’s in the box this time?

What did it have to do with him?
thought Tim, cross, and yet irrationally nervous. “Shells.” And the worst of it was he felt himself flushing, like it was box of drugs or something. And the copper must have noticed.

“Nothing protected or illegal, I hope?” said the policeman.

Were they? “Nautilus shells I found on the beach,” he said opening the box, resisting the temptation to run. Several had broken in the fall. That was just so…so infuriating.

“Looks like a bit of catastrophic damage there. So many! I’ve only seen a couple in the months I’ve been here, and they were broken,” said the cop. “And how was the contents of your last box? I meant to call, but the old lady didn’t seem welcoming.”

That sounded…suspicious. Tim found himself even more nervous. “It was a lifejacket. It wasn’t damaged,” he said, shortly.

“Good. So how come you’re still here on the island?”

And the pile of fertilizer bags that the guy at Roberts was shifting with the forklift…came crashing off their pallet and splattered pieces of fertilizer everywhere.

The policeman left at a run, and Tim sidled into the shop. He’d rather have left completely. Gone as far away as possible, back to the farm. But even there…The only place he could be sure he wasn’t going to somehow have the past turn up and spoil everything was going to take a lot more money from nautilus shells.

And to add insult, some were broken and the shopkeeper said he didn’t want too many more, right now. He said he also collected them himself.

* * *

Áed knew by now that the master feared the consequences of Áed’s actions, when he tumbled the bags by shredding the plastic wrapping. It seemed wise, though. The young master was in a terrible state of mind, both fear and anger, and some misery, when it happened. Much as he had been back in the iron-full city, where he had not belonged and not known it. Here, he belonged, but still did not know it.

* * *

Tim didn’t really relax until he was on the farm again, shoes off to save them, toes on the hard sand. His feet were getting like old leather underneath; he could walk over stones or stubble without noticing now, and it felt good. Like his feet, at least, were out of prison. They couldn’t prove anything, surely? And was it chance that pallet of fertilizer fell off the forklift? He had to admit to himself that it probably wasn’t. If he could get paper nautilus shells from a seal-woman…the rest of what she said might be true too. It was quite hard to get his head around it all. So…could this lesser spirit rob a bank for him? Not on the island, of course. You couldn’t do that kind of thing here! It might be tempting…but Tim really hadn’t enjoyed being arrested, and considering how many things he hadn’t done that he had been blamed for… And also…well, he got the feeling that while Hailey had thought shoplifting was cool and exciting, some other people he wanted to think well of him, didn’t. Actually, he didn’t himself, at least when he wasn’t trying to impress her, he admitted to himself.

Later that afternoon, Molly and her dog came down along the beach and walked up to the garden, where he was digging over a bed. She waved, and Bunce bounced eagerly on the lead. “You look a bit more cheerful now. I thought you were mad with me about something. I brought you some anzacs. They’re not your gran’s cooking, but I made them.”

“Oh, cool!

“Yeah, they are now, but I burned my fingers on them. You better be nice about them even if they’re terrible. I’m learning about tact. My dad’s, like, getting up my mum’s nose by raving on and on about your gran’s cake.”

Tim grinned. “Good thing he didn’t get the sticky pudding I had last night, then.”

“So, are you going to be able to come for a run with me and Bunce? I’m training for the cross-country.”

Tim pulled a face. “Got stuff to do. Gran keeps finding…”

“Hello. It’s young Molly and the odd sheepdog.” Nan actually sounded pleased. “Come for tea? I’ll make pikelets.”

“Oh, no. I’m just going on a run. To get fit. It’s…it’s very kind, but I can’t…”

“Do! I’ll get pikelets that way,” said Tim. “And anzacs. Gran, Molly made me some anzacs.”

Tim saw his grandmother’s face go from an almost-smile to a tightening of the lips, and tears start to run down her cheeks as she turned away from them. They both looked at each other—and Molly ran after her.

So did Tim, a few seconds later, not knowing quite what to do, or what had gone wrong. At least it seemed Molly did know, or had more of an idea than he did. She had put her arm around his nan’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

His grandmother shook her head, but didn’t say anything. She didn’t push Molly away as she led her back into the kitchen and sat her down. “Make your gran a nice cup of tea, Tim,” Molly said.

She sounded just like her mum, just then, thought Tim. She’d probably call him “honey” any minute. He went to the kettle, which was hot and ready on the woodstove, and did as he was told, gave his gran the tea, putting the handle of the mug to touch the back of her fingers, as he’d gotten used to doing.

Nan took it, took a sip. Wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve, and then felt in her pockets and pulled out a handkerchief. She was a great believer in handkerchiefs, was his nan. Molly was still standing there, looking a little awkward, one hand on his grandmother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said again.