Free Changeling's Island - eARC by Dave Freer Page A

wouldn’t take help for herself, but, well, that fellow seemed good with Tim. She went to the telephone, wondering just how she’d get the number. She could call Dickie Burke…The phone burred under her hand and she picked it up before it could ring. If it was that woman again…
    But it wasn’t. It was young McKay, the very person she’d been planning to call, to remind of what he’d said, and feeling very uncomfortable to do so. “Hello, Mrs. Ryan,” he said. “I’m going to get a few flathead with a mate of mine tomorrow. Would your boy like to come along?” he’d asked.
    That he’d remembered impressed her, warmed her. This McKay was like his Uncle Giles, a good man. He’d been one of the few who had never looked down on her, and had done…little things she hadn’t appreciated much at the time, when John had died. He’d also always remembered what he’d said, and kept to it. “It’d be good for him,” she said gruffly. “Tell you the truth, I was goin’ to ask yer. He’s a bit low. Missing home. He’s in bed now, but…where are yer launching from?” That could be very awkward. Driving was not easy or safe, really.
    “West End. We’re coming right past. I’ll pick him up if you like. Easier. I’ll give you a buzz in the morning when I leave here, I should be there in twenty minutes. Probably about sevenish for the tide.”
    That was a relief! “I’ll try to have him at the gate for yer. I don’t drive much so I’d be grateful.”
    “Not to worry. I’ll come down to the house, that way it won’t matter if I’m a few minutes out. I’ll have Malcolm with me—a friend of mine from away—to open the gates.”
    “’Preciate it. The boy needs to have a good time.”
    There was a brief silence. “He should be having one. I did when I was his age here. I lived for coming over to Uncle Giles. And if he likes catching fish, we’ll see what we can do.”
    “He was a good man, yer Uncle. He’d be proud of yer.”
    “He’d give me a thick ear for the state my boat is in, but I’m going fishing tomorrow anyway. I’ll call, unless the weather turns bad.”
    * * *
    Gran shook him awake. Tim had heard her coming with the cup and teaspoon clatter, and simply burrowed himself deeper into the pillow. He was not going to get up. Not going to dig or weed or carry hay or muck out the milking shed. Not!
    “Yer friend McKay will be here in less than half an hour. You need some tucker in you if you’re going to be out at sea all day,” she said. “Porridge will be ready in a few minutes. Better look sharp or he’ll go without you.”
    Tim sat up. “What?”
    “I said porridge will be ready in a few minutes. And Mr. McKay is on his way. He phoned about ten minutes ago. Not a lazy beggar like you. I said I’d wake yer to talk to him, and he says no, just tell him to have his lunch and hat ready to go fishing. Yer better take a coat too. The weather could come in.” She turned and walked out. Tim could hear her opening the oven in the kitchen. Stirring something.
    Tim took a deep breath, and without thinking about it, reached out and took the cup and drank most of it in a gulp. It was half cold. That really wasn’t normal. He usually had to blow on it to not have his mouth scalded. Had…had it been sitting in the kitchen? Had his gran not planned to wake him or something?
    That thought got him out of bed and scrambling into clothes. In the kitchen the porridge was ready, along with the smell of new-baked something. Spicy, yeasty and rich, it had been calling him from halfway down the passage. “I made yer some cinnamon buns to take to sea. There’s hot tea in the flask,” she said, pointing to a bag. “Yer take care of it, see. It was yer…grandfather’s flask.” She looked, for once, straight at him. “I’m trusting yer with a lot.”
    Gran sounded really a little odd when she said that. Like she was giving him a Blackberry and an Xbox together, and they were made of thin glass.