After by Sue Lawson Read Free Book Online Page B

home furnishings, haberdashery and a men’s department.
    My grandmother zeroed in on the men’s department. The jumpers, jeans, shirts, undies, scarves, and old man hats were displayed in pigeon holes along the walls. The counter was a glass cupboard filled with handkerchiefs, wallets and belts.
    Two men of about Grandpa’s age stood behind the counter, talking.
    ‘Hello, Pat,’ said the tallest man. He reminded me of an autumn tree—all long limbs and kind of dried-up looking.
    ‘Hello, Gerard,’ said Nan. ‘I need a Winter Creek uniform.’
    ‘For this young man?’ asked the short, round guy with a tape measure draped over his shoulders
    ‘Yes, for Callum,’ said Nan. ‘Callum, this is Gerard and Duncan Dobson.’
    ‘Hi,’ I said.
    ‘The full winter uniform, Pat?’ asked the tall one, Gerard.
    ‘That’s right,’ said Nan, before I could comment.
    The guy with the tape measure, Duncan, looked me up and down and muttered a number. Both men went to the shelves.
    As Nan ushered me to the change room, I swore that I heard one of them hiss, ‘He must be Maeve’s son.’
    Trying on clothes in Millington was an experience I don’t want to repeat, ever.
    Duncan kept opening the dressing room doors, without warning, to check on how things fitted. At one point, he and his brother both crammed into the change room with me to check the school pants. Hadn’t they heard of privacy? For some reason, Nan had taken my jeans when I started trying stuff on, which was the only thing that stopped me from bolting.
    After twenty minutes—which felt like forever—Gerard sailed to the counter, arms loaded with school pants, polo shirts, grey socks, white singlets, jocks, a tracksuit, woollen school jumper and a Winter Creek backpack. He folded everything into brown plastic bags printed with the Dobson and Sons logo. Duncan placed an invoice book on the glass counter. ‘Account, Pat?’
    ‘Yes thank you, Duncan,’ said Nan.
    He listed my uniform in the book. No money, not even plastic, changed hands.
    Grandpa unwrapped the fish and chips Nan had bought in Winter Creek after our uniform shopping trip. Steam curled into the air. The smell of fried batter made my mouth water.
    Nan placed knives and forks on the table.
    ‘How was school, Callum?’ he asked.
    I shrugged. ‘Okay, I guess.’
    ‘That’s an improvement, then.’ Grandpa reached under his chair and lifted up a bottle of Nan’s home-made sauce.
    ‘Jim! Must you?’ growled Nan.
    He poured the sauce over the chips he’d plonked on his plate. ‘Yes, Patricia, I must.’
    ‘A fine example to set for Callum. Sauce on chips is ... revolting.’
    ‘It’s all a matter of taste.’ Grandpa dipped a chip as thick as his thumb into the sauce. He pushed the bottle towards me. ‘Like some?’
    ‘Yeah, thanks.’
    ‘And Callum, use your fingers for fish and chips.’
    Nan thumped her glass onto the table.
    ‘Thanks.’ I dunked a chip into the puddle of sauce.
    ‘How are you getting along with Jack Frewen?’ asked Grandpa.
    I spluttered and hacked. ‘Sorry. Hot chip.’ I gulped from my glass of water. ‘I’m still working out who everyone is. I sit next to some kid called Klay.’
    ‘Klay Turner. His father’s the new stock agent, Pat,’ said Grandpa.
    Nan frowned. ‘Hope he’s not as arrogant as his father.’
    ‘And there’s a kid called Luke,’ I said.
    ‘You’re in Luke Bennett’s class?’ said Nan.
    ‘Yeah.’
    Grandpa glanced at Nan. ‘I thought he went to that school in Millington? The special—’
    ‘Jane felt he was going backwards.’ Nan reached for a piece of fish. ‘That reminds me, Jim. Duncan put Callum’s uniform on the account.’
    ‘Long time since we’ve had uniforms on the account,’ said Grandpa, looking at his plate.
    For the next fives minutes, the only sounds were the rustle of paper and the ticking of the clock.
    ‘How about coming to the footy with me tomorrow, Callum,’ said Grandpa.
    ‘No.