I turned round. "Yeah, sure Andy!"
"Have you got your bike here?"
"Yes."
"How 'bout walking with me? I'll start now and you can catch up with me on your bike."
"Okay, Andy. You start walking. I've just got to pack up some books and I'll catch up with you."
"Great! Thanks, Ray. See ya!"
Of course I knew what it was like to walk to the sporting centre by myself. I had done it many times. It was only on the odd occasion that I got myself organised enough to pump up the tyres of my bicycle to ride to school on Wednesdays.
As I walked to the bicycle compound I wondered what was wrong with Andy's motorcycle. He usually rode it to squash, zooming along the road, acting like a big man. He always was a bit of a show-off.
Some people felt sorry for Andy. Others just laughed at him. I did both depending on which boys I was with, but really I did feel a bit sorry for him. After all. he couldn't help it if he had no chin.
There were two gates in the wire fence on that side of the school, both the same distance from the bicycle compound. I could either go downhill to the lower gate and uphill to the road I had to take, or I could go uphill inside the school ground and downhill to the road. I would rather go straight ahead and simply climb over the fence. It would be much quicker, but it was against the school rules. I always wondered why they had surrounded the school with that fence. It was low enough for people to step over, and if it was intended to keep out dogs it just wasn't doing its job.
I chose the uphill way and was coasting down the hill outside the school ground when I first saw the little boy. If he'd been walking on the footpath I probably wouldn't have taken any notice of him, but he was walking along the middle of the road, carrying a shopping basket and looking as if he was just about to cry. As I passed him I realised he was talking to me, so I got off my bicycle and listened to him.
"Will you take me home?" he was saying.
"Take you home! Why? Do you know where you live?"
"Of course I know. Over there!"
He pointed his little fore-finger in a north-easterly direction. I had to go towards the north anyway so it wouldn't hurt to take the little boy home. Apparently he knew the way.
"There's a lot of cows on the road. I'm scared to go past them."
"Oh, you shouldn't be scared of cows! Come on. I'll walk home with you."
I didn't know whether to believe him or not - about the cows, that is. Why would a lot of cows be standing in the middle of the road in a Melbourne suburb?
"Mummy sent me to the shop to buy some eggs and milk, but I didn't have enough money." His basket was empty. Surely he had enough money to buy one of the two items.
"Where are you going?" he asked me.
"Well, I was going to the sports centre."
As he walked along quickly on the other side of the bicycle, I realised I was walking too fast for him, so I slowed down a little, but he still had to struggle to keep up with me. How old was he, I wondered. I was surprised he hadn't told me. He was telling me just about everything else. Probably about five, I thought. Maybe kids were very talkative at that age.
"We've got a new baby at home."
"That's nice."
"Mummy went to hospital, too. That's where she got the baby."
"Yes."
"He cries a lot. I don't cry."
He was silent for a moment, watching the two wheels of my bicycle turning round and round as I guided it along the path.
"You can ride that bike, can't you?" he said.
"Yes. It wouldn't be much point bringing it if I couldn't ride it."
"I can't ride that one. I've got a good bike at home. I can ride it because it's got three wheels."
"Mmm," I said. Why was I trying to ignore the little boy? Surely I could show some interest in what he was saying. But my total lack of response had no effect on him. He continued talking.
"What's your name, boy?" he asked.
"Raymond," I replied. I didn't ask him his and he didn't volunteer the information. He simply started on another subject.
"What do you learn at school?"
"Calculus and Applied, and Pure Mathematics."
"Oh."
That seemed to satisfy him, as he did not enquire further into my studies.
When, at last, we turned another corner, sure enough there were about twenty cows wandering on the street and near the little dirt road which we had to follow.
"We don't have to go near the cows, do we?" he asked anxiously.
"No. We won't pass very close to them if we cut across from here to the dirt road."
"We mustn't go too close. Cows run after you and kill you."
"I don't think they do that," I said, a trifle disconcerted at this information.
"They wouldn't kill you, because you're big."
I was very pleased to hear that.
"But they'd kill me though. I'm little and I can't run fast enough," he added.
"Is this your street?" I asked, as the dirt road changed to a gravel road.
"Yes. There's my house, over there. Will you wait for me, while I get some more money from Mummy. Then you can take me back to the shop."
This was where I drew the line.
"No. You tell your mother that you're scared of the cows down there, and she won't make you go back again. I don't want to be late for sport."
"Yes, that's right. Mummy might go with me instead. This is my house, so you can go to sport now."
"Good. Thank you. It' s kind of you to let me go!"
"Goodbye!" he waved, unaware of any irony in my voice. As I climbed onto my bicycle I was sure I heard him murmur something about meeting me there tomorrow afternoon.
"Goodbye!" I said, and rode off as fast as I could.
I was not very late for squash and, when I walked into the partly burnt-down sporting centre, Andy was outside one of the courts waiting for a game.
"Hi, Andy!" I said. "Sorry I couldn't walk with you, but there were some cows on the road and this little kid ¡K"
"It's all right, Ray. Doesn't matter. How about a game?"
Andy liked playing squash with me. I was the only one he could beat.
"Sure, Andy!" I answered.
He probably thought I was just making excuses. I suppose he was used to being let down. But, although I had fully intended to keep him company, I was quite happy it had worked out otherwise. If I had to have a companion, I would really prefer the little boy who was afraid of the cows.