The Grass Castle Read Free Page A

hooked claws and forearm muscles like a gym junkie. Abby’s heart battered and a hot adrenalin sweat tingled on her skin. She faced the kangaroo till he lowered his head to snatch a mouthful of grass, strong jaws grinding.
    ‘What was that about?’ Cameron asked, shakiness deepening his voice.
    ‘We got too close,’ Abby said. ‘They don’t like anyone inside their personal space.’
    ‘Tell me about it.’ Cameron was flushed and stepping lightly now, surprisingly agile despite his height.
    Abby relaxed a little. ‘You look ready to run.’
    ‘You bet,’ he said.
    Looking up, Abby noticed that clouds had snuffed the sun and late afternoon light was leaning creamy and soft across the valley. A freshening wind was rolling among the trees and ravens cawed overhead, flapping up-valley. The old-man kangaroo was distant and harmless now, uninterested in them, a bulky grey hummock only half-visible among the trees. But he had altered the mood of the day.
    Cameron glanced at his watch. ‘Perhaps we should head back,’ he said.
    By the time they stepped onto the tarmac in the car park, Cameron’s recorder was buttoned away and an awkward distance had reasserted itself between them. They were strangers again. They’d met for a purpose which had now been achieved and the interview was over. Abby watched as he slung his shoulder bag onto the front seat of the WRX then politely reached out his hand.
    ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘That was great. I wasn’t too keen on coming. But it was good.’
    She shook his hand, feeling something like sunshine in his grip, and suddenly she didn’t want to let go. ‘Look,’ she said, diving on submerged courage. ‘You don’t have to leave immediately unless you’re in a hurry. There’s an old hut further down the valley that you might like to look at. It’s historic, an old slab building.’
    Cameron seemed to hesitate and Abby’s brave moment faded.
    ‘I suppose you need to write this up,’ she said, assuming his silence meant no. ‘I noticed you looking at your watch.’
    Cameron laughed. ‘The watch is a habit. Part of being a slave to time. The life of a journalist. But actually I’m not in a rush to get back. I’ve already done my columns for tomorrow, and I’m going to write your interview as a feature, so no pressing deadlines. I wouldn’t mind seeing the hut . . . might give me some ammunition for another story.’
    ‘It’ll be nice to get out of this wind,’ Abby said. ‘But it’s a bit of a walk. Do you have a warmer coat?’
    Cameron shook his head.
    ‘I have a blanket you could toss round your shoulders,’ Abby suggested.
    ‘That’ll be fine.’
    She opened the back of her work truck to fetch the blanket then she turned to Cameron as another idea occurred to her. ‘Are you hungry?’ she asked. ‘I was planning on staying back tonight to check my radio-collared kangaroos, so I brought along a roast chicken and a few bread rolls for supper. I’m happy to share.’
    Cameron smiled. ‘Sounds great. And I have a bottle of wine in the car. Left over from dinner last night with some workmates. Do you have anything we can drink from?’
    ‘A couple of thermos lids,’ Abby said. ‘They’re not quite wine glasses . . .’
    ‘But they’ll do,’ Cameron said.
    Abby shoved everything in a backpack, gave Cameron the blanket, and they set off, weaving their way among the wind-whipped tussock grass.

2
    The old slab hut, huddled on the valley floor, was Abby’s hideaway where she often took shelter in bad weather. It was a wonderful old building, oozing history, and laden with fragments of the forgotten lives and faded voices of the families who had settled the region.
    Usually she closed herself behind the latched wooden door and listened to the hollow moan of air scooping around the walls. The outside world seemed to dissolve and she became a presence among ghosts. Sometimes, as she sat cross-legged on the battered wooden floor, she thought she could