The Never Boys Read Online Free Page A

other out of her view. But a two-finger whistle ended the show. ‘Oi! You two! Back to work!’ The whistle also attracted the attention of the girl. The rousies waved, laughed, then duelled back at the skirting table.
    â€˜See, I told you. She wants me.’
    â€˜ You ? She smiled at me .’
    â€˜Winced, mate. Winced . Like she wanted to spew.’
    Dean screwed up his face. Surely they weren’t talking about the General’s daughter.
    The last whining of the generator signalled knock-off time, much to everyone’s relief. Rousies slid down against the stalls to take a seat and shearers tweezed bloody burrs from their palms while Dean swept the far corner. After the last run was recorded, the workers picked themselves up, then left for the pub. Only the General and he remained.
    â€˜I suppose you want to be paid?’ she asked, locking the shed behind them. She counted out his money: three hundred and four dollars. ‘There’s more tomorrow if you’re interested.’
    â€˜Hey?’
    â€˜The job. It’s yours if you want it.’
    Counting the fifty-buck bills, he paused. Then, thinking better of it, he slid the wad into his boot before she could take it back again.
    â€˜Hayden gave you a good report,’ the General explained. ‘I don’t believe a word of it but I still need a fourth rouseabout.’
    Always quick with the compliments, wasn’t she? But he was too tired to fight. ‘For how long?’
    â€˜Six days. You can stay up in the shearers’ quartersif you like. I’ll provide you with clean sheets. Lunch is still free but you’ll have to buy and cook your own breakfast and tea.’
    At three hundred bucks a day, he rocked on his feet. Eighteen hundred dollars! A bus ticket plus a fortune. What a deal.
    In the distance, though, a siren wailed along the Sturt Highway.
    â€˜I guessed as much,’ she said.
    Â 
    Two semi-trailers heavied the main street of Truro, dragging the night sky behind them. Population four hundred, it was a typical highway town: a petrol and pee stop for travellers. Beer and burgers for the locals. At the furthest end, squat among the eucalypts, a country parish welcomed the same souls every Sunday morning, while further out, dusty family farms drifted with sons and daughters leaving for the city.
    After the last truck blustered by, Dean crossed the highway on his way to a roadhouse. He was at the right place. A young couple sat in a booth with a tagged red and blue plastic bag at their feet and a baby girl bottle-feeding in their arms. No doubt she’d sleep all the way to Sydney.
    The baby girl wasn’t the only one hungry.Thankfully, the roadhouse was open for meals and questions. ‘Hey, does the bus to Sydney stop here?’
    Restocking the serviette dispensers, the counter lady pointed with a nod. ‘Right out front.’
    â€˜How much is a ticket?’
    She fluttered a laugh. ‘No good asking me. You have to go to Nuri for that.’
    â€˜Nuri? Is he working tonight?’
    The counter lady smiled. ‘Nuri’s a town, not a man. Nuriootpa. It’s the next one along. You probably passed through it on your way here.’
    An elderly couple parked right by the front door. They threw open their arms to hug the young couple before cooing at the baby.
    â€˜Do you know if I can buy a ticket from the bus driver then?’
    â€˜You could try, but you won’t have any luck tonight, tomorrow or the weekend for that matter.’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜All the drivers are on strike. There’s no service until Monday — at least.’

Chapter 3
    Dean hovered like a mongrel dog. After news of the bus strike, he’d sat in the roadhouse for another hour, eating dry sandwiches but not tasting them. Motorists came and left, only interested in paying for their petrol, not in questions from hitchhikers. He only left when the counter lady started wiping his