The Grass Castle Read Online Free

couldn’t suppress a grin. ‘Maybe if you’re a politician or a journalist.’
    He smiled. ‘Why did you come here?’ he asked. ‘Why not Sydney or Melbourne?’
    ‘I was offered a scholarship here.’
    ‘Not too far from home for you?’
    ‘I’m twenty-three,’ she said. ‘Old enough to fly the coop. And home’s not what it used to be. Mum died when I was thirteen. Dad has a new wife.’
    ‘Tough losing your mum,’ Cameron said.
    ‘Yes,’ she said, and shivered. ‘How about you?’
    She was hoping he wouldn’t notice her discomfort when it came to talking about herself. He picked up a bread roll and started gnawing on it, and she was relieved when he took hold of the conversation and carried on.
    ‘I’m from Melbourne,’ he said between mouthfuls. ‘Inner-suburban city boy. Man of neon lights, cappuccinos and nightclubs.’ He stopped chewing to scoff at himself. ‘Private-school educated, of course.’
    ‘I went to Mansfield High,’ she said. ‘No other options.’
    He took a morsel of chicken and popped it in his mouth. ‘My parents are wealthy, so it’s all about options. Theirs, not mine. A government school would have been fine for me, but my parents wouldn’t have it. They wanted to stamp the renegade leftie out of me. So it was Melbourne Grammar then Melbourne University. They’re barristers, both of them. They wanted me to tread the same track they did. Journalism is all I ever wanted to do. But they slotted me into law. It didn’t last, of course. I hated it. I was going to drop out of uni altogether, and they couldn’t cope with a bum for a son, so they agreed on a compromise, a shift into literature. It was terribly humiliating for them—a son with a classic career-less Arts degree, but at least it was at the right univerity, and they supposed it might lead to something. Soon as I finished, I took the first cadetship I could sign up for. The Herald Sun. Not exactly my political line, but it was runs on the board. You need those before you can get ahead. I was born a journalist. I just had to make my parents believe it.’
    ‘And they believe it now?’
    He tore another bread roll into pieces which he arranged in a circle on his plate. ‘I don’t have much to do with them. I’m a disappointment. When I go to Melbourne I mostly stay with friends. It’s easier that way. My parents are busy. I take them out to dinner or the opera. Then I’ve done my duty and I can do my own thing. I catch up with my journo mates, and we drink and tell stories and talk politics. It’s fun. Journalism suits me—despite what my family thinks.’ He laughed derisively. ‘I can tell you this much: my family isn’t normal.’
    Abby held his gaze. ‘There’s no such thing as a normal family,’ she said quietly.
    ‘Hell no,’ he agreed. ‘But I bet mine’s less normal than yours.’
    She said nothing. He couldn’t compete on abnormal, but she let it go.
    He reached for the bottle again. ‘What about the rest of your family?’
    ‘I have a brother, Matt.’
    ‘What does he do?’
    ‘He skis, works on a vineyard and shoots kangaroos with his mates.’
    Cameron chuckled. ‘Your brother shoots kangaroos and you study them. Ironic, isn’t it?’
    ‘Life’s ironic,’ she said.
    They finished the wine, and chatted into the darkness, talking about politics, music, films and books. Cameron was easy company, talkative without being overbearing, up-to-date on everything. Abby supposed this was part of his job, to be able to talk to people, to make them feel comfortable.
    As the chill night air sank from the ridges, she became aware of the inadequacy of his clothing, and when she saw him shiver, despite the blanket, she knew it was time to call it a day.
    They made their way back to the cars by the light of her head torch. In the car park he lingered, watching her toss things into the back of her four-wheel drive. She thought perhaps he wanted to say something, that maybe the valley had worked