The Grass Castle Read Online Free Page A

its way under his skin like a splinter of wood picked up from the veranda of the old hut. It was possible he liked it here, that he might ask to see her again. For a moment she felt a flutter of excitement. What if he reached out and touched her? But he held his distance then thanked her and said goodbye. She masked her disappointment as he slotted into his car and took off down the road.

    And now he is standing over the kangaroo he hit driving too fast in his sports car. ‘Will it be all right?’ he asks hopefully.
    Abby is thrown by the expectation in his voice. He wants the kangaroo to be fixed so it can hop away into the night, but she can’t protect him from the truth. ‘No,’ she says slowly.
    His stare is disbelief. ‘Why not?’
    ‘Legs are broken.’
    ‘Broken legs can mend.’
    ‘Not the hind legs of a kangaroo. A joey in the pouch perhaps. But not an adult.’
    ‘I don’t understand,’ he says. ‘We should call a vet.’
    She shakes her head. ‘Nobody will come. Not at this time of night. They’ll tell you to shoot her.’
    ‘So what will you do?’
    He hands over responsibility just like that, and now it is her problem. She steadies herself before speaking, draws a ragged breath. ‘The most humane thing is to put her down.’
    His eyes widen and his body tightens, then he turns and strides to the WRX, reaches in and pulls out a packet of cigarettes. She watches him flick one out of the box. He puts it in his mouth and lights it with a lighter that has materialised from his pocket. The tip flares red in the night. She didn’t know he was a smoker—he hasn’t smoked all afternoon.
    ‘Emergency supply,’ he grunts. ‘It’s only moments like these I need them.’
    He sucks on the cigarette, his face illuminated in the faint orange glow, deep lines etched around his mouth. He is bent in on himself. He glances blankly at her then swings away and walks down the road into darkness.
    She waits by the kangaroo, watching its agonised breathing and the slick of blood on the tarmac. The animal has lowered its head, its life-preserving flight response dulled by pain. The bright eyes are glazed, eyelids drooping. With a shudder, it lays its cheek on the road. Anxiety knots tighter in Abby’s throat. She feels for the poor animal; in its agony it is almost human, she sees the suffering in its eyes.
    ‘Do you have a gun?’ Cameron has come silently back and is standing in the shadows beside his car, leaning against the roof, his face gaunt, eyes haggard.
    ‘No.’
    ‘Then how are you going to do it? We’ll have to find a farmer.’
    ‘There aren’t any farms for miles.’
    ‘What do you suggest then?’
    She breathes deeply and tries to look strong. ‘I’ll have to do it.’
    ‘How?’ His voice is blunt and tight. He wants this thing over, she can feel it. He wants her to deal with it so he can disappear down the road.
    ‘There are two possibilities,’ she says, knowing he isn’t going to like either of them. Neither does she, but she can’t bear the animal’s distress. ‘I have an axe in the car. I can strike her on the back of the head.’ Not really. She can’t do it—her stomach contracts at the thought.
    ‘What’s the other option?’ He is staring at her, his face taut with a new expression: separation and distance.
    ‘I can drive over her head and crush her skull.’ She says it flat and quiet, trying not to grimace, her gut twisting.
    He regards her coolly. ‘You biologists are hard people.’
    She wraps her arms across her chest like protective wings, folding her sadness inside, toughening against him. ‘We can’t stand here watching her. It’s cruel.’
    They look down at the kangaroo. Cameron is pulling away. Soon he will climb into his car and drive off, leaving her with the kangaroo and the night.
    He glances at her, eyes cold. ‘What will you do?’
    She swallows. ‘I’ll use the car. I can’t do it with the axe.’
    He turns from her, withdrawing. ‘I don’t