Winter by John Marsden Read Free Book Online Page A

all I could have, but they were better than the great silence, the vacuum, that I’d known for so many years.
    De Salis (née Osborne), Phyllis Antonia Rosemary, of ‘Warriewood’, Christie, (tragically) 9 July, 1989, aged 43 years, cherished wife of Phillip Edward De Salis (decd), much-loved daughter of Max and Cecilia Osborne (decd), loving mother of Winter, friend and sister to Una and Bruce Robinson, and Jeremy and Marcia Osborne, dearly beloved niece of Rita (Mrs Dirk Harrison). Darling Phyl, free forever to ride the green meadows and hills you loved so much.
    There were dozens of other messages, a column and a half altogether. It made me sad to read them.
    So much feeling in so few words, such a sense that people liked and cared about her.
    But there was nothing concrete, no information. The vague feelings that had brought me home for this search, the sense that something was wrong, that something needed to be explored and understood, hadn’t been helped any. All I’d done was run up another bill on the Internet, and leave myself with more unanswered questions. Tragically ? What did that mean? Her death was tragic all right. I knew that. I didn’t need a newspaper to tell me.

CHAPTER TEN
    I went for a walk to clear my head. It had been a day of confusion and complication. A day of strong feelings. I needed an emotional rest.
    Instead I ran into more emotions.
    I went out the front gates of Warriewood and up the road towards the T-junction. I just scuffed along in the dust, kicking a pebble in front of me. At the T-junction I hesitated, then turned right.
    I guess our lives are decided by little moments like that.
    A few hundred metres along the road I heard a scuffling noise close behind. I turned around. On the grass verge, coming up quite fast with a grin on his face was the boy from the other day, on a horse again, another big one, a grey this time.
    â€˜Hello,’ he called out, starting to laugh already, no doubt at the memory of how big a fool I’d made of myself the first time. ‘How’s it going?’
    He came alongside me, slowing the horse to my pace. For the second time I had to admit that he could handle a horse. At least this one looked a bit more placid.
    â€˜Mmm,’ I said, through gritted teeth. I wasn’t going to give him any encouragement. I wasn’t in the mood for some smug self-satisfied guy to show off his equestrian skills. Not to mention his skills in coming on to some girl he didn’t even know.
    â€˜So, been doing any more trespassing lately?’ he asked.
    What a wanker, I thought. I really couldn’t stand him. I decided to freeze him out by being totally serious and totally polite . . . with maybe just a faint hint of sarcasm. ‘I’m sorry I was on your land,’ I said. ‘I didn’t realise. I’ll get them to fence it off properly, so I don’t make the same mistake again.’
    â€˜Oh God,’ he laughed. ‘Did I sound that bad? I’d hate you to put up any more fences. It’s not good for the kangaroos.’
    I couldn’t think of anything to say. He was impossible. I walked along in silence. He kept level with me.
    After a while he said, ‘Do you ride?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Oh, don’t you? But your mother won the Garryowen.’
    If I had ten bucks for every time someone said that to me I’d be able to buy this boy’s property and get rid of him altogether.
    â€˜Yeah, well, I’m not my mother, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
    â€˜Sorry, yeah, that was a pretty dumb remark.’
    Damn, I thought. Now he’s being sensitive. That’s the last thing I can deal with right now.
    We walked on another hundred metres, with me feeling more and more that I wasn’t coming out of this very well. I mean, I know I’m a king-size bitch, I just generally try to hide it so other people won’t realise.
    He broke the