Freedom Ride Read Online Free Page A

paid,” he continued, tapping his knife on the edge of the plate for emphasis. “And I know for a fact Mrs Fielding can well afford to pay.”
    “Close your mouth, Robert,” snapped Nan. “Frank, Thelma Fielding is my friend. How can I take money from her?”
    “It’s not you she’s paying.”
    “And it’s not you who had to face spiders as big as this plate,” I muttered.
    Nan gasped.
    Dad shot me a warning look.
    I picked up my fork and drew the tines through the potato while Dad and Nan discussed the morals or otherwise of paying me.
    “Robert! Stop playing with your food!”
    I jumped when Nan yelled.
    She picked up her plate and stomped to the sink. “I have a headache. Robert, clean up the kitchen. And I won’t be paying.” She thundered down the hall, slamming her bedroom door behind her.
    “Hope that branch falls,” said Dad.
    I bit the inside of my lip to stop myself from laughing. Once the feeling had gone, I cleared my throat. “Dad.” I drew out the word. “You know Barry Gregory, the guy from the caravan park?”
    “Arthur Gregory’s son. Good sort, Arthur. Fought in Tobruk.” Because, to Dad, whether or not you had fought during the war was a measure of character.
    “Well, he asked if I could help him at the caravan park.”
    Dad’s eyes narrowed.
    “He’s paying me. Money,” I lied. I hadn’t asked and Barry hadn’t mentioned money.
    Dad pushed his plate away from him and reached for the cigarette packet on the kitchen bench.
    “If I work hard, it may turn into a regular job – you know, a holiday job.”
    Dad held a lit match to the end of his cigarette and sucked in. The tip flared red. He blew smoke across the table. “A job like that will teach you a thing or two.”
    I stood and reached for his plate, my belly light with relief. A holiday job, even if it turned out to be only one day a week, was way better than being stuck in this house with Nan for six weeks. I didn’t care if Barry paid or not.

CHAPTER 7
    “Where are you going?” snapped Nan.
    I swear she’d been lurking in the laundry, waiting to jump out at me. “I have a job.”
    “What job?” She folded her arms.
    “Barry Gregory asked me to mow for him.”
    “Is that what he was talking to you about at Thel’s?”
    I swear nothing happened in Walgaree – no, make that the district – without Nan knowing. “Yes.”
    “I’m not sure that’s a suitable place for you to work.” She pressed her lips together. “Why wasn’t I consulted?”
    I tried to make my eyes wide and innocent. “Dad and I talked about it last night. When you had a headache. He thought working at the park would be good for me.”
    She shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “Well then, don’t be late.” She shooed me out the back door.

    Barry Gregory was bent over a mower outside what I guessed was the office when I arrived at the Walgaree Caravan Park. He looked up as my tyres crunched on the gravel driveway.
    “You’re early.” He wiped the back of his hand against his cheek, leaving a greasy smudge.
    I glanced at my watch. Eight forty. “Sorry, Mr Gregory, I–”
    He cut me off with a deep laugh. “Call me Barry. And being early is a good thing.” He strolled towards me, hand outstretched. “Welcome to our place, Robbie.”
    I remembered the time Nan had made Dad teach me how to shake hands, like a man. Firm grip. No wet-fish grip. Look into their eyes. According to Nan and Dad, a handshake reflected your character.
    My palm was sweaty, but I didn’t want to wipe it on my shorts. With a grimace I shook his hand with my sweaty one. His grip was firm, but not too firm, and his hand warm.
    “Pleasure to meet you.”
    “Likewise.” Barry’s eyes twinkled. “You can leave your bike down the side.” He nodded at a path beside the office. The office was the house’s verandah, just closed in. Like the rest of the house, the weatherboards were painted white and the windows were large. From where I stood, I