Free Winter by John Marsden

you race them?’
    â€˜Yeah, both. Hutch’s the racecourse star. He’s won two Group Ones. The Summer Cup and the Memsie Stakes. He’s going back into training next week. No more nice bushwalks for you, you big bludger,’ he said, giving the chestnut flank a slap. Hutch didn’t seem too bothered, just rolled one eye at Matthew, and trotted on briskly. Maybe he was thinking of home, and a bucket of oats. I noticed Matthew kept him on the road side, so he couldn’t go for the grass.
    â€˜So anyway,’ Matthew continued, ‘what do you think? Come home and then I can take you back about six o’clock. By then Ralph and Sylvia should be out of the way. Or, better still, we can ring Mr McGill and get him to pick you up from our place. That way you won’t have to go to Warriewood at all.’
    â€˜Are you kidding? Go out to dinner in this stuff?’ I waved a hand at my daggy dusty khaki cargo pants. ‘But thanks, it would be nice to go to your place. I can walk home from there, and get changed. If I leave by five thirty, it should be fine.’
    â€˜Well, the only thing is . . . ’ He hesitated. ‘The thing is, I’d rather take you. Because, face it, if Sylvia and Ralph are still there, and they turn nasty, it could get rough. Imagine if you walk in your front door and find them trashing the place. Writing “Winter Sux” all over your walls.’
    â€˜Short-sheeting my bed.’
    â€˜Exactly. See what I mean? It could even get that ugly.’
    It was my turn to hesitate. Being looked after was an unfamiliar experience. I wasn’t sure if I liked it. Gradually, living in Canberra, I’d learned to fight every fight by myself, to fly solo. On the other hand the idea of facing Sylvia and Ralph alone, at dusk, in that big empty house, was genuinely scary.
    â€˜OK, thanks,’ I said, privately wondering what the Robinsons would say if they heard that voice coming out of my mouth. That soft, grateful voice. They probably would have looked for the ventriloquist.
    â€˜Look,’ Matthew said, putting his helmet on. ‘I’d better give this big lazy lug a bit of a gallop or he’ll kick the place down tonight. Do you know where our front gate is?’
    â€˜Yeah.’
    â€˜OK. So if you come in there, I’ll have him rubbed down and I’ll be waiting at the top of the drive. Is that OK?’
    â€˜Sure. See you then. Oh . . . and . . . thanks, OK?’
    He waved casually and swung himself up onto Hutch, gathered in the reins and cluck-clucked the horse into a canter. When he remounted Hutch I’d been struck again by how big a horse he was. He looked as high as a garage.
    I walked on, feeling a little better. Feeling quite a lot better actually. I did a mental search through my repertoire of songs, trying to find something. Eventually I found one.
    When you’re out there in the nowhere,
    And it’s getting kind of rough,
    Don’t be worried, don’t be lonely,
    Don’t forget that love’s enough.
    Love’s the answer, not the question
    Love’s the reason for your life . . .

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    M atthew’s father was the funniest, most cheerful man I’d ever met. Everything was a joke to him. When I followed Matthew into their kitchen Mr Kennedy jumped to his feet, picked me up in two enormous arms and gave me a huge hug.
    â€˜Fantastic!’ he boomed. ‘Fantastic! Truly you are a De Salis! I’ve been trying to get rid of those two parasites for years, and you do it in a fortnight. How old are you?’
    â€˜Sixteen.’
    â€˜Fantastic. When I was sixteen I modelled myself on my guinea pig. Hid in my pen and shut up. My God, you’ll be running the country in another twelve months. Do you want a coffee? You probably live on rum and milk.’
    â€˜Coffee’d be nice thanks,’ I said. I liked him instantly, but I feel shy around