Free Winter by John Marsden Page A

people who are so extroverted.
    â€˜So how did you get onto the wicked Sylvia’s little rackets?’ he asked. ‘Found a printing press in the cellar, did you? Churning out hundred-dollar notes by the truckful? Or were they respraying luxury cars in the barn?’
    â€˜Ralph’s cleared a big area of timber, halfway up to the lookout,’ I said. ‘He had a mate with him and they were loading it onto a semi-trailer.’
    â€˜Did he, by Jove? They must have thought they could get away with anything. You know, I employed Ralph for a while, years ago, before he and Sylvia got the job on Warriewood. Every time I came back from an interstate trip I’d find another five hundred k’s on the Merc. I think he was running a taxi service for his mates. Sylvia’s the brains behind their little capers though. Ralph isn’t smart enough. He’d have trouble chewing gum while I walked. I mean, speak no ill of the dead or departed, but those two were the Bonnie and Clyde of Christie.’
    He poured me a coffee.
    â€˜But that’s terrible about your timber. We take care of our bush around here. There’s precious little of it left. If you like I’ll come up with you and have a look. We’ll see what we can do about regenerating it.’
    â€˜Thanks,’ I said, ‘I’d appreciate that.’
    â€˜It’s the least I can do for the daughter of Phillip and Phyllis.’
    â€˜Did you know them well?’
    â€˜Oh yes. Knew ’em and loved ’em. They were special. They were Hall of Fame neighbours.’
    â€˜Is it true my mother died in a shooting accident?’
    â€˜Why yes.’
    But again his good humour seemed to fade, and he looked troubled, as he had when I told him about the logging of the bush.
    â€˜How?’
    â€˜Well, one of her dogs knocked a loaded rifle. I don’t know whether she even had the safety catch on, but of course safeties are a mechanical operation, and they’re not reliable anyway.’
    â€˜That’s why Dad’s told me a hundred times not to have a bullet in the magazine until I’m ready to fire,’ Matthew said, pushing a plate of choc-chip cookies towards me. ‘He always quotes what happened to your mother as the reason.’
    â€˜But how could she have done something so thoughtless,’ I asked, ‘with her experience?’
    Mr Kennedy shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. I’ve asked myself the same question many times. All I can think is that she was so devastated by Phillip’s death that she wasn’t herself, wasn’t thinking straight.’
    â€˜So she was still very upset, all those months later?’
    â€˜Well, yes, almost more upset than when she got the news. At first she kept saying she could accept it because Phillip died doing something he loved, he died in the way he would have wanted. Not that he wanted to die of course. There never was anyone more full of life. But you know what I mean.
    â€˜Anyway, as the months went on I think she started to realise what his death meant. The loss of his friendship, his company; the end of their relationship. No father for their little daughter. The loneliness was getting to her. So I don’t know if she was concentrating too well.’
    â€˜Was I there when it happened? Like, on the spot?’
    â€˜Do you know, I’m not sure. I doubt it, because I think I would have heard if you were. You know how people talk. There would have been a lot of comment about how terrible it was that her little daughter saw the whole thing . . . ’
    He paused and looked at me anxiously, obviously worried he might be upsetting me. But I was calm enough. I wanted to know, that was the main thing.
    â€˜You think she was really depressed then?’
    For the first time he realised where I was going with this. His mouth opened for a moment and he put down his cup.
    â€˜Oh Winter