Read As Far as You Can Go for Free Online Page A

Station.’
    ‘Ta.’ Graham spits and, out of the corner of her eye, Cassie catches Larry’s wince.
    ‘I recognise it,’ she says, seeing the angle from which the photo was taken. The pump, the giant tree, the buildings, the hens pecking about in the dust. And even the same old piebald dog staggering towards them, wagging a stubby tail.
    ‘Meet Yella,’ Larry says.
    ‘Hi Yella.’ Cassie pats his head.
    ‘Deaf as a post.’
    ‘Poor thing.’
    Larry turns to Graham. ‘Recovered now?’
    ‘Fine.’ Graham picks up his rucksack and swings it over his shoulder.
    ‘And we’ll finally get to meet Mara.’ Cassie looks around, surprised that the woman hasn’t come running out to meet them. Or at least to welcome Larry home.
    ‘She’ll be resting.’
    ‘She must have heard the plane.’
    ‘She is – somewhat shy of strangers on occasion. Come on, I’ll show you in and you can unpack,’ Larry says. ‘Freshen up. I’ll sort you out some supper.’
    ‘Thanks,’ Cassie says. ‘Could you face anything, Gray?’
    ‘Maybe.’
    ‘You’ll soon feel better.’ Larry hefts an eskie under each arm and leads them across to the sprawling building, past a low shed, up the steps of a veranda where the dog settles down under a table. Larry pushes open a door and they are in the kitchen. A flyscreen bounces tinnily behind them. The room is hot and dim, almost filled with a square table, cluttered with crockery, papers, tools, fruit. A rusty black range with pans and a kettle on top takes up one wall. Despite the screen, flies buzz. A speckled flypaper dangles beside the window, another over the table. A greasy ceiling fan swishes the heat about.
    Larry pushes his load on to the table, picks up a paper bag with a note scrawled on it. He reads it, nods, screws it up, opens the door of the range and throws it in. He looks at his watch. ‘Just missed Fred,’ he says. ‘What about a cup of tea before I show you your quarters?’ He moves the kettle a few inches and immediately it starts to bubble.
    ‘Fred?’
    ‘Nearest neighbour. I employ him to help out. You’ll meet him soon enough.’
    At least there are neighbours, Cassie thinks, looking round for any signs of a woman. It is a masculine room. Nothing like a tablecloth or curtains. An oily spanner rests on a plate of wizened oranges.
    ‘Generator,’ Larry says. He goes out again.
    Graham pulls out his tobacco.
    ‘You could ask if he minds you smoking in the kitchen,’ Cassie says.
    ‘He’ll say if he does.’
    There’s a stutter and then a hum. Larry comes back in. ‘We use the generator, couple of hours morning and night. Electricity for the fridge and lights. Otherwise we rely on the solar panels. So no wastage, please.’
    ‘Solar power. Good,’ Cassie says.
    ‘Glad you approve.’ Larry smiles and she flushes, feeling foolish. Larry stows sausages, milk, cheese and bread into a wardrobe-sized fridge. He empties a round brown teapot into a bin, rinses it with water from the kettle, spoons tea leaves inside. ‘I think, possibly, that we’ll save the introductions for tomorrow,’ he says. ‘We’ll all feel brighter in the morning.’
    Before Cassie can react, Larry’s eyes are on her. ‘Or would you like me to disturb her now?’
    ‘Of course not!’ She forces a smile. ‘I just thought – well, assumed – that she’d be interested to meet us. We’re dying to meet her, aren’t we, Gray?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    She follows Graham’s gaze to a small vivid photo on the wall beside the door.
    ‘All in good time.’ Larry pours the tea into tin mugs for them. Cassie takes a sip and burns her lips on the rim. She thinks longingly of thin bone china or even the chunky pottery Graham likes. The sort of thing Jas is prone to giving them for Christmas, a matching pair of ugly mugs. Anything’s better than tin though. First trip to town, top of the list:
nice mugs
.
    ‘This is the pantry.’ Larry opens a door. More flypapers dangle inside the door of the