Read Online Ash Road by Ivan Southall - Free Book Online

blow in a man’s ear in the middle of the night?
    It wasn’t night, really. It was broad daylight and wind was slapping against the sun-blinds at the front of the house and banging the loose sheet of iron on the roof of the shed. He opened the front door and squinted into the dazzling light of the morning. It was cruel. Fire? No sign of fire. Buckingham had a bee in his bonnet.
    He groaned and headed back for bed. He remembered now why he hadn’t wanted to sleep in. There was a drum of diesel oil to be delivered to the Georges, without fail, first thing, because old man George said he’d forgotten to reorder and wouldn’t have enough to last out the day. Old liar. He hadn’t reordered because he was too mean to spend his money a minute before he had to. Old man George was always the same. Hand to mouth. Not even enough oil up his sleeve to keep his pump working until Monday. But eight o’clock would be early enough for old man George, not half-past five.
    Back in bed, Bill Robertson started thinking. Perhaps he should have had a better look. Fire was something not to be taken too lightly, and after all, Buckingham wasn’t a complete idiot. He’d lived on Ash Road for years, longer than Bill himself, and if anyone’s property was inflammable when fire was around it was Bill’s. Buckingham had probably meant well.
    He got out of bed again and put on his slippers and dressing-gown. Then he realized that he was being watched. ‘What are you doing up?’ his wife said.
    He grimaced and went to the door.
    Stevie came to the top of the long hill opposite the thirty acres of fallow ground next to Grandpa Tanner’s, not far from the crossroad that headed out into the bush in one direction and back into Prescott in the other. This hill was the highest ground, by a narrow margin, for miles around. In a way it was part of the chain of mountains that swept across his vision through the north and the west; perhaps it was the last real foothill in that section of the Prescott district, for behind Stevie the land slid down little by little into the main valley between the ranges and the next mountain chain about twenty miles away.
    From the top of the long hill Stevie saw the smoke. It was in the north, and was like a wide and boiling storm cloud coming up over the mountains, a big brown cloud torn about at the edges by the wind; way past the top end of Ash Road where the Collinses and the Robertsons lived, way past the highway and the dam, way past places he knew were there but couldn’t see, right across on the other side of the ranges.
    â€˜Aw gee,’ he said, ‘what’s the good of that? It’s too far away. Now Dad won’t take me to see it.’
    He picked up a stone and threw it at the trunk of a tree. It missed. He was trudging back downhill, dispirited, when he remembered that this was the day for the beach. Mum had said the night before that everyone would have to lend a hand with the packing if they were to get away by ten-thirty and reach the guest house at Deer Sands in good time for lunch. They went to Deer Sands for their holidays every year. Deer Sands was beaut. The thought cheered Stevie no end. His stitch had gone, and he started skipping down the hill.
    When he passed the Fairhalls’ gate Peter called from the front veranda: ‘Is that you, Stevie?’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Stevie, and ran over to the gate.
    â€˜Where have you been?’
    â€˜Up the hill to have a look at the fire.’ Stevie didn’t notice that Peter looked miserable and was dressed in his best clothes.
    â€˜What’s it like?’ Peter asked.
    Stevie pulled a long face. ‘Not much. Way over the mountains. Can’t see anything ’cept a bit of smoke.’
    â€˜There’s no danger then?’ said Peter.
    â€˜Danger?’ squealed Stevie. That was a word for women. ‘It’s only a bit of a fire,’ he said. ‘The