Chapter 12
A week now at Currawong Creek, and Clare could feel the cares and anxieties of Brisbane slipping from her like an outgrown skin. She yawned and cleared away her dishes. Jack and Samson had already headed out with Grandad, leaving Clare to enjoy a lazy breakfast. No phone, no email, no need to do anything at all in particular. She’d been spending her days playing with Jack, or weeding Grandma’s veggie patch or exploring the house and sheds. Sometimes she simply sat in the garden, reading a book selected from Grandma’s well-thumbed Collection of Modern Classics. Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle ‒ the dusty hallway bookshelves were stacked high with all sorts of gems. A copy of Treasure Island that Grandad used to read, putting on a silly pirate voice. Mum’s
