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The Drifter is a moving and highly original story from an exciting new voice in rural writing, about what it takes to make a good life and a good death – and how to capture the magic in between.

‘Life isn’t just the breathing part, dear. It’s being here, with you.’

Cate Christie is a drifter, moving restlessly through her carefree youth until tragedy strikes, and her life is changed forever. She flees the city, seeking refuge at her great-aunt Ida’s farm in the wheatfields of Western Australia. There she finds Henry, a swagman whose dark eyes and heavy heart hold secrets he’s not willing to share. When Ida is no longer able to go on, Cate and Henry are put to the ultimate test. Together they must embrace the true meaning of family, community and love so they can lay their own ghosts to rest.

The Drifter is a moving and highly original story from an exciting new voice in rural writing, about what it takes to make a good life and a good death – and how to capture the magic in between.

Reviews

Fresh, contemporary and authentic, I loved this heartfelt tale of redemption

Barbara Hannay

The Drifter transcends genres … a universal story of love, loss and accountability.

West Australian

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Formats & editions

  • Trade Paperback

    9780143797241

    September 19, 2016

    Michael Joseph

    368 pages

    RRP $32.99

    Online retailers

    • Abbey's Bookshop
    • Angus & Robertson Bookworld
    • Booktopia
    • Boomerang Books
    • Collins Booksellers
    • Dymocks
    • Books Kinokuniya
    • The Nile
    • QBD
    • Readings
    • Robinsons Bookshop
    Or

    Find your local bookstore at booksellers.org.au

  • EBook

    9781760142636

    September 19, 2016

    Penguin eBooks

    336 pages

    Online retailers

    • iBooks
    • Amazon Kindle
    • Booktopia
    • eBooks
    • Google Play
    • Kobo
    Or

    Find your local bookstore at booksellers.org.au

Extract

When Cate Christie had left the city, she had known it wasn’t going to be for good. And when she drove her tiny car through the vast, open paddocks of wheat and sheep, she knew that she wasn’t going to stay. That this was just temporary. And she knew that, no matter the distance between her and the bright, shining lights of the city, Brigit was still dead, and that she was going to be dead forever.

Cate didn’t belong in the country and neither did Brigit. It was dusty and dying; the old season had finished, and the new one had yet to begin. This was a barren time: the pasture was gone, the stubble from the last crop was trampled into the ground, and the galahs were shrieking about the heat from the trees. Cate found the farm held few childhood memories for her as she pulled up to the old house, which seemed to have slumped into the garden. She turned off the ignition and felt the stillness push in through the car windows. She sat for a moment, gazing about at the house, at the yellowing plants, listening to the sound of corrugated iron scratching against the side of the empty mudbrick house her great-grandfather had built long ago.

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