He was twenty-one, and the author of a collection of poetry in manuscript, when he packed up his possessions and crossed the country to begin a new life in Melbourne. It had all happened so quickly that for the first year in his new home he kept wondering how he had managed it; but as work and friends took up more of his time, he decided just to be grateful he had. Terrence was long gone, to London or the Côte d’Azur, or somewhere equally exotic; but with his life filling fast, Leonard did not miss him. Four years later, his collection of poetry had been put in a drawer, he was about to become the managing director of his own company, and he met Sylvie Stirling.

For a different sort of man, the move from Perth would have been the opportunity for a slash-and-burn reinvention, but when Leonard arrived in Melbourne he was a wild child of the Romantics only in his hopes and dreams. Within ten years of marrying Sylvie, he had become a successful businessman, a loving husband, and a devoted father to Andrew. He may well have chosen to live three thousand miles away from his first family, but in his Melbourne existence he remained highly susceptible to paternal suggestion and the mainstream values that had marked out his upbringing. What had changed was his acceptance of this sort of life. It suited him. He loved his wife, he was content with family life, the business was thriving. He realised, even if others didn’t, that he needed these outward hallmarks of stability.

Less visible was the man of complicated appetites with a conflicted soul. His beloved Wordsworth wrote: … there is a dark/Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles/Discordant elements, makes them cling together/In one society. He knew discordant elements all too well; he knew how they fought one another, he believed that over the years they had been reconciled to some extent, and he’d accepted that life would always make difficult demands of someone like him. But there was one aspect of his existence that remained clear and uncomplicated, and that was his love for Sylvie. Sylvie and his marriage were bedrock.

So much happens in a marriage that changes can occur without either partner really noticing. Some of the changes are desirable, others less so. With the less desirable ones, by the time you do become aware of them, it’s often too late to reverse them. This was how Leonard had come to understand the physical side of his marriage, perhaps the only failing of his and Sylvie’s otherwise excellent partnership. The problem began quite early, related, he believed, to the pregnancies and miscarriages, rather than any dwindling interest in her body. Nevertheless, he was pleased when a business acquaintance admitted, in an alcohol-fuelled moment of honesty, that his pregnant wife had been a sexual turn-off for him. Don’t worry, the man had said, the baby comes, her shape returns to normal, and if you can persuade her not to breastfeed, you’ll be back doing it in no time.