These days, he no longer hoped for change: no point in wanting what would never eventuate. He wasn’t unhappy, he wasn’t lonely, he didn’t dislike people, nor was he intimidated by them; but being who he was — shy — he had learned not to need them. The exceptions were his parents, a few longstanding friends who accepted him as he was, and the girlfriends — not many, but sufficient to prove he was neither a weirdo nor a virgin. In fact, the girlfriends said he was refreshing, that unlike most males, who were animated only when the subject was themselves, Andrew seemed genuinely interested in other people.

The situation might have been different if he’d become the engineer he started out to be. His parents and teachers had proposed engineering as an excellent career for one who liked science, liked precision, and liked his own company. The fact that he also excelled at art had not figured in their considerations, although it had long been central to his.

He followed their advice: they were so certain about what would be best for him, and being so unsure himself, he found their certainty reassuring. He applied for engineering, and with good results in his school finals he was accepted. But within a month of starting the course he knew he’d made a mistake. There was a soulless quality to engineering, or perhaps he simply lacked the capacity to find engineering’s soul.

During that first term, he determined on numerous occasions to tell his parents engineering was not for him, but the right time never seemed to present itself. It would be preferable, he knew, if he could offer them an acceptable alternative.

All through childhood his secret dream job was that of lighthouse-keeper-come-artist. While such a choice might be a cliché for a shy person, his lighthouse-keeper dream had provided him with powerful and reliable escape. He would imagine himself alone with his dog, living in a slender tower perched on a rocky crown surrounded by a rollicking sea. His living quarters, about halfway up the tower, contained a single comfortable armchair, a basket for the dog, a table and chair, charts and logs, a shelf of books, a stereo, easel and paints. Up a few more steps from the living area was the bunk room, and twisting up from there was the long spiral staircase leading to the lamp. He and his dog would climb to the top of the tower several times a day, for maintenance on the lamp and for maintenance of fitness. He loved being up there amid the roar of the ocean, the blustering wind, the whirling rain.