Pearly wasn’t sure what to make of returned Andrew. He possessed an urbanity that made Pearly feel slightly clumsy and behind the times. He would ensure he was on his best form during the reunion and not be overshadowed. This was his natural habitat, and he was mayor and chairman of the planning committee. The greater the challenge, the more Pearly fronted up. That had always been his nature.

When Helen had gone to bed to read, Pearly took his wine and went to his study. There were council agenda papers and a letter to draft to Colin Goosen. Pearly believed in the personal touch. There were tasks in regard to his own business as well, but for a while he just sat without the light on, moving slightly from side to side on the swivel chair before his desk computer, looking out through the window into the night. As his eyes became accustomed to the reduced light, he could see the curve of his drive and the line of shrubs. He knew it all so well, even those colours and outlines no longer visible, and the familiarity of possession was comforting. What had Andrew Nisse said? He’d thought Pearly would’ve gone all the way. He meant the All Blacks, and Pearly had nursed such ambition, was never quite reconciled to its failure. First the collapsed scrum in Nelson, then the more decisive injury to the left knee in training — not even a game, not even in the tackle. As he thought of it, Pearly reached down and gently pushed his knee sideways, and, yes, the pain was still living there. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone further anyway. Maybe he was lucky to make a decent provincial team. He knew guys of equal ability to his own who had been kept out because of some outstanding player in their position within the team. There was an element of luck in sport, as there was in all of life. Like that of a rugby ball, the bounce in everyday fortune was difficult to predict.

Pearly didn’t get any reading done, or the letter to send to Wellington, never turned the study light on. He just sat in the dark and thought about Andrew Nisse, sport and, oddly enough, Deidre Utterspan. He wondered how she’d gone about persuading her husband to give up his candidacy, whether the truth had played a part. Whether she still went to the house in Montgomery Avenue seeking something she lacked at home. Maybe it was guilt that brought her to mind, but Pearly didn’t waste time on that. What was done was done. Yet moral unease was there, a small, dark and growing canker.