Pearly knew the owner well, and using Kylie’s phone he quickly discussed the situation, emphasising Charlotte’s suitability. Clifford wasn’t worried about the house remaining vacant, but to please Pearly he agreed on a short-term occupancy for a low rent. Pearly told him it was probably a good thing security wise to have someone in there while he worked on the subdivision. Kylie heard all of Pearly’s side of the conversation, and although she said nothing, she gave him a thumbs-up as he went back to his office, and Pearly felt satisfaction at being a benefactor, even in such a small way. ‘I think it might work out,’ he told Charlotte. ‘If it suits I could meet you there tomorrow morning for a look-see. Another thing is that it’s not far from your son’s school.’

‘That’s so kind,’ she said. ‘I’d like to see the place. My husband doesn’t mind me still being in our home, but I need to make the move for all sorts of reasons. We’ve both decided on a clean cut and a start on a new life.’ Her tone was brisk, but Pearly noticed her hands clasping and unclasping in her lap. He expected her to say the separation was amicable. That was what people said — amicable. The term a social shield for personal disillusionment and emotional struggles too damaging to admit.

He went with Charlotte to the street entrance and watched her walk away. She moved well, with grace and balance. As a sportsman, Pearly noticed such natural accomplishment in both men and women, and unconsciously it influenced his assessment of them. He was quick to notice the person who was pigeon toed, or splay footed, hunched, ungainly, or plodding — any clumsiness. He liked her hair too, long, dark and loose in the wind as if a claim to freedom. Back at Kylie’s desk, Pearly confirmed further obligations for the next day and then returned to his own office, to routine transactions and procedures that were as familiar as a merry-go-round tune.

On his way home later Pearly felt a little down without quite knowing why. His day had been much as usual, but he was aware of a slight drag on his spirits, a sense of a dull spiral of trivial repetition. Normally he was of a positive frame of mind. Must be the bloody wind, he thought, and then aloud, ‘I’m sixty-four.’ It was involuntary, disconnected, and surprised him. ‘So?’ he answered himself, and smiled.