‘I asked her if we could get together to discuss the port development project and the hospital radiography initiative. We need everyone on-side. If we’re not unified, the government will just stall, say we’re not committed.’

‘But who could logically oppose either project?’ said Helen.

‘Everything’s more difficult in election year. People duck-shoving and posturing, and a lot of folk criticise change just for the sake of it. It’s easier to pick holes in other people’s ideas than come up with your own.’

A breeze had begun, and the umbrella filled out with it and then relaxed again. The Pratt girls no longer arose like cut-outs from behind the hedge, and the shadows were assuming the purple shimmer of twilight. As a young man, Pearly had enjoyed going for a run on such evenings. Sometimes with rugby mates, but most often, and most enjoyably, alone. Running through the side streets and up into the park, past the duck pond, through the oaks and macrocarpas, along the reservoir road and back to a home a good deal more modest than the present one. The rhythm of it, the shortened stride on the hills, the quick sweat that comes with fitness, the faded cap, the watch-check on his time afterwards. At his peak, when Pearly was a representative player, he had reached a level of physical capability and confidence that was almost euphoria, though he’d never told anybody that, not even his wife. A feeling he’d also experienced sometimes as he stood within the team waiting for kick-off: a sense of focused energy, body and mind in tune.