Chapter 19

WHEN HE RETURNED to the tourist park, Manolis heard Rex and Vera arguing inside their cabin. He couldn’t make out what they were saying but their tone was unquestionable. She seemed to be contributing most to the discussion, her voice shrill and hectoring like fingernails on a blackboard. It bounced off the walls of their cabin, which had its doors and windows closed tight. Manolis considered knocking on the sliding door and asking if everything was okay, but in the end decided that a mental note would suffice. They were private citizens on their own property, and no one had complained about the noise. And besides, he was too dog-tired to deal with a bloody domestic.

He made a toasted cheese sandwich, ripped through it, ravenous. As the stale bread dissolved in his stomach, he savoured his nightly smoke on the verandah and regarded the night sky. Constellations emerged like a photograph sinking into a bath of developer, gradually becoming known to the eye. Every drooping gumleaf, every dry blade of grass, every rooftop was soon etched in radiant silver starlight. It was almost as if the moon was out.

Hearing Rex and Vera quarrel made Manolis’s mind wander, and he was grateful to put Molly out of his thoughts for a while. He considered the institution of marriage, of a life solely shared with one other, as his parents had shared theirs for some fifty years. In that time, he’d seen peaks and troughs, happiness and sadness, joy and frustration. He pondered his own marriage – or, at least, the union that had once been. No doubt his neighbours had heard them arguing too, often late at night.

Emily was a quiet, introspective solicitor whom Manolis had met working on a case. Her forebears hailed from the British Isles as so-called Ten Pound Poms. The cracks of their relationship, their marriage, which they’d once successfully plastered over with work and ignorance, had become gaping chasms with the arrival of children. It was the sleepless nights, the perpetual lack of time, and the extra duties and responsibilities. Manolis had expected it all but was never fully prepared. Having been one herself, Maria had warned her son to marry ‘a good Greek girl’ and have ‘good Greek babies’. He had ignored her. Now, for the rest of their lives, she would always be right.

Manolis stubbed out his cigarette with minor disgust and went inside. He showered, flopped onto his mattress and was asleep in seconds.

His possum returned later that night, rousing him from a deep sleep with a clatter of cutlery. He was pleased to see that it had escaped the wrath of the car fire and returned with the same curiosity and hunger. Its damp eyes were clear and trusting.

‘Hey there, buddy. Good to see you’re okay. Want a snack? I’ve got a real treat for you tonight.’