other times when his nature was in eclipse.
‘We’ll fix up a nice shark-proof pool for ourselves,’ he said. ‘We own the water frontage. It’s crazy not to be able to cool off when we come down. If you can’t have a dip here, surrounded by water, what’s the sense? We’d be better to stay home and go to the beach, in this weather.’
‘Three cheers!’ Del said. ‘When do we start?’
The seasons changed. When the nights grew colder, Mr Shaw built huge log fires in the sitting room. If his mood permitted, these fires were the cause of his being teased, and he liked very much to be teased.
Charmed by his own idiosyncrasy, he would pile the wood higher and higher, so that the walls and ceiling shone and flickered with the flames, and the whole room crackled like a furnace on the point of explosion. Faces scorching, they would rush to throw open the windows, then they’d fling open the doors, dying for air. Soon the chairs nearest the fire would begin to smoke and then everyone would leap outside to the dark veranda, crimson and choking. Mr Shaw laughed and coughed till he was hoarse, wiping his eyes.
For the first few months, visitors were nonexistent, but one night on the ferry the Shaws struck up a friendship with some people called the Rivers, who had just bought a cottage next door. They came round one Saturday night to play poker and have supper, and in no time weekly visits to each other’s house were established as routine. Grace and Jack Rivers were relaxed and entertaining company. Their easy good nature fascinated the Shaws, who looked forward to these meetings seriously, as if the Rivers were a sort of rest cure ordered by a specialist, from which they might pick up some health.
‘It was too good to last,’ Mrs Shaw said later. ‘People are so funny.’
The Rivers’ son, Martin, completed his army training and went down to stay on the island for a month before returning to his marine-engineering course at a technical college in town. He and Del met sometimes and talked, but she had not gone sailing with him when he asked her, nor was she tempted to walk across the island to visit his friends who had a pool.
‘Why not?’ he asked.
‘Oh, well…’ She looked down at the dusty garden from the veranda where they stood. ‘I have to paint those chairs this afternoon.’
‘ Have to?’ Martin had a young, open, slightly freckled face. Del looked at him, feeling old, not knowing how to explain how complicated it would be to extricate herself from the house, and her mother and father. He would never understand the drama, the astonishment, that would accompany her statement to them. Even if, eventually, they said, ‘Go, go!’ recovering from their shock, her own joylessness and fatigue were so clear to her in anticipation that she had no desire even to test her strength in the matter.
But one Saturday night, over a game of cards, Martin asked her parents if he might take her the next night to a party across the bay. A friend of his, Noel Stacey, had a birthday to celebrate.
Del looked at him with mild surprise. He had asked her. She had refused.
Her father laughed a lot at this request as though it were very funny, or silly, or misguided, or simply impossible. It turned out that it was impossible. They had to get back to Sydney early on Sunday night.
If they did have to, it was unprecedented, and news to Del. But she looked at her father with no surprise at all.
Martin said, ‘Well, it’ll be a good party,’ and gave her a quizzical grin. But his mother turned quite pink, and his father cleared his throat gruffly several times. The game broke up a little earlier than usual, and, as it happened, was the last one they ever had together.
Not knowing that it was to be so, however, Mrs Shaw was pleased that the matter had been dealt with so kindly and firmly. ‘What a funny boy!’ she said later, a little coyly, to Del.
‘Is he?’ she said indifferently.
‘One of the new
‘We’ll fix up a nice shark-proof pool for ourselves,’ he said. ‘We own the water frontage. It’s crazy not to be able to cool off when we come down. If you can’t have a dip here, surrounded by water, what’s the sense? We’d be better to stay home and go to the beach, in this weather.’
‘Three cheers!’ Del said. ‘When do we start?’
The seasons changed. When the nights grew colder, Mr Shaw built huge log fires in the sitting room. If his mood permitted, these fires were the cause of his being teased, and he liked very much to be teased.
Charmed by his own idiosyncrasy, he would pile the wood higher and higher, so that the walls and ceiling shone and flickered with the flames, and the whole room crackled like a furnace on the point of explosion. Faces scorching, they would rush to throw open the windows, then they’d fling open the doors, dying for air. Soon the chairs nearest the fire would begin to smoke and then everyone would leap outside to the dark veranda, crimson and choking. Mr Shaw laughed and coughed till he was hoarse, wiping his eyes.
For the first few months, visitors were nonexistent, but one night on the ferry the Shaws struck up a friendship with some people called the Rivers, who had just bought a cottage next door. They came round one Saturday night to play poker and have supper, and in no time weekly visits to each other’s house were established as routine. Grace and Jack Rivers were relaxed and entertaining company. Their easy good nature fascinated the Shaws, who looked forward to these meetings seriously, as if the Rivers were a sort of rest cure ordered by a specialist, from which they might pick up some health.
‘It was too good to last,’ Mrs Shaw said later. ‘People are so funny.’
The Rivers’ son, Martin, completed his army training and went down to stay on the island for a month before returning to his marine-engineering course at a technical college in town. He and Del met sometimes and talked, but she had not gone sailing with him when he asked her, nor was she tempted to walk across the island to visit his friends who had a pool.
‘Why not?’ he asked.
‘Oh, well…’ She looked down at the dusty garden from the veranda where they stood. ‘I have to paint those chairs this afternoon.’
‘ Have to?’ Martin had a young, open, slightly freckled face. Del looked at him, feeling old, not knowing how to explain how complicated it would be to extricate herself from the house, and her mother and father. He would never understand the drama, the astonishment, that would accompany her statement to them. Even if, eventually, they said, ‘Go, go!’ recovering from their shock, her own joylessness and fatigue were so clear to her in anticipation that she had no desire even to test her strength in the matter.
But one Saturday night, over a game of cards, Martin asked her parents if he might take her the next night to a party across the bay. A friend of his, Noel Stacey, had a birthday to celebrate.
Del looked at him with mild surprise. He had asked her. She had refused.
Her father laughed a lot at this request as though it were very funny, or silly, or misguided, or simply impossible. It turned out that it was impossible. They had to get back to Sydney early on Sunday night.
If they did have to, it was unprecedented, and news to Del. But she looked at her father with no surprise at all.
Martin said, ‘Well, it’ll be a good party,’ and gave her a quizzical grin. But his mother turned quite pink, and his father cleared his throat gruffly several times. The game broke up a little earlier than usual, and, as it happened, was the last one they ever had together.
Not knowing that it was to be so, however, Mrs Shaw was pleased that the matter had been dealt with so kindly and firmly. ‘What a funny boy!’ she said later, a little coyly, to Del.
‘Is he?’ she said indifferently.
‘One of the new
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