57
The air was brisk, and the rainclouds looked like tattered flags. The sun was the colour of an open wound. Sydney did not have its best face on. On the tarmac, Tom climbed into his car.
“Hey, Henry!”
“Hey, Tom.”
“Not impressed with this weather, Henry.”
“Beyond my control mate. Straight home? And pick up tomorrow?”
“Yes, home, mate. Tomorrow we’ll have to play by ear. You going home after dropping me off or do they work you twenty-four seven?”
“Always on call, Tom, but I get breaks, sometimes two weeks in a row, sometimes months.”
“Must be hard on your wife.”
“Only when I’m home, Tom,” Henry said, smiling.
Henry remained quiet for the remainder of the drive. Rain began to beat down. He drove up to the house. The lights were on in every room and in the garage. How many times ha
