7Vince strode angrily from the room, his head buzzing. What was with that psychoanalysis? Sarah was a pathologist, not a bloody shrink. Soft and caring—what a load of crap! The compassionate approach hadn’t served him too well in the past, so when he’d moved down to Warrnambool he’d dispensed with it all together—just like giving up s*x. Or drinking.
The only exceptions to Vince’s emotion-free zone were his kids. He still loved them unreservedly, but at a distance—three hours away up the Princes Highway. And of course, there was Lydia too, and they were just on a break, right? Otherwise he had no time for sentimentality. The occasional, evocative Paul Kelly song could test him out a bit, but that was more maudlin than meaningful. As for him being paranoid … s**t, with a maternal death and
