‘A corker of a night,’ says the Caretaker. Wellington has been known to have such a night. No wind at all to set the stars swinging and the scent of the Caretaker’s pipe rises undisturbed and so more pungently than usual. Slaven has his face to the window grill as if at confession and watches the car lights turning beyond the darkened courtyard. They are talking of places far away from the Beckley-Waite. Slaven recalls fishing in the southern shingle rivers. The Caretaker describes his boyhood at Ruby Bay and Mahakipawa. It said in the paper you had a breakdown because of emotional fatigue.’ ‘I’m here to leave the field clear for others,’ says Slaven. ‘Nicely parked until after the elections, I suspect.’ ‘Your wife and others are kicking up a fuss.’Yes, how easy to imagine Kellie, so resolute in facing the threat of things gone wrong. As she uses stakes to train the branches of a weeping cherry, she makes plans to counter the massive working of political enmity.
