It is long, this road, and winding, comes out of the bush to follow the ragged edge of the ocean, the cut and turn of the cliffs. The moon lies low beside them, picks out the white froth of waves with its light. Rafe Bell locks the car into autodrive and opens the windows. The cabin fills with the smell of the sea, loses the metallic tang of the city. Rafe breathes it in deeply, can’t get enough of it. For the first time he feels relief. Did I do the right thing? he asks himself as he drives. Was there any other way? He looks at Rose, his wife, sleeping beside him, and knows there was not. The road swings out away from the cliffs, a concrete flyover above ocean. For a moment it is as though they are not driving at all, but soaring through the empty sky. The moon is a shining plate before them, the night a gentle world of sea and stars. The land again, the cliffs, the humming road. They climb a hill and Rafe sees in the rear-vision mirror the distant city as a silvery glow emerging from black bushland.
