‘Look at this,’ Adelaide’s husband said quite late on Sunday night when the light had no right still being on. They had stayed up too late watching that lovely Alisa Camplin on the tele, and it was Monday tomorrow with business shirts to iron and school lunches to be made. ‘Phillip Adams telling the world he was Kerry Packer’s long-time confidant.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Is there anyone in the world that man hasn’t had a close encounter with?’ He cleared his throat again. ‘Except me of course.’
‘And me,’ Adelaide said, but her husband didn’t reply.
Adelaide’s husband – an increasingly bitter man – threw the magazine to the end of the bed then picked up his copy of BRW.
Sometimes, Adelaide worried that she didn’t understand her husband anymore.
She leaned down, picked up the magazine and skimmed the article. It really was getting late so she read just the first few paragraphs, then skipped to the last.
‘Look,’ she said. ‘Phillip Adams reckons Jamie and Gretel are polite, delightful kids.’ She smiled. ‘I think that’s nice,’ she said. ‘I think that’s a nice way to end.’
Her husband just coughed, then turned out the light.