THEY LEFT HOBART as dusk was falling. Not an orange dusk with stiff black silhouettes but a green dusk, slightly shaky, not quite sure whether it was day or night. Their car was new and European. Harold guided it through the Battery Point laneways with just his fingertips. At this rate, thought Eadie, they were going to miss the ferry. ‘Wouldn’t need the goddamn ferry if they build that bridge,’ Harold said, turning to her. ‘Would have happened years ago, on the mainland.’

Years ago, on the mainland. Eadie mouthed the words as she checked her lipstick in the sunvisor. In years gone by, she would have yanked at the rear view mirror, waggling her lipstick back and forth, exciting Harold even as she riled him. Now she was grateful for passenger seat luxuries. Their first car had had bench seats.