A light flashed in the front window-dial a windscreen had arrived. Normally, I’d have gone out to watch them work and thanked them for their efforts, but the reverses of the day had soured me. I stood at the window and watched their efficient movements as they suctioned out the broken glass and fitted the new windscreen and window. Two men performed the operation inside thirty minutes. They took the cheque, locked the doors and went on their way. I envied them the simplicity and usefulness of their line of work.
It was close to eleven o’clock when I finally got through to Glen. She sounded tired and told me she’d had a hell of a day defending some of her liberal positions on firearms and the use of vehicles. ‘How was your day?’ she said.
What could I say? I couldn’t tell her about the plastic gun and the real one. She’d have reported the theft immediately, whatever I said. I told her the day had been dull apart from a broken windscreen.
‘Shit. Were you hurt?’
‘No, no. Cost a couple of hundred bucks though.’
‘Look, Cliff, I’m going to have to stay another night. There’s a new intake I have to talk to and some other things to do.’
‘OK, but I won’t be here the day after. I’ve got to go up to the Blue Mountains.’
‘For how long?’
‘I don’t know.’
It was one of those difficult moments we encountered from time to time. She didn’t expect me to tell her what I was doing. I wanted to but we both knew it wouldn’t work. It was an uncomfortable thing, especially over the phone.