Where the Light Falls Read Online Free

everything’s okay then?’ Her tone was tentative, as if she was aware she was asking for too much. His mother had never met Dom and he tried to keep their relationship to himself. He wanted to hold on to this new privacy he’d acquired from living abroad. His mother had lost her husband at a young age and seemed determined, since then, to know everything she could about Andrew, as though knowing the details might prevent another loss. He couldn’t bring himself to speak to her about Kirsten straight away. He’d always felt he could not mention death to his mother without reminding her of the death they both lived by.
    ‘When’s your opening?’
    ‘Mid-March. I have to send the galleries all the images by the end of the month.’
    ‘That soon?’
    He nodded and they both looked at the calendar on the wall. It was the third of February; he’d lost a day in transit.
    She sighed heavily. ‘How long are you staying?’
    ‘I’m flying back next Saturday. Is that okay with you?’
    ‘That soon? Of course,’ she said.
    They spoke easily about other things: his mother’s sister, the walk-in wardrobes she’d recently had installed. He told her that the tenants in his apartment in Darlinghurst were moving out in two weeks and the agent would be advertising for new ones. Though he couldn’t always be open with his mother, he felt at least that around her, he never had to pretend; he didn’t have to project the air of confidence that the rest of the world expected of him. He felt the same way around Dom.

4
    He arranged to meet Stewart the following afternoon at the Nag’s Head in Glebe, the pub they used to drink at when they were students. If he had someone he could call a best friend, a friend who had travelled with him for life, Stewart was it, though they saw each other rarely now. When they were still at school, Stewart had lived on the other side of Parramatta Road in Petersham and for many years they had spent the afternoons together, until Andrew discovered photography and it changed the way he related to the people around him. He always made a point of seeing Stewart when he was back in Sydney, even when he had very little time. Their lives had run at parallels and seeing Stewart each time he returned had become a way of measuring himself.
    He walked in through the front bar, hearing the familiar sound of glasses shuddering together as the barman lifted a tray of schooners onto a stack, and took a seat at a small table near the beer garden. On the wall above the table was a picture of an English hunting scene, men in red coats riding horses with beagles trailing at their heels. Ahead of them, foxes ran with their heads turned back towards their pursuers, gaunt flashes of red, the whites of their eyes holding an awareness of their fate.
    Stewart arrived wearing a business shirt with the top button undone; a tie dangled from the left pocket of his pants. Since he’d graduated from university, Stewart looked to be permanently straining; the muscles around his neck were thick, giving him a top-heavy appearance, and he walked with his head down, as though peering over a ledge. Over the years his hair had turned slowly and prematurely grey. Stewart lifted his satchel over his shoulder and they hugged awkwardly, patting each other forcefully on the back.
    ‘I wasn’t expecting you to come home so soon,’ Stewart said, when he came back to their table with two beers.
    ‘How was the wedding?’ he asked without meeting Stewart’s gaze. Stewart had been married six months ago and Andrew had not flown back for the wedding. Instead he’d sent an email apologising. Break a leg , he’d written, as though the whole thing were a performance for Stewart’s family and friends.
    ‘Oh, great, man. It was just a big party. You know, an expensive party,’ Stewart said, and laughed. ‘It would have been great if you could have made it.’
    Andrew had explained at the time that he was too busy preparing for his upcoming