Tim by Colleen McCullough Page B

of a pub, a garage, two men, and a dog; now it’s jammed with commuters and vacationers, there must be sixty thousand of them at least, it seems…’
    She trailed off nervously, glancing sidelong at him in sudden embarrassment. There she was, trying to make conversation with him as though he was somewhat like the person she imagined his mother might be. In his turn he was trying to be an interested auditor, snatching his fascinated glance away from the passing landscape every so often to fix his bright, loving eyes on her profile.
    ‘Poor Tim,’ she sighed. ‘Don’t take any notice of me, just relax and look out the window.’
    For a long time after that there was silence. Tim was obviously enjoying the journey, turned side on with his nose almost against the window, not missing a thing, and it made her wonder just how much variety there was in his life, how often he was lifted out of what must be a very humdrum existence.
    ‘Does your father have a car, Tim?’
    He didn’t bother to turn and face her this time, but continued to look out the window. ‘No, he says it’s a waste of time and money in the city. He says it’s much healthier to walk, and much less trouble to catch the bus when you need to ride in something.’
    ‘Does anyone ever take you out for a drive?’
    ‘Not very often. I get carsick.’
    She turned her head to stare at him, alarmed. ‘How do you feel now? Do you feel sick?’
    ‘No, I feel good. This car doesn’t bump me up and down like most cars, and anyway, I’m in the front not the back, so it doesn’t bump as much, does it?’
    ‘Very good, Tim! That’s quite right. If you should feel sick you’ll tell me in plenty of time, though, won’t you? It isn’t very nice if you make a mess in the car.’
    ‘I promise I’ll tell you, Mary, because you never yell at me or get cranky.’
    She laughed. ‘Now, Tim! Don’t be martyrish! I’m quite sure no one yells at you or gets cranky with you very often, and only then if you deserve it.’
    ‘Well, yes,’ he grinned. ‘But Mum gets real mad if I’m sick all over everything.’
    ‘I don’t blame her in the least. I’d get real mad too, so you must be sure to tell me if you ever feel sick, and then hang on until you get outside. All right?’
    ‘All right, Mary.’
    After a little while Mary cleared her throat and spoke again. ‘Have you ever been out of the city, Tim?’
    He shook his head.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘I dunno. I don’t think there was anything Mum and Pop wanted to see outside the city.’
    ‘And Dawnie?’
    ‘My Dawnie goes all over the place, she’s even been to England.’ He made it sound as though England were just around the corner.
    ‘What about holidays, when you were a little boy?’
    ‘We always stayed at home. Mum and Pop don’t like the bush, they only like the city.’
    ‘Well, Tim, I come down to my cottage very often, and you can always come too. Perhaps later on I can take you to the desert or the Great Barrier Reef for a real holiday.’
    But he wasn’t paying any attention to her, for they were coming down to the Hawkesbury River, and the view was magnificent.
    ‘Oh, isn’t it lovely ?’ he exclaimed, wriggling on the seat and gripping his hands together convulsively the way he always did when he was moved or upset.
    Mary was oblivious of everything except a sudden pain, a pain so new and alien that she had no real idea why she should feel it. The poor, sad fellow! Somehow events had conspired to stunt his every avenue of expansion and mental growth. His parents cared for him very much, but their lives were narrow and their horizons restricted to the Sydney skyline. In all justice she could not find it in her heart to blame them for not realizing that Tim could never hope to get as much out of their kind of life as they did themselves. It had simply never occurred to them to wonder whether he was truly happy or not, because he was happy. But could he perhaps be happier still? What would he