WEATHER STATIONS

with her. It was only after I’d lost her that I worked it out. We’d spent more time away
from each other, more nights in those years in separate beds than where we should have
been, in each others arms.’
I felt I should say something. I wanted to tell Jack that I was sure they had loved each
other very much, and that their time together would more than have made up for the
nights apart. But I couldn’t say it. I felt that I did not know him well enough to do so.
And besides, we were men, so I said what was expected of men on such occasions.
‘You were out there working hard, Jack, for both of you. I’m sure she would have
understood.’
He looked into the bottom of his mug as he thought about what I had said.
‘We both understood,’ he finally answered. ‘You might be right. But it changes
nothing. Those nights apart add up to years of separation. Wasted years.’
It was early last Spring that I first noticed a change in Jack. I was at the mailbox one
morning when he shouted out to me from across the hedge. ‘Ron! Hey Ronnie boy!’
He smiled and waved at me, before quickly looking away. He appeared confused and
embarrassed. I walked around the hedge. Jack was scuffing the ground with the toe of
his boot as he studied a bare patch of grass in his lawn.
‘Jack. Are you okay?’
He would not look up at me. ‘Yeah. I’m right, son. I was just thinking about
something. Don’t you mind me. I’m just an old fool.’
In the following weeks I had to return several of Jack’s tools after he confided in me
that he’d misplaced a hammer or saw — ‘I don’t want to be a nuisance but have you one I
can borrow for a few days?’
I also noticed that he was slowing down, and walked down to the beach with me less
often. When I knocked at his door one morning in early summer, there was no answer
from Jack. That had not happened before.
I made my way down to the gap in the back fence alone, with the binocular case
hanging from a leather strap around my neck. When I reached the ridge above the beach
I took the glasses out of the case and scanned the horizon. There were plenty of birds
around, seagulls mostly, but no sign of Jack’s Arctic Tern.
Were Jack with me he would have asked ‘anything out there today?’
After I’d replied, as I always did, ‘nothing this morning, Jack’, he would have become
momentarily disappointed before lifting his spirits. ‘Tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow.’
After searching the sky I walked down through the sand hills and along the beach to
the spot where Jack was certain the bird would eventually return. It was not there. When
I turned for home I noticed someone on the beach in the distance, walking away from
me. Although I was surprised to spot his wiry frame I was certain it was Jack. I lifted the
glasses. He was heading for the surf beach.
As I ran towards him I called out ‘Jack! Jack!’
He did not look around until I was almost alongside of him. He studied me closely,
even a little suspiciously. ‘Ronnie? Ronnie?’ He took a step back. ‘Ronnie Boy? Well, I’ll
be buggered. Where have you been all this time?’
I offered him an open hand. ‘Sorry, Jack, but I missed you this morning. Must have
slept in. Come on. Let’s walk back to the house together.’
He searched along the beach, to where some teenage boys were laying on a grass
embankment above the surf beach. With their dark wetsuits glistening in the sun they
resembled a colony of seals.
Jack then turned and looked in the direction we had come from. He stared down
at the sand, at the impression his footprints had made just a few minutes earlier. He
followed their journey back along the beach as an incoming wave slid gently across the
THE TERN
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