As he strode across the forecourt towards the escalators, Andrew reflected upon the divide that had opened over time between himself and his brother. Harold, as the elder of the four sons, had inherited the family property out beyond Coonabarrabran. Being a rural family from conservative Presbyterian parents, this was the only pathway considered.
Andrew, even now, is astounded at his relief that the chips fell that way. Harold is a shell of a man, a bachelor who works like a dog, and lives for his dogs. As nominal head of a broad family, he neither communicates nor participates. Love has shrivelled inside, just as his body has withered outside.
Andrew tugged the wheels from the grip of the jaws of the escalator, shaking his head at the grim task which lay ahead of him. Convincing Harold would be neither easy nor pleasant. However, choice was no longer an option.