Long derided as living among bleeding-heart ‘doctor’s wives’, Sharon had grown into her Paddington life-style. A latte and pannini for breakfast at Gustos, and then a hoof up the hill to meet Annabel at the gallery in Mary Street. Sharon had worked hard to get to this juncture in her life.
Whereas her brother, Jason, was still mired in the bogan-suburbs out west, living in housing commission streets and surviving on welfare cheques and beneath the counter payments for two shifts a week at the Royal in Bridge Road. Jason had always dreamed small. It was not that he mixed with the wrong crowd – he WAS the wrong crowd.
It was hard to credit that they were from a strong family unit, attended church together each Sunday, played tennis and voted County Party. Who is to know the many faceted contribution of nature and nurture in this enduring human tale?