They're All Plumbers Working in Mosman?
They're All Plumbers Working in Mosman? The tea had gone cold an hour ago, but nobody at the table seemed to notice. Gerald was mid-sentence, his hands sketching invisible pipework in the air above the scones. "—so the pressure differential was never the problem. Everyone kept pointing at the pressure differential. I said, no, you've got a root system infiltrating the joint, and roots don't care about your differentials. Roots care about water and darkness and time." "And time," repeated Marcus, nodding gravely, as though this were a line of scripture. The conversation had begun, as these Thursday afternoons always did, with birds. Specifically, with the pair of tawny frogmouths that had taken up residence in the jacaranda behind the Mosman Bowling Club . Zelda had brought photographs. She always brought photographs, printed at the chemist on Military Road , because she didn't trust phones to do justice to a bird. The frogmouths sat like broken br...
