There was a letter from her mother on the mat. Justine stooped to pick it up, dropped her bag and wrap where it had lain, her shoes nearby, and went into the living room. She sat down heavily on a packing crate, chewing at her lip, her eyes resting for a moment in wondering, bewildered pity on a magnificent head-and shoulders study of Dane taken to commemorate his ordination. Then she caught her bare toes in the act of caressing the rolled-up kangaroo-fur rug, grimaced in distaste and got up quickly. A short walk to the kitchen, that was what she needed. So she took a short walk to the kitchen, where she opened the refrigerator, reached for the cream jug, opened the freezer door and withdrew a can of filter coffee. With one hand on the cold-water tap to run water for her coffee, she looked around wide-eyed, as if she had never seen the room before. Looked at the flaws in the wallpaper, at the smug philodendron in its basket hung from the ceiling, at the, black pussy-cat clock wagging its tail and rolling its eyes at the spectacle of time being so frivolously frittered away. PACK HAIRBRUSH, said the blackboard in large capitals. On the table lay a pencil sketch of Rain she had done some weeks ago. And a packet of cigarettes. She took oneand lit it, put the kettle on the stove and remembered her mother's letter, which was still screwed up in one hand. May as well read it while the water heated. She sat down at the kitchen table, flipped the drawing of Rain onto the floor and planted her feet on top of it. Up yours, too, Rainer Moerling Hartheim! See if I care, you great dogmatic leather-coated Kraut twit. Got no further use for me, eh? Well, nor have I for you!
My dear Justine [said Meggie]
No doubt you're proceeding with your usual impulsive speed, so I hope this reaches you in time. If anything I've said lately in my letters has caused this sudden decision of yours, please forgive me. I didn't mean to provoke such a drastic reaction. I suppose I was simply looking for a bit of sympathy, but I always forget that under that tough skin of yours, you're pretty soft.
Yes, I'm lonely, terribly so. Yet it isn't anything your coming home could possibly rectify. If you stop to think for a moment, you'll see how true that is. What do you hope to accomplish by coming home? It isn't within your power to restore to me what I've lost, and you can't make reparation either. Nor is it purely my loss. It's your loss too, and Nanna's, and all the rest. You seem to have an idea, and it's quite a mistaken idea, that in some way you were responsible. This present impulse looks to me suspiciously like an act of contrition. That's pride and presumption, Justine. Dane was a grown man, not a helpless baby. 1 let him go, didn't I? If I had let myself feel the way you do, I'd be sitting here blaming myself into a mental asylum because I had permitted him to live his own life. But I'm not sitting here blaming myself. We're none of us God, though I think I've had more chance to learn that than you.
In coming home, you're handing me your life like a sacrifice. 1 don't want it. I never have wanted it. And I refuse it now. You don't belong on Drogheda, you never did. If you still haven't worked out where you do belong, I suggest you sit down right this minute and start some serious thinking. Sometimes you really are awfully dense. Rainer is a very nice man, but I've never yet met a man who could possibly be as altruistic as you seem to think he is. For Dane's sake indeed! Do grow up, Justine! My dearest one, a light has gone out. For all of us, a light has gone out. And there's absolutely nothing you can do about it, don't you understand? I'm not insulting you by trying to pretend I'm perfectly happy. Such isn't the human condition. But if you think we here on Drogheda spend our days weeping and wailing, you're quite wrong. We enjoy our days, and one of the main reasons why is that our lights for you still burn. Dane's light is gone forever. Please, dear Justine, try to . accept that. Come home to Drogheda by all means, we'd love to see you. But not for good. You'd never be happy settled here permanently. It is not only a needless sacrifice for you to make, but a useless one. In your sort of career, even a year spent away from it would cost you dearly. So stay where you belong, be a good citizen of your world.
The pain. It was like those first few days after Dane died. The same sort of futile, wasted, unavoidable pain. The same anguished impotence. No, of course there was nothing she could do. No way of making up, no way. Scream! The kettle was whistling already. Hush, kettle, hush! Hush for Mummy! How does it feel to be Mummy's only child, kettle? Ask Justine, she knows. Yes, Justine knows all about being the only child. But I'm not the child she wants, that poor fading old woman back on the ranch. Oh, Mum! Oh, Mum . . . Do you think if I humanly could, I wouldn't? New lamps for old, my life for his! It isn't fair, that Dane was the one to die .... She's right. My going back to Drogheda can't alter the fact that he never can. Though he lies there forever, he never can. A light has gone out, and I can't rekindle it. But I see what she means. My light still burns in her. Only not on Drogheda.