Adrian was in Carlton that Monday, in Readings Bookshop, looking at the contents pages of the latest literary journals. He was looking for a woman’s name and the story she would have written. The name he was looking for was Lucy Childs. Even though she was married now, he knew she would still write under her own name. In fact she was probably still listed in the telephone directory under her own name. He knew she was that sort of woman.

In the first year or so after Adrian had moved out of the house in Port Melbourne he had often strolled into bookshops and browsed across the shelves of newly released titles before admitting to himself why he was really there. Then he would scan the names on the contents pages in Meanjin, Overland, Westerly and any other journals he could see, hoping to find Lucy Childs and hoping not to find Lucy Childs.