Lucasta Wellbury didn’t think much of the architecture and buildings of Melbourne she saw on the way from the airport. But she didn't mind. That wasn't important. Jason seemed happier, which was. The black despair had gone. She had no illusions about grief, and anyway came from a generation which gave it its proper respect and space. She knew Jason would always love Brent. She'd seen them together and she'd seen how they looked at each other when no one else was looking. She'd seen their body language together, the unmistakable ties which connect a loving couple. And she'd watched Jason's bleak self-disgust after Brent killed himself. His mother had been quite useless and his father … well he was her son, and she loved him, but there was no getting away from it, he wouldn't argue with his wife. Her icy silences and poisonous sulks made life for everyone a misery—unless she got her way. Always.
Lucasta had tried hard to provide the motherly love her grandchildren needed and weren't getting from their mother. It wasn't always easy. Their mother combined a solipsistic perspective of all that happened around her but was also jealous of the relationship her children had with their grandmother. Jason and Amanda were closer to their grandmother than Mark was. Lucasta should have loved Mark more, because he was the spitting image in every way of her own son. Instead she found him too conservative and conventional. She wondered why women became more unconventional and ready to break the unwritten rules as they got older, while men became on the whole more conservative and crusty.
She dozed. She was tired. She wasn't as young as she'd been, it was true.
Episodes 1 to 220 (without pictures, 10 episodes per chapter)