Gordon made a face. Since Ben had been diagnosed with mild attention deficit hyperactivity disorder at the age of nine, Gordon had fought a rearguard action against the medical recommendations that paediatricians and Kelly thought were simple common sense. For six draining years of their marriage, the arguments had sat as entrenched as the Western Front, a few inches gained one month only to be given up the next, the defender always at a natural advantage to the aggressor. Pure attrition, fought over the same patch: Ben’s all-precious membrane of self-esteem. Gordon argued that the Vyvanse pills were low self-esteem in a bottle. Kelly countered that Ben’s self-esteem was already taking a battering from the daily reminders that, due to his sparrow-like attention span, he was limited intellectually and ostracised socially. The ship of his self-esteem had sailed, she said. When Ben, at fifteen, finally asked if he could give the pills a try, Gordon surrendered. So now Ben was swallowing a daily dose of slow-release dexamphetamine. The doctor had said with professional slyness, ‘It’s only a trial, and if it doesn’t work, you can stop it.’ Kelly had used enough amphetamines over the years to know that they worked. Oh boy, did they work. Ben’s attention and school results improved, his popularity rose a notch, and he could now almost catch a cricket ball.

‘You can’t say he always takes my side,’ Gordon said, reading her mind. ‘Does he talk to you about it?’

‘The Vyvanse?’ Kelly shook her head, her aggression dissipating into forlornness. ‘He used to, but now he doesn’t talk to me about anything. Listen to this. I ran into Jude Oxenford on my way home this afternoon. She was talking to Stoyle and your mate Frontal. Jude says it’s a real problem. Kids on uppers halve their doses and make some cash.’

‘Dealing ADHD drugs? Jesus. Not Ben, though?’ He gave her a stricken look, silently asking her, if the answer was bad, to please lie.

‘It seems not, but he’s one of the few boys who aren’t. They live in a different world, Gordon. Ben hit puberty and we turned one hundred. We’re losing him.’ Life sometimes seemed like one long struggle to reverse time: Bluebird time, family time, Kelly time, her-and-Ben time. She was nostalgic for their mother-son intimacy even before it was fully gone. ‘And he’s losing us.’

‘You know he reckons I should move Up North and leave him with you,’ Gordon said. ‘I felt gut-shot.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence!’

‘You know what I mean.’