‘I’m not allowed.’ The man ducked his head and crossed the room to sit on a sawhorse. Gordon perched on the windowsill, negotiating a clear space. Ben felt like a bug that had flown into a spider web in the thickening air between his dad and this man.

‘Doctors or publicans?’ Gordon asked.

‘Both,’ the man said with a cough. ‘My meds interact with alcohol. Probably bullshit. What they don’t realise is that if I was worried about the interaction, I’d just give up the meds. But yeah, I went into the front bar last night and drank lemon squash and still got banned. Or it might have been the enforcement of a pre-existing ban. Ah well. And this is Ben, right? Lucky he got his looks from his mother.’

Ben’s dad appeared to have only just noticed him. It was like this man had eaten up Gordon’s field of vision.

‘Hi, mate. How did your cricket go?’

‘Wait, what?’

‘How did your cricket match go?’

‘We won.’

‘You said hello to your uncle Carl?’

‘What?’

Gordon shot a worried glance at this Carl man. This Uncle. Ben could see the words spoken by their eyes.

‘He only beat you by a minute,’ Carl said. ‘Not long enough for me to do him any permanent harm.’

Ben had heard about his mum’s brother, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Uncle Carl. What stuck in his mind about his uncle was that his mum said you never knew if you were meeting good Carl or bad Carl. In care or out. Dangerous or safe. Ben had heard the old men telling stories about Carl Chidgey. Lots of stories.

‘You’re looking … all right,’ Gordon said.

‘Appearances are the first victim.’

Gordon smiled. ‘I’ve never known if the shit coming out of your mouth is famous quotes, lines of poetry or your own invention.’

One of Carl’s shoulders rose and fell inside his jumper. He let his hair-curtained eyes settle on Ben.

Seeming to want to divert Carl’s attention back to himself, Gordon said, ‘You still … still living in the city?’

‘Needed my passport stamped, coming back here. If I had a passport,’ Carl added.

‘Where did you stay last night?’