Ben looked at Uncle Carl, who was smiling privately. ‘My stepmother has run my life ever since my father stopped running it. What do you think I live on? It’s the price for forgiveness. And for this.’ He waved a hand to indicate the little of Bluebird they could see through the rain. ‘We get to be children all the way.’

‘Nobody ever ran your life,’ Gordon said.

Ben had heard the legends. When the rest of the Old Bluebird crew came of age and began to catch up with Carl Chidgey—screwing around and screwing up—he disappeared. Gone travelling was the official explanation, though Grandpa Noel had disowned him and Ben’s mum could never bring herself to convincingly play the concerned sister. Grandma Gladys was dead from cancer and Carl was dead to Bluebird. Some time Up North, some in the Northern Territory, some in places unknown, a shocking amount of it in OC. Rumours of a medal from Ocean City Uni. Nobody saw him. Bluebird had cast Carl out. Ben looked at him. He was their broken dream.

Grandma Leonie’s high heels tapped out her approach up the stairs. Something in the energy holding Carl together buckled. Ben was shocked to see a placid, amenable, needy smile take possession of his face. The threat slackened. Whether through twelve-step programs or jail or dependence—on pharmaceuticals, on Leonie—it was suddenly obvious that Uncle Carl had been broken, or broken in. Ben hated himself for the momentary wish that Uncle Carl had died, young and romantic, when he had the chance.

Then he wondered if Uncle Carl looked at Dad and wished the same.

A phone trilled. Ben heard Leonie answer it. Her voice faded as she descended the stairs.

Carl shoved his paws under his thighs and hunched over the sawhorse, as if the only way to stop his hands from committing a crime or shaking uncontrollably was to pin them with his full weight. His eyes on the floor, he said, ‘She told me you can’t keep relying on her goodwill.’

The way Carl said ‘goodwill’ made Ben dizzy. The red Prius outside. Daniel’s father had been working on Grandma Leonie. Or with.

‘She told you that?’ Gordon croaked.

‘She’s on the title, Gordo. If you’re doing the wrong thing in The Lodge, council can hold up the Hilton approvals. She can’t risk you stuffing it up for her.’

Ben went to the window and looked out. Grandma Leonie was leaning into the red Prius.

‘If she wants to stop us doing the wrong thing, she only has to ask. She can buy us all out tomorrow if she wants. Kelly’d be stoked.’

But Ben got it before his dad. He saw it all.