‘Oh, there’s so much that needs doing at home.’ Norma rattled off a list of insurmountable problems: the cleaner had to be paid, the newspaper delivery had to be reinstated in preparation for her return, a pharmacy bill was falling due in a month, and she needed her diary as well as her iPad. And her fleece, she added, giving Ron’s a once-over. ‘Didn’t I tell you to give your washing to Jada? Have you been wearing that every day?’

‘Can’t trust them,’ a voice said from behind the Herald. ‘This is a valuable souvenir from the year we won the Bledisloe Cup. I let them take it to the laundry, the next thing it’ll be for sale in the Trading Post.’

‘I’ll take care of it all,’ Gordon said, though Ben knew Grandma would decant her chores one at a time to maximise the time his dad was on call. ‘Including his washing.’

Norma burst into tears. ‘It’s just so awful, the way our lives are turning out!’

While Ben put a cold washer to Grandma’s forehead, Ronald remained absorbed in his newspaper.

‘You all right there?’ Gordon said.

‘Fine, thanks. Capri won last night.’

‘You want to help at all?’

Ron’s paper came down and he studied Norma. ‘The boy’s indulging her. Her mood is medication-induced,’ he added as if Norma weren’t there—speaking like a doctor—and resumed reading.

Ben gave Grandma a tissue. She was able to wipe her nose and dab her eyes, but her legs were ‘excruciating’ and ‘the Chinese’ were not keeping up her pain medication. To divert her, Ben said, ‘I took a classic catch at the game today!’

‘I thought you were twelfth man,’ Gordon said.

‘It was during warm-ups. Mr Stoyle has to pick me in the eleven now.’

‘He will, my love, and you’ll make a century,’ Grandma said. As Ben had guessed, she could be picked up and swept along with any new subject, and her certainty in his dream to reach the top rung of the cricket career ladder, when he hadn’t even clawed his way up to the bottom, was one of the things he loved about her.

‘I tried to get out of the way, but it came so hard it got stuck in my elbow!’ Ben said. ‘Dad said I couldn’t catch a cold.’

‘And you’ve proved him wrong,’ Grandma said. ‘Gordon, you should be proud of Ben for telling it the way it happened. Most boys his age are such awful blowhards. I don’t think you’re slow.’ Grandma patted Ben’s hand. ‘I think you’re pure.’

‘I am proud,’ Gordon said to Ben. ‘As long as you didn’t get hurt.’

‘Daaad.’ Ben put him on a rack and stretched him out to three syllables.