Carl stalked across the Capri pedestrian mall and said no more until they were at the ferry wharf. Afternoon commuters streamed both ways. While Ben opened the turnstile with his transport card, Carl vaulted over the gate like a delinquent fifteen-year-old. Ben’s heart missed a beat but the staff were not looking. He followed Carl onto the old ferry that had just emptied, up the internal stairs to the enclosed outdoor viewing deck at the bow. Carl sat on the slatted wooden bench and crossed his legs.

‘I’ll be late home,’ Ben said.

‘Anyone gives you shit, they’ll have to answer to me,’ Carl said, then slapped Ben’s shoulder. ‘Joking!’ Ben could never tell when Carl was joking, or lying, or performing.

Carl was still ruminating on Ms Oxenford. ‘I was an outcast at the Bloodbath, and she was always the one being “nice” to me and “bringing me into the group”. You know the type.’

Ben nodded, because he liked Carl’s confidential manner, but he didn’t know the type. ‘Nobody brings me into any group.’

‘They end up as school principals,’ Carl ploughed on. ‘Keen awareness of the pecking order. They eat that stuff up. She used to try to tee me up with depressed girls, her way of “fixing” me. A good lesson in the total hopelessness of future life. You know she doesn’t like being touched?’

Ben was trying to be mature in a men’s conversation, wondering what his dad or Firie Sam would say, but he couldn’t keep up; he was gawping at his uncle like a fish.

‘That’s why she’s never paired up,’ Carl said. ‘She has this, like, medical condition, somethingophobia.’

‘That’s so sad.’

‘Could be sadder. She could have ended up an unemployed junkie loser. Instead she never left school. When you get to my age, you realise that everything you’ve ever done has been governed by what you’re most scared of. For one person, not naming names, you’re scared of boredom. Your safe place is drugs. For her, she’s scared of a lot of stuff and the solution, the safe place, is school. If she offers to help you, run like your hair is on fire. If she asks you to her office, just name, rank and serial number, no further cooperation. She will make you think that she is your friend. She is not. Copy that? She is not your friend.’

Carl went to the cafe on the lower deck. Ben knew how dire the food offerings were, and was unsurprised when Carl came back with a bottle of water and a bad smell on his face.

‘Some of those doughnuts have been there since I was a kid,’ Carl said. ‘I recognised the pineapple one. I said, “G’day, old mate,” and it moved. Its soul was in there. Let me out!’