‘Maybe he’s homophobic just because he hates fags. Doesn’t mean he is one. If being homophobic makes him a fag, that means every bloke I went to school with was a closet fucken poo-puncher. Maybe he was looking at your dick because he wanted to see what a fag dick looks like. You’re a weird kid. See what I mean? Hammers and nails.’

‘One thing I have is a good gaydar. Better than yours.’

‘Horseshit. I’ve got a NASA-certified fagdar. It’s been used by law enforcement agencies. You fags have the worst fagdars. It’s simple confirmation bias.’

‘You’re probably a closet gay.’

Ben wondered if he had gone too far, but Uncle Carl said, ‘Well, I’ve been there and given it a crack, so, yeah, whatever. Worth investigating but not for me. Okay, does that mean I’m a poof? You tell me.’

‘Maybe you’re bi-curious like Daniel.’

‘I hardly know the kid, so I’m not going to get into a debate about it. I’m just telling you what happened. I turn up to fetch you from school, and that kid and his goons decide to beat the shit out of me. What’s become of the Bluebird we used to know?’

Carl cackled. There was so much about the adult world Ben couldn’t figure out; why should Grandma Leonie complicate it even further by letting Uncle Carl, the most confusing adult of all, into their lives? Ben could see a massive bust-up coming; it was written on everyone’s face. He didn’t care about The Lodge, they could shove it. He just wanted his family—him, his dad and his mum, and Lou—out of harm’s way.

When they arrived at the ferry terminal in the city, Ben got up to disembark but Carl wouldn’t move. They were going to stay aboard all the way back to Capri, the full loop. Carl reached into a pocket of his duffle coat and pulled out a thick, beaten-up black paperback. Ben sat down again and watched him reading. The print was microscopic.

‘What’s the book?’

‘Don Quixote.’

‘Donkey what?’ Ben said.

‘Don Quixote.’ Carl flashed the cover: a painting of a knight, carrying a shield and a lance, on a horse. A short fat guy in a white shirt sat on a short fat horse beside him.

‘Is it good?’

A private smile crossed Carl’s face. ‘Put it this way, a man I once knew said it was brilliant and beautiful but it only has one thing wrong with it, which is it’s completely unreadable.’

‘It took you fifteen minutes to get through one page. Why don’t you stop?’

‘My mate, when he got to the end, burst into tears.’

‘He was angry at the time he’d wasted?’ Ben felt like adding: He’d gone nuts?