Carl said a few things about how the one sure way to lose sight of the beauty of OC was to live here. ‘Blindness from overuse of the eyes,’ he said. They didn’t discuss Daniel again, or what had really gone down at school, or Ms Oxenford, or Gordon and his mad quest and the uncle Ben didn’t have. Ben didn’t want to shut down against Carl, but he felt his heart muscles clamping like an oyster closing its valve.

As the ferry pulled into Capri terminal, Carl closed his book but slid out the bookmark, which Ben noticed was an envelope.

‘When do you see him next?’ Carl asked.

‘Wait, what? Who?’

‘Young Frankenface. Your fag pal.’

‘Daniel? At cricket practice tomorrow.’

‘Do me a favour? Give him this.’

Ben looked through the window in the envelope.

‘You pay him to beat you up?’

‘Very funny. Just give him this and bring what he has for me.’

Now Ben knew. Out of all those billion things. He should have guessed.

‘How much is in here?’

‘Never you mind,’ Uncle Carl said. ‘Just do it for me.’

A gear in Ben’s brain slipped into place, the teeth of two cogs meshing. It happened so infrequently, this feeling gave him a rush like falling in love.

‘How much?’ Ben repeated.

‘I don’t want you involved.’

‘Not involved, just be your courier? How much for how much? You don’t tell me, you are so busted. I’ll tell Ms Oxenford the truth: that you and Daniel staged a fight as a cover-up when you were about to get caught doing a drug deal outside the school. That’s what it was, wasn’t it?’

Carl considered saying a few things, but gave Ben a defeated smile. ‘Five hundred for three bottles.’

‘Wait, what?’

‘Just take the money to Daniel and get my bottles, right?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Ben said, but he didn’t give Carl back his money. Carl had said it himself: Ben wasn’t as slow on the uptake as everyone thought.

Ben put the envelope into his pocket and started talking.

The next day, Ben found Daniel in the cricket nets rolling his arm over, supervising spin bowling practice. Daniel would never know how much it hurt to watch this when you would give anything in the world to be able to carelessly bowl a perfect leg-break; Ben could practise for a year and never execute a delivery that Daniel bowled without thinking.

‘Hi,’ Ben said, impersonating a normal boy. He remembered the horn sign.

Daniel caught a ball, another carefree display of coordinated ease. He smelt of aftershave—not the cheap brand that Ben wore after his monthly attempts to de-bumfluff his jawline, but a flavour you wanted to eat.

‘What’s up?’ Daniel said.

‘I was speaking to my uncle. He told me what happened.’

‘He did?’

‘He said you and some guys beat him up.’