She stood on the balcony with Gordon, drinking passable cappuccinos that he had somehow learnt how to make on the La Marzocco. Definitely seeing, or planning to see, a woman, she thought.

‘What a shit show,’ she said.

Kelly had never been in the habit of attending the surf carnival, though she had found new objections to reinforce the old. The BSLSC had evolved from the hostile beast of her youth into a corporate advertising exercise, safe and soulless. A bank sponsored the marquees, a law firm sponsored Bluebird’s surfboats, a tech start-up sponsored the lycra racing outfits, and a management consultancy sponsored the royal blue banners tautened by the early-arriving nor’-easter. The BSLSC was now run by identikit executives who won their positions based not on time served but on their ability to raise revenue. Each brought their gift of corporate social responsibility to the club’s true business: the competition on the beach was merely a cloak for the race between clubs to poach each other’s assets.

‘It’s not like I would defend the old ways,’ Gordon said, sharing her thoughts, ‘but I miss a surf club being a place where you went to learn how to help others survive in the sea.’

‘And how to avoid nasty old men,’ Kelly added.

‘But then, we’re nobody’s target demographic.’

From the stairs, Carl materialised, swaddled in the duffle coat in which he slept, ate, lived and, for all Kelly knew, bathed.

‘Leonie’s coming,’ he said without preamble. ‘Wants to take us to that.’ He inclined his head, vaguely, to the beach.

‘Who’s us?’ Kelly said. ‘What’s that?’

Carl shrugged one shoulder. ‘She’ll be here in a couple of minutes.’

Kelly felt her mind racing away. The notion of Carl, who had nurtured fantasies of blowing up surf carnivals since he was ten years old, strolling down to take in the sunshine and crowds, maybe suck on a pine-lime Splice while walking the dunes with Leonie, knocked her off balance.

‘We can’t let her up here,’ Gordon said. To Kelly’s questioning look, he held up a marble he had taken from his pocket. ‘The slope of the floor. It’s down to nine seconds. She’ll have a fit. Call her, Carl, we’ll meet her at the beach. The young ones are down there getting ready.’ Lou had been given dispensation to enter her surfboat crew as a ‘Bluebird II’ team, and Ben was helping her to organise the girls.

Carl mumbled something about coffee.

‘Perfect!’ Gordon said shrilly, pushing Carl towards the staircase. ‘It’s much better at her cafe.’

He punched Leonie’s number into his phone and handed it to Carl while he went to his bedroom for a sunhat.

Alone with her brother, Kelly said, ‘I haven’t seen Gordon move that quickly since he was offered redundancy from the paper.’