‘It’s tough,’ Jude said with feeling, and the way Gordon put his hand on her knee, his eyes moist, got Kelly wondering if she was the woman he was seeing. Jude hated being touched, everyone knew that. She placed her hand on Gordon’s and gave it a tender pat before lifting it off. Perhaps he’d discovered a last chance to get to know this woman he had known all his life. Habit, over-familiarity, neglect and inaction killed more lives than cancer. Kelly’s stomach churned.

Carl and Leonie were climbing back up the bleacher. Leonie looked personally offended by the surf crew’s failure, while Carl was waxily inscrutable. Kelly cast her eyes to the south, where Ben was trying to convey the girls’ boat back to its trailer. The very tall girl was crying, hobbling on her sore foot. Kelly pondered running down—to help Ben or, better still, to run straight past to the wooden staircase and up to The Lodge, there to lower the blinds and curl up in bed.

She went to say something to Jude, but the other woman had slipped away. In her seat, preventing any hope of escape, was Daniel’s father. Kelly at first failed to recognise him out of his council manager’s beige-on-beige. Dripping wet, Frontal wore a tight Bluebird rashie, a lifesaver’s skull cap, and a pair of the bicycle-style shorts now favoured in surf clubs over budgie smugglers. His attire, like the page at the back of an opera program, was a billboard of sponsors’ names.

‘Why is Leonie in the neutral area?’ Frontal said. ‘We have a VIP box.’

‘Go down and ask her,’ Kelly said.

‘I’d lose my seat for the senior boys’ race. They’re good things.’ Frontal was dressed as a club marshal, but he might as well have been a competitor in the event for proud fathers. Daniel had graduated to the senior crew despite being two years younger than the other boys. Bluebird success, having taunted Frontal all his life, had arrived ahead of time for Daniel. There was something miraculous in it: Frontal disappearing to Greece for five years and coming back with this son, like a prize from Troy. And yet it was love, only love, Kelly admonished herself. She had to be more like Jude: more forgiving, more adult.

‘Which one is Daniel’s boat?’ she asked.

Frontal thrust his arm across her towards the Bluebird I crew, where Daniel towered over the eighteen-year-olds. ‘These boys are raised on good food and exercise, raw talent and hard work! No genetic advantages!’ Frontal attempted a self-deprecating laugh, throwing his hands open to show his less-than-prepossessing physique.

‘Are you marshalling?’ Gordon asked.

‘Not for Dan’s race! Conflict of interest!’