‘The future, I reckon,’ Sam answered himself. ‘How is it that they’re more invested in it than we are? No choice, I s’pose. No way they can talk about the past. Camping trips, eh. What else is there to look forward to? Ron’s probably figuring out how to pinch Dad’s car keys. You know, the one part of me that actually looks forward to the firehouse being knocked down and all the shit hitting the fan is that I’ll finally go somewhere Dad can’t find me. I’ll shoot through—if I don’t end up in jail—and the old man will get put into care. Goodnight, nurse.’

Gordon’s face looked like it was full of fish hooks, each weighed down by a lead sinker.

Sam put a hand on his shoulder and asked, ‘Do you think about him as much as I do?’

Gordon breathed through his nose.

‘I’ve got it down to two or three times a day,’ Sam said. ‘I often think we’d have been better off if we all went our separate ways, got shot of him, started again. It’s like when he went over, he had a hand around each of us. Just like this property crash. Everyone in Bluebird’s got his hand around the next bloke’s ankle. One goes down, we all go down. You know what I’m saying? It’s been forty-two years, but he won, didn’t he? He took us down.’

‘I just love Bluebird,’ Gordon said.

‘Shit, brother, there’s no fucking statute of limitations on what you’ve put yourself through for his sake. You’re loving Bluebird to death. And why? Because we fucked up and it’s up to us to make it good? What if we can’t? How many years before we admit defeat?’

‘I feel lucky every day to wake up in The Lodge,’ Gordon said.

‘You sure don’t look it. Fuck, man, you want to speak in clichés? Let me give you one. Saving The Lodge won’t set you free. Only the truth will do that.’

Gordon patted Sam’s hand and lifted it from his shoulder, got to his feet, backed away from the ledge and crossed the sandstone bridge. Sam, with a frustrated sigh, limped behind on his wounded foot. They walked the beach under moonlight. The kids with the picnic blanket had disappeared. The Lodge was hopping, music flooding the bay: Carl had gone the full Hendrix.