As they re-entered the party, Sam relieved his dozing father of his empty beer jar. Ron was still sitting beside him, reading Gordon’s mail. The last of their kind, Sam thought. Leaving us, the good sons, to repay their debts. I’ve only ever wanted to make it all right again. Could there be so little mystery? And what would it mean if the one good man in this place was the one who ended up in jail?

Sam dropped the beer jar back into Tony’s lap and strode across the crowded room with a fierce look.

‘Gordo.’

‘Come again?’ Gordon cupped a hand to his ear. Carl had turned ‘1983 (A Merman I Should Turn to Be)’ up full-bore. Those kids from the beach had come in: boys from Ben’s school, a couple of stoned-looking girls.

Sam enclosed Gordon in a hug.

‘You want another cliché?’ Sam’s voice was rough, savage in Gordon’s ear. ‘I love you. And no matter what happens, you don’t owe me, I owe you. I love you. I love you, Gordo, I fucken love you.’ Sam felt Gordon shaking. He tightened his hug so he couldn’t see Gordon’s face. ‘But you’re fucken killing us all.’

FIGHT NIGHT

Fight night

Ben had no time for parties. In the wee-smelling boardroom, he took up his stance in his cricket kit before the full-length mirror Lou had rescued from a hard rubbish collection. Pads, thigh pad, box, gloves, helmet, magic stick. Zane had told him they might get five hundred for the Gray-Nic. Ben would use it in next Sunday’s final, which he had to be picked in as they were down on numbers. The two injured boys from the Capri surf boat crew were in the St Pat’s cricket team—yay! He would make a huge score with the magic stick, and then he and Zane would quietly clean up on the black market. A signed collector’s item! Ben could then add his share to the nine hundred dollars he had already socked away from his recent enterprises. The community would pitch in together and save Gordon, save The Lodge. Then, Ben could refocus himself on playing for Australia, and one day in the future, his dad would wonder what all the worry had been about.

He tapped his bat on the concrete, played a handsome straight drive, held his pose in the mirror. ‘Classic shot from Grimes, that,’ he murmured.

Just then he heard a surf ski slide down the other side of his wall and crash into the concrete.

‘Bugger!’ Ben heard his dad say.

In a rush, Ben hid his bat, got out of his cricket gear, and slipped into a T-shirt and board shorts. Luckily, his dad didn’t appear until Ben was dressed and the cricket stuff was hidden. Gordon continued to swear and fuss about, scraping surf equipment on the hard floor.

‘You okay, Dad?’