Kelly wondered if police came in girl-girl pairs or older woman-younger man. Every other kind of couple in the world was recombining but not the police. In The Lodge’s living room stood the standard twosome: older plod, junior woman. Kelly didn’t know either one. Long gone were the days when the men who carried out the busts were your schoolmates’ dads.

‘Are you the owner of the premises?’ Plod asked Gordon, who glanced at Kelly, Carl and Ron and said, ‘Long story.’

‘That’s a yes?’

Gordon nodded. Dog had one word of advice regarding cops: ‘lawyer’. But Kelly had seen Dog hiding in the garden with his weed stash, and Gordon was too exhausted to bother with strategy. He was on the wrong side of everything—history, for a start, but not, if he got lucky and made the right moves, the law.

‘If it’s a noise complaint, I’m sorry, it’s over now.’

The cops’ eyes were spraying the room: broken chairs, an upturned couch, a card game decidedly past its best. The newel-less banister tilted. A slat of the diagonal pine feature wall was missing, as were two of the louvres in the saloon door. The macramé curtain on the kitchen window was in tatters.

‘Who lives here?’ the policewoman asked, jotting notes.

‘Me and my son,’ Gordon said. ‘My goddaughter’s been here a few months.’

‘And me,’ Kelly said. ‘And as of next week, him.’ She indicated Carl, who was vibrating in the balcony doorway, stomping down the aluminium Shitfuckerpoobum.

‘Who’s he?’

‘He’s my brother.’

Both police officers gave Carl a hard look. While Plod was wafting an expensive-looking digital device—his iPlod?—the junior partner, equipped with analogue recording materials, continued writing notes on her pad.

‘Me too!’ This was Ron, raising his hand. ‘There’s no electric chair, so I’m in for the long haul. My daughter-in-law will make up a bed for me.’

Kelly gave Gordon a look of raw horror. Gordon shook his head and said to the police, ‘My dad lives in a nursing home down in Capri.’

‘Did live,’ Ron maintained. ‘Did live.’

‘Please don’t take advantage of a difficult situation. I’ll be taking you home later.’

‘See’—Ron appealed to the police—‘how they treat me?’

Ron interested the police less than he should have. They took a moment to confer, their eyes on Carl, who responded by pushing through the silent group with his empty tea mug, rinsing it in the kitchen, and returning to the balcony. He appeared to step out of his way to give the senior policeman a shove.

‘How long has he been here?’ asked iPlod.

‘His mother was the owner, and she’s gifting it to him,’ Gordon said.

‘It hasn’t gone through yet,’ Lou interjected.

‘Stepmother,’ Kelly said.

‘It’s going through, don’t worry,’ Ron said.