‘It was never spoken of. Never.’ Kelly was wiping tears off Ben’s cheeks. ‘You might wonder why your dad is the way he is. Why he’s … stuck. Why he has this mission to preserve Old Bluebird. Why he can’t see what’s best for himself. And us. Why he makes all these bad decisions. Why he and your grandparents can’t get on but can’t let go.’

‘Why you did what you did?’

‘I often think it all goes back to your dad’s brother.’

Kelly looked through the window at the sandstone clifftop across Bluebird Bay: that distinctive crag above the marina, the place they looked at across the water from The Lodge every single fucking day. As if their eyes could wear down the sandstone and make it drop into the blowhole.

And that one dumb word in graffitists’ paint:

BLUEBIRD

‘Mum.’

Kelly leant into the mattress. Ben tolerated her hugging the breath out of him. She tried to get his arms around her. His effort to tolerate her felt worse than no effort. She felt the pain radiating off him like fire. Boys should need their mothers, she thought. Boys should need their mothers.

FOR THE AGES

For the ages

Ben had specifically asked his father not to drag the whole crew along to the cricket final. Gordon failed again as a parent. He felt a wild reckless pride in his son and didn’t give a bloody-minded fuck who knew it, Ben included. So in the menacing early heat, dew glistening on the Father McInally Oval, as Daniel and the Cobcroft Boys’ captain walked to the pitch to toss a coin with the solemnity of dignitaries at a state funeral, a talkative group of Gordon’s guests was settling into the Father McCroorey Grandstand.

No other players had supporters present. Ben Grimes’s family entourage comprised Gordon, Kelly, Lou, Ron and Norma. After the first surfing shift, up from the beach came Sam Eastaugh, Red Cap and Josie, Tonsure Man, Snake, Cnut, Chook, Macca and the three-time state champ. It was quite a mob. Japan Ned was watching cricket for the first time. He pronounced cricket neither good nor shit. The only crony missing was Dog, rumoured to be in hiding with a head the size of a pumpkin and two dozen fresh stitches.

Lou had cleaned out her gear from The Lodge and stowed it in her car for the drive south, where she was to start a job the following week.

‘I’m happy you came,’ Gordon said, a catch in his throat. ‘You owe me nothing.’

‘Well, now that I think of it, that’s true,’ Lou said and gave him a soft punch across the jaw. ‘I have to pop back there later to get the machine out.’