‘We have to deal with the trade in ADHD drugs like our teachers used to have to deal with tuckshop lines. It’s the way things are. You don’t have to take responsibility for everything that happens in Bluebird.’

‘I’m beginning to learn that.’

‘Just beginning?’

‘I’m glad Daniel’s playing today.’

‘Glad because it was the right thing, or because it made Ben happy?’

‘I’m taking your advice. I don’t care about the right thing anymore.’

‘That’s good,’ she said. ‘Because making the other boys happy was his only reason for doing it.’

‘I’ll miss you,’ he said, feeling like he wanted to cry.

‘Gordon.’ Jude’s face turned in upon itself. ‘Not everything you’ve brought to Bluebird has been bad.‘ She had more to say. She took a breath and exhaled through pursed lips as if blowing out a candle. But her eye was caught by something behind Gordon and she said, in a freeze-drying tone, ‘Anyway, nice seeing you.’ She walked briskly away.

Gordon, puzzled, was about to continue his stroll when he saw Jude’s reason for suddenly terminating their conversation. A carnelian red Prius Hybrid had pulled up. Half-running down the slope past the Father McCann cans was a man on an unkempt warpath.

‘Frontal,’ Gordon said.

Frontal was in no mood for light chat. His wispy ginger hair fluttered in the breeze and his beard was uncharacteristically ragged at the edges and fluffy around the jowls. A ruff of neck and back hair sprouted, bringing to mind a border collie. Instead of his usual slacks and business shirt, he was clad in dirty Billabong shorts and an Australian Crawl T-shirt.

‘I warned you and you ignored me,’ he said, waving his finger in Gordon’s face.

‘Nice to see you too. Daniel’s taken two wickets. The tail’s wagging though. Have you been sleeping rough?’

Frontal was red-eyed like he had been drinking, or crying, or both. Gordon was familiar with the look, having seen it in the mirror most mornings. But whereas Gordon employed his insomniac hours in self-pity, enumerating his sorrows, Frontal looked like he had been fomenting conspiracy theories.

‘You don’t appreciate the trouble you’re in.’

‘I have a full appreciation of the trouble I’m in.’

‘You’re the worst type of fool: an arrogant one.’

‘Why don’t you lower your voice to a scream.’ It was a cricket match. Frontal’s voice was carrying across the field, all the way to Gordon’s artificially generated crowd on the far side. ‘If it’s about the retaining wall, I can’t do anything about that until David Archer’s buyer moves in.’

‘Bugger the retaining wall! And his name is Archer David!’

Frontal’s eyes were bulging. He really did look unwell. His dismissal of the importance of a retaining wall grabbed Gordon’s attention.

‘I sent you a letter! On council letterhead!’