‘Oh, come on, I was joking,’ Frontal croaked. Gordon turned to see that his father had produced, from the overnight bag at his feet, a manila folder which he held up teasingly.

‘I knew I had this somewhere,’ Ron said. ‘Gordon, you have nothing to fear from this pinhead.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Gordon said. Frontal and Ron most clearly did.

A dry rasp came from Frontal’s throat as Ron slid a plastic-sheathed document from the folder.

‘See?’ Ron said with peak vindication, and handed Gordon the document.

‘Dad, why have you got Daniel’s birth certificate?’

‘Does it matter why? Look: the date.’

Gordon read the date twice. He looked at Frontal, then read the date a third time.

‘Doesn’t that kid look like a nineteen-year-old to you?’ Ron said. ‘This is a copy of the original.’

Gordon shook his head, not in response to the question. In response to everything.

‘Why bring this up now?’ Frontal said desperately.

‘Why have you got it in the first place?’ Gordon asked. He read the certificate again. Daniel’s parents, Michael and Soula Abottemey. Place of birth: Sparta. According to the date of birth, Daniel was twenty-six months older than Ben, two years older than all the other kids on the field. Daniel was eighteen. No, nineteen. What the fucking fuckery.

From his folder, Ron now produced a second birth certificate. Same details, except Daniel’s date of birth nineteen months later.

‘I know a falsified document when I see one,’ Ron growled. ‘You could say it’s my special subject. I tell you what,’ he said, levelling an accusing stare on Gordon, ‘if this town had a decent newspaper, it would be the first place I would take this little scoop.’

‘Why have you got it?’ Gordon repeated. He was reaching an understanding of the scandal—and a scandal it was if Daniel’s age had been falsified. Frontal’s vicarious revenge, his scheme to get back at Bluebird for every last one of his humiliations, through the success of his golden child, his Greek god, was a fraud. Daniel’s achievements exceeded those of everyone else in his age group because they were not in his age group. To finally be the big boy he had failed at being, Frontal had scammed the school, scammed the town, scammed his own flesh and blood. Of course. He had rigged the paperwork at source.

‘I was proud of being a Justice of the Peace,’ Ron said, puffing his chest. Now was his moment. He had been rehearsing this speech. ‘But my office led me to shameful acts.’