In the shocked silence, they watched the cricketers file back onto the field, the Cobcroft Boys’ fielding team followed by the two St Pat’s opening batsmen. Ben looked on from the pavilion. A space away, sitting in his pads and helmet, loosening up with twirls of his bat, was Daniel.

‘But does he?’ Gordon repeated to Frontal, who came to his senses as if recovering from a head knock.

‘You won’t do it,’ Frontal said to Ron. ‘Do this to Daniel and their team will be disqualified from the competition. You’re killing your own grandson’s dreams.’

Ron thrust his jaw. ‘I want my conscience to be clear.’

Frontal put his index finger to Gordon’s chest. ‘You let him do this, and I will destroy everything you value.’

Gordon watched Frontal walk to his Prius. He had developed a slight limp, or it could have been that he was trying to keep his right shoe, which had lost its laces, connected to his foot. It was true what they said. The longer you knew a man, the deeper the mystery. Gordon sincerely wished he could understand this guy. He had made an enemy of the person who could do him most harm or the most good. Which was how the world went.

‘Looks like you might have stuffed everything up for everyone,’ Gordon said.

‘I dare say he is overestimating his powers,’ Ron murmured. He put the certificates back into the plastic, the sheath into the manila folder, and the folder into his overnight bag, which he handed to Gordon, like a porter, before commencing his long shuffle back to the stand where Norma, Kelly and the others were sitting, unaware of what had just occurred.

Catching up to his father, Gordon said, ‘Are you really going to do it?’

‘I’m not one for empty threats,’ Ron said. ‘I will be presenting this to the proper authorities before the day is out.’

‘Why? After all these years? Don’t you realise what it’ll do to your own reputation?’

‘Tell someone who cares. He has been threatening you, my boy, and when I saw him there today, I had to act in your defence. I told you I could help.’

‘Come on, Dad,’ Gordon said. ‘There has to be something else.’

‘Well, if you must know …’ Ron stopped walking so he could gather the breath to speak. This was the beauty of his father, Gordon thought. He had no ordinary shame. As long as his comfort was not at stake, Ron lacked the human propensity to take offence. If you denied him his five-thirty drinkie, he would murder you. If you asked him to reveal why he was a lifelong fraudster, he would answer candidly.

‘You were there,’ Ron went on. ‘At the prison.’

‘What prison?’ Then Gordon realised that his father so loathed the nursing home, he could not bring himself to utter its name. ‘Oh, when he came to your room.’