Gordon glanced at Kelly. He had still not dared to speak with her today. He set off on another circuit of the ground.

There was a ‘Howzat!’ and the Cobcroft boys converged in the certainty that they had taken Daniel’s wicket. They were surprised, not to say appalled, when Coach-Umpire Stoyle folded his arms and shook his head. A conference ensued between the opposition players and their coach, and then between their coach and Stoyle, but the umpire is always right—particularly, Gordon thought, when he is an arrogant little shit in cargo shorts. Daniel continued batting, and after this let-off the Cobcroft team attacked him verbally: the price he paid for his teacher’s favouritism. As if admitting his guilt, Daniel began to bat carelessly, swishing hard at every delivery, trying to get his ordeal over with. Stoyle spoke to him. Daniel lowered his head in the teenage-boy stance of ‘Say what you like, I’m not listening’, and went on hitting balls in the air.

Gordon felt sorry for Daniel, who was playing this dashing innings, leading his team towards death-or-victory, without knowing about the bomb Ron was about to detonate. It didn’t matter that Frontal was the perpetrator; Daniel would be seen as the criminal. The kid was a dickhead, but did he deserve a bonus two years added on to a childhood under his father’s protection? Gordon pictured Daniel receiving the man-of-the-match award and, as per the formula, thanking his parent for supporting him, and Frontal wouldn’t be there. The bomb would be ticking.

As if this image of Daniel’s success produced a kind of hex, there was a cry of collective joy, mixed with quieter groans, as Daniel lost his middle stump. Some Cobcroft boys gave Ryan Stoyle the surreptitious finger. Their celebrations had a triumphal tone, and indeed, although Daniel had blasted a half-century, St Pat’s still needed seventy more runs to win and were now at long odds. Gordon watched Daniel slouch off, dragging his bat. Every few steps he looked balefully over his shoulder at the yahooing opposition. When he got near the boundary, he flicked his bat at the fence and it let out a gunshot crack. Even petulance Daniel achieved with timing. His bat was intact, but the paling was shattered. He threw his gloves down and disappeared into the pavilion. His teammates affected the studied professional indifference of their heroes, fixating on the game. Only Ben was watching Daniel. He got up and followed him into the darkness.

Gordon continued circling the ground. His heart sank when he saw Lou standing by her car, apparently waiting for him. He wondered if he could keep walking past her. He dropped his head and quickened his step. If he couldn’t say goodbye, he thought hopefully, then maybe she wouldn’t leave.

‘Don’t avoid me, Gordon.’

He paused, then walked up the grass bank.

‘Hey.’ Lou opened her arms. ‘Let’s make this painless.’