The Lodge, that culprit house, was sucking in the onshore breeze, creating its own fire whirlwind and curling in upon itself. Unlike the brick and masonry and glass surrounding it, The Lodge was nine-tenths flammable. Up went the driftwood balcony, up went the bleached timber walls of the main floor, up the floorboards, up the weatherboard lining, up the staircases, the shingles of the roof, the mouse-eaten electrical wiring, the dried-out insulation. Up went the jigsaw puzzles, up went the packs of cards, up the board games and the melamine table, up the beds and the bedsheets, up the kitchen bench, up the linoleum. Up the saloon door. Up went all those mountains of opportunity-shop synthetic fibres. Up went the French jacquard tablecloth from Eastons, up went Ben’s Atlas penholder, and up went all of Gordon’s other high-end purchases. Up went the books, all those books, the cleansers as democratically flammable as Carl’s editions of Baudelaire and Beckett and Cortázar. Up went the Shitfuckerpoobum. Up went the brown macramé kitchen curtain. Up went the shower curtain with the naked ladies. Up went the laundry chute. Up went the diagonal pine veneer feature wall. Up went a million other things nobody had noticed. Down went the sloped floor, giving in to gravity with a profound sigh. The blaze entered the sky like a flag in a gale, the most spectacular victory Gordon had seen.

In silence, the roof gave way. Embers erupted like a dragon’s sneeze followed by tubes of smoke dispersing into the sky.

Up, up and away.

‘What did you say?’ Kelly asked, giving him a sidelong look in a marriage composed of sidelong looks. She leant into him, as if they were in the audience for a show.

‘I didn’t say anything.’

Kelly was doing all she could not to smile. The thing that had taken flight and left her had also let go of Gordon.

‘You look ten years younger,’ she said.

He was unafraid to let it show.

‘In this light,’ she added.

The Lodge is on fire. The Lodge is on fire! He tried to formulate the sentence in his mind, like an actor rehearsing. The Lodge! It is on fire!

The peak of the flame mountain was beginning to shrink against the night. The fire had had its fill of Gordon’s home, Gordon’s shit, Kelly’s shit, Ben’s shit. Sated, it was snuggling into itself like an animal digesting its meal. The basement floor, all that salt-wettened cement, would be blackened but intact. Cracks rang out as each new section collapsed, prompting cries from the crowd.

‘Notice that we’re the only ones here who aren’t in tears?’ he said out of the side of his mouth.

‘Don’t let anyone hear you say that,’ she shot out of the side of hers.

Gordon would not have wished for anyone else at his side. He squeezed her hand.