The firemen remained busy around the perimeter of The Lodge, even as the flames died under the hoses and the basement issued exhausted wheezes of steam and smoke.

‘Show’s over,’ Gordon said. He felt a weight against his side and arms around his chest. It was Ben, inconsolable. He was still wearing his cricket whites, his pads and his batting inners.

The crowd began to dissolve, abuzz from the show, to head to the Hilton, which would soon be heaving. Sirens were still wailing and the full complement of emergency services, police and ambulance and SES and men in hi-vis, as there always had to be men in hi-vis, were shepherding the spectators. Event Management, Gordon thought as he stood with his arm around his weeping boy.

‘Show’s over,’ he said again.

Red Cap came by. He had to take Josie home, and could barely speak as he clasped Gordon’s shoulder. Tonsure Man shook his head in mute sorrow. Japan Ned gave Gordon a ceremonial bow. Cnut came by and said, ‘I left me boards in there, that’s five grand’s worth,’ and Gordon said, ‘Don’t worry, there’s insurance.’ Cnut didn’t press the point, but Gordon could see his disappointment. All this, and five grand’s worth of high-performance boards too. And whatever was packed into their hollow cores.

‘Have you seen your mother?’ Kelly asked.

‘Not since the cricket,’ Gordon said, as if referring to an event a week or a month ago. He would have said Norma belonged to that other era when he still had problems, but here she was on cue, hobbling down the path from the car park.

‘Where is your father?’ Norma cried with such thought-ending anxiety that emergency services personnel stopped what they were doing, like kangaroos in a field.

‘He came back with me and Ben,’ Gordon said. ‘He wasn’t anywhere near … that.’

As if to remind everyone that it still had a beating heart, The Lodge’s basement exploded, bringing down the last of the balcony. The remnant spectators cried, or cheered.

Gordon freed Ben to put an arm around his mother. ‘You know Dad. He’ll pop up somewhere.’

‘He’s a very sick eighty-year-old! We have to get the police!’

Kelly was nodding at Gordon: Not the time for a smart-arse remark. You really do need to find your father.

Gordon turned to Ben. ‘I’m a bit blurry about when we arrived. Did you get him out of the car?’

Ben was frowning, mentally retracing his steps, drawing a blank. Welcome to adulthood, Gordon thought.

‘He wouldn’t have tried to get into The Lodge, would he?’ Gordon asked.

‘Don’t say that!’ his mother cried.

‘Maybe go back to the car,’ Kelly said to Ben. ‘He can’t have wandered far.’

‘Oh, you people!’ Norma cried again.

‘Calm down,’ Kelly said. ‘We’ll find him. Ben, do you want me to come?’