‘You’re a miracle worker!’ said Josie, who was inclined to dewy-eyed sentiment when it came to Lou. Ever since there had been surf clubs, there were talented kids walking out on them. A motivated few would move to another club, but most quit. Lou spotted a chance to run an informal, stress-free girls’ board training and racing group out of The Lodge. Gordon had raised the peril of council permits, but Lou pointed out that there was no law against a group of crusty male surfers using The Lodge as a clubhouse, so what was to stop young girls doing the same?

‘Okay, I get it, you want coffee,’ Lou said. Gordon followed her to the La Marzocco. ‘You don’t want to give it a crack?’ she asked.

Gordon shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t want to do anything to the machine.’

‘It doesn’t take a uni degree, only ten minutes of your undivided attention.’

Lou had been nagging Gordon to let her teach him the skills of the Italian masters. He, overcome by the certain knowledge that even on a La Marzocco his coffee would taste like burnt rubber, had managed to wriggle free.

‘I specialise in instant,’ Gordon said.

‘Or that’s what Kel says!’ Dog yelped from the living room.

Lou widened her eyes at Gordon. ‘Did he actually say that?’

Gordon looked at the floor. The kitchen was developing a similar slope to the living room.

‘I’m not making him coffee,’ Lou said. ‘It’s a waste of my spit.’

‘Squad’s not here yet. I’ll watch and learn.’

Gordon’s transparent ulterior motive for avoiding learning the machine was to make Lou indispensable. She had told him how sad it was that she was the best new arrival into his life; sad because of the circumstances of her coming, sad because she would leave before he was ready. ‘How do you know when I’ll be ready?’ Gordon had asked. She let him work that one out for himself.

The coffee machine’s signals lit up and Lou went to work, darting about the controls like the pinball wizard she used to be until the night Snake, Cnut and Macca drank enough vodka Red Bulls to hatch the great idea of pitching The Lodge’s KISS-themed pinball machine off the balcony, an act for which they made amends by helping Lou cart the brand-new La Marzocco down from Cliff Street. Gordon poured himself a glass of water and sat at the melamine breakfast bar.

‘How was Up North?’ Lou asked. ‘We haven’t really had time to talk about it.’

‘Ben didn’t tell you?’

‘Ben told me how it was for him. I’m asking how it was for you.’

‘Good,’ Gordon said.

Without raising her eyes from the coffee machine, Lou wound up her middle finger.