Even Kelly had admitted that the omigod-daughter’s arrival was a breath of fresh air. At her home, Lou had had to drive three hours to her nearest surf club every weekend to swim in Antarctic waters. Here in Bluebird, with the beach at her doorstep, landing a part-time job at a local day care centre, enrolling in a childcare course at TAFE, and setting about transforming The Lodge, she had landed in a version of heaven. She deserved to, having fallen direct from hell.

In the kitchen, Dog was still waiting with his mug.

‘Looks like you’re getting instant again,’ Gordon said, and went off with his Tasks list in search of a pencil.

ALL FILLER NO KILLER

All filler no killer

Gordon was cooking sausages when he received a text message from Kelly asking about his dinner plans. It was not, as it might once have been, an obliquely angled proposition. Recent events had re-encrypted the inquiry: Kelly was wondering if it was safe to come home.

Gordon contemplated lying.

Sausages, he typed.

As he clipped and skinned beans, covered them in a bowl with a pat of butter and put them into the microwave, his phone hummed again.

just you and B?

Gordon was almost knocked down by a wave of sorrow. A fifty-year-old woman shouldn’t have to go through this. This was for twenty-year-olds sharing a flat with people they hated.

Numbers still fluid.

He looked to the balcony, where Dog, Josie, TM and Red Cap were gathering, he imagined optimistically, to mount a group assault on the car park. His hopes were raised when Josie poked her head past the sliding door and said, ‘We should give you some family time,’ as if it was her idea to leave.

Tonsure Man ducked back to the clothing bin to grab his Australian book, the dinosaur onesie, a T-shirt and a set of winter pyjamas he had set aside.

‘Later, Gordo,’ TM said, jingling a set of car keys in farewell, before disappearing through the front door. He, Red Cap and Josie had a system to avoid her having to climb stairs: she entered The Lodge from above on Cliff Street but left via the beach below, disproving the common belief that what comes down must also go up. While Josie and Red Cap left by the back door down the beach stairs, Tonsure Man would fetch Josie’s car from Cliff Street and drive it down to the beach car park, where she and Red Cap would be waiting. It was a perfect little circle, just as long as Tonsure Man didn’t forget to pick them up. There had been times when he had driven straight home and gone to bed, only to wake up the next morning wondering why Josie’s car was in his driveway.