‘Why would Leonie be acting in your interest?’ Dog said. ‘What are you to her anyway?’

Some random klutz who happens to be family, Gordon thought. ‘I trust one thing about her, which is how much she wants to fuck up Kelly.’

‘Champ. What do you think I’ve spent my working life doing?’

Gordon didn’t want to say. From his experience, Dog had spent his working life avoiding work and stealing waves. And wives.

‘Standing in court representing fuckers after deals like yours go pear-shaped,’ Dog answered his own question. ‘This amount of money, this amount of aggro, someone’s going to end up in front of a judge, I’m telling you.’

‘I’m more likely to be in court for murder.’

‘Murdering who?’

‘Who do you reckon?’ Gordon said, letting this sit for a moment before tossing his head towards David Archer’s house and adding, ‘You know I’ve got a court date this week.’

‘Course I know,’ Dog said, and possibly he did. But he was shifting from foot to foot and looking around suspiciously, as if he felt the ground rumbling, the karma train approaching. ‘You’re naive, buddy. Always have been. You reckon Mrs C hates Kel that much, she’ll guarantee you can go on living here till the day you die?’

‘She has a track record.’

‘Not when there’s no commercial interest in it for her.’

‘There’s no commercial interest in her giving me my share of this place.’

‘Have you even seen the contract?’ Dog’s eyes narrowed.

‘I signed it.’

‘Yeah but did you read it? I was fucking there! You don’t have a clue what’s going on.’

‘It seemed rude to go through it,’ Gordon said. ‘In the circumstances.’

‘It seemed rude,’ Dog echoed, shaking his head in disgust. ‘Has it struck you that Leonie picked you out for this deal precisely because you’re the type of clueless cunt who would be so grateful that you would see it as unforgivably rude to read the fucking contract?’

‘Well,’ Gordon said. The possibility had struck him down to the last insult, but it was among such a multitude of possibilities striking him at that emotionally fraught time, he was too busy trying to fend them all off to pay special attention to just one.

‘Champion.’ Dog settled a world-weary look on his oldest friend in the world. ‘The party’s over, and you won’t see the empty fridge coming till after it’s hit you. That’s your problem, Gordo. You just let life sweep you along like flotsam, yeah, all good, fate will provide. But you’ll end up like every incurable optimist: fate’s gunna fuck you up the arse.’