Gordon saw the group ripple away from Dog’s merry greetings. The eight-time state champ cut herself into silence. Snake shuffled back to his van with Red Cap. Firie Sam went to the shower to wring out his zipper vest. Tonsure Man and Cnut scratched the ground with their toes.

‘What you reckon?’ Dog would be saying to Japan Ned, the only one on whom he could rely for a response.

‘Shit out,’ Japan Ned would say with a smile that was not for Dog.

As if he had only graced them with his presence while on his way to more pressing business, Dog feigned not to notice their snubs and made for The Lodge, the rest following him with their eyes as he crossed the grass down to the corner of the beach. He stepped from the jump rock onto the staircase. He cock-sparrowed up the wooden stairs, straining his ribcage to flatten his man boobs, marshalling energy against age. He paused on the middle landing so he wouldn’t sound puffed-out on arrival, while pretending to appraise the house clinging to the rock face. As a property lawyer, Dog perceived The Lodge as a list of litigation risks. Something had to be done.

Did it? From the inside looking out, possession was nine-tenths of the law and eleven-tenths of fuck-you. For Gordon, The Lodge was a monument to the glorious and improbable reign of nothing: a manifestation of the human will to resist change, a temple dedicated to miracles within miracles. Weather-beaten couches, tables and other furniture of the ‘found’ variety, including two queen beds and a double bunk, had been human-chained down the staircase from Cliff Street into The Lodge, not a soul could remember when. For Gordon, The Lodge was a mighty ruin, a castle redoubt worth the last drop of its defenders’ blood.

But Dog was a can-do guy. A semi-retired practitioner who ran his own race and much else, Dog lived with his wife Sally in the penthouse of the newest unit block behind the surf club, their kids having moved to interstate universities. As an emptynester needs a hobby, Dog’s hobby was Gordon’s wife. When that had begun to go off like yesterday’s milk, Dog had refocused his attention on Gordon, his stated project to fix up his best mate’s life and stop it from going so badly wrong again.

Gordon went inside and knocked an agreed double-rap code on Kelly’s door. Moments later she was a blur up the steps to Cliff Street, clothes bunched under her arm. Gordon preferred not to reflect on his actions, protecting her from having to see him. Funny old world.