‘But I want to keep one cafe,’ said Lucky. ‘The Stanmore branch will remain wholly under my ownership, free to do with as I please. I still need to earn a living. I can’t retire on this bullshit sum of money.’

‘One single cafe,’ said Shirley. ‘The contract we draw up won’t allow you to turn that into a second cafe with the same name.’

‘I’m back to one.’

Shirley and her husband stood up, with Sam almost knocking over a glass of water in the process, and they came around to Lucky’s side of the table to shake hands. Lucky didn’t want to touch these devils. Up close he noticed that Sam was out of breath and sweating, and he had a blond wart near one ear. Shirley said she’d walk Lucky out of the building, and find him a taxi.

‘Forget it,’ said Lucky, and he left the room, accidentally slamming the door, and rode down in the lift alone. The wind bit down on his cheeks as he waited to cross Elizabeth Street. Cars squealed as they braked at low speed and each of his steps was a strange, cramped, expressive lurch. Lucky had difficulty grasping the fact he was no longer in anyone’s presence. The fact he’d lost. From the city he went to his business in Stanmore, where he gave his chef the remainder of the day off. That night Lucky cooked the dinner service. He didn’t know what else to do. He did not know how to do anything else.

4.

Some weeks later, Lucky did confront Alexander over his unforgivable negligence and betrayal.

It had occurred to Lucky, as he sat in his last remaining cafe, that Alexander would never dare walk through those doors again, and since Lucky had no wish to repair the friendship, they might leave it at that. They lived in different parts of the city—Lucky in the inner west, his old friend in the south—and were unlikely to run into each other on the street, or in a pub, or in a gaming room, because Alexander no longer played cards. But after a period of stewing, Lucky had to know what happened, and why.

He waited in his car down the street from Alexander’s home, listening to the echo of doors around him, the neighbours coming home from work, the metallic gasp of handbrakes, while Lucky lit so many cigarettes that he wondered, by the last smoke, if he might run out of breath when he started speaking or when things came to blows. It was dark when Alexander arrived. The streetlights were dim and badly distanced: three houses shared a single light source. Lucky got out of his car and shouted Alexander’s name, and they walked towards each other, stopping a safe distance away. Lucky couldn’t make out the expression on his former friend’s face.

‘Why did you do it?’

‘What?’ said Alexander.