The next night, he told police that Henry Matfield came to his home at 4.25 pm: Lucky could be precise because at the time he was watching the final round of Wheel of Fortune, an unusually tight game, full of blunders. He thought about letting the doorbell ring until the visitor went away, before Henry started banging on the door and calling out in a deep, serious voice, as if some accident had occurred on the street. That afternoon Henry looked like he’d been on a bender that ended thirty minutes ago, despite the fact he didn’t drink alcohol since booze mixed unpleasantly with his medication for depression and epilepsy. Lucky knew such details because Henry, when he came into the cafe, shared his personal business with people he didn’t know well. He kept asking for work at the restaurant and Lucky kept putting him off, claiming that most people were not suited to hospitality. Lucky supposed the young man was lonely, a disappointment to others, and that he disclosed intimate details because he wanted to draw strangers closer. Perhaps this had worked in the past—maybe compassionate people had taken an interest in Henry before he eventually wore them out.

Henry bowed with theatrical delicacy when Lucky opened the door.

‘How do you know where I live?’ asked Lucky.

‘I followed you yesterday,’ said Henry.

‘You shouldn’t do that.’

‘Scary, isn’t it?’

‘If I see you, I see you at the cafe, all right, we can talk there.’

‘Sorry, mate. But I don’t feel good.’

‘Go home and sleep. Have something to eat. Focus on your job. Where do you work?’

‘A shit demolition company. But can I help you with something today? I mean, a job around the house maybe?’

‘Right this minute?’

‘Yeah, right now. Or later. I can come back tomorrow? Like an odd job or whatever for extra cash.’

‘Later in the month I might need someone to take broken furniture from the cafe to Tempe tip,’ said Lucky. For years he dwelled on this point in the conversation, identifying his perfunctory offer of a future errand as his first chance to prevent the Third of April. Given a single minute he could have drawn up a list of tasks for Henry, keeping him busy for the rest of the day and for weeks afterwards.

‘Later in the month? That would be awesome.’

‘You have to take the furniture to the tip. Don’t dump it on some street corner.’

‘I wouldn’t do that. Can I come in for a drink?’

His second chance: Lucky almost let him in. He did hesitate, he did think about talking to the kid, making him coffee and advising him to concentrate on turning the part-time demolition job into a full-time thing. Forget about the restaurant and pleading for piecemeal work. Why not move towns? Sydney is expensive. But Lucky said: ‘Not right now.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’ll see you at the shop.’