Sergeant Aberdeen just shook his head. “I don’t indulge idle gossip,” he said.

“Maybe if you did, they’d have turned up!” said Trish sharply. But Sergeant Aberdeen looked tired and sad. Trish’s mother had disappeared too, I remembered. But that was a mystery: nothing like my family.

“My father just left, Patricia,” I said. My voice felt small. “People do that, don’t they?”

“They-found-your-dad’s-car-in-the-gully,” said Trish in a rush. “There was a murder investigation—”

“Trish—”

“Shut up, Gary! Tina, how can you not know this?”

“Because it isn’t true,” I said. “Mother reported him as missing, but he didn’t want to be found.”

Trish swore. I tried to ignore it. Gary frowned. Sergeant Aberdeen looked at me like he hadn’t really seen me before.

“Well, kiddo?” he said at last. “It looks like it’s been a big day. Let’s take you back.” He’d take me home and everything would be as it was. But I wasn’t a kid.

“I will go,” I said, truthfully, and then, although it hurt as much as anything I’d ever done, as if I were pulling my heart out by the roots, “but not yet.”

My mother would have spoken softly to him, to me, and it would have been easy to do the right thing. But she wasn’t there. He nodded, stepped away and slapped the side of the truck. I turned to look through the rear window, watching the pattern of blue and white checks vanish behind its own dust. He would tell my mother. I got out.

“What now?” exploded Trish. I couldn’t explain. I needed to stand for a moment on the same earth my mother stood on.

“We could all stretch our legs,” said Gary, opening his door. “Clear your head, Trish.”

“My head?” said Trish.

“Put a sock in it,” said Gary wearily. “Mrs Scott was probably trying to protect her.”

“From what?” said Trish, although I heard her slide across the seat. “You don’t believe that. It’s not what she said to my dad. I bet it’s not what she said to you. I’m sure as hell you’ve got your own reasons for being here, Gary Damson.”

I cleared my throat and scuffed one shoe through the white dirt. “What did my mother say?”

“She said you were unbalanced, she was trying to keep you quiet and help you to recover, family life recently had been distressing for you—she didn’t want you to be overstimulated,” said Trish, in a mincing echo of my mother’s voice. “She was afraid you were an unsettling influence on me, and while your, uh, violent tendencies were just a stage—acting out—she wouldn’t want me to get drawn into that spiral. She said she had hopes for your recovery. I guess it worked,” she finished bitterly.