Mum’s outraged gasp has me turning to look and I wince. Rhi hasn’t gotten off as easy as we hoped. Her big black eye is like an accusation. And if that’s what she looks like, I don’t want to look in a mirror. Somehow the bull story is looking more and more like … bull. Rhi goes from staring in horror at my face, to looking innocently into my mother’s.

‘Well, Aunty, see it’s like this, we were out at the river dryin off when this bloody big bull come along and chased us. We tried to run but ended up fallin down that steep hill out there, and, well …’ She waves at my face, not realising her own isn’t great either.

Mum’s eyes move to mine and I know that story isn’t going to fly. I hold my breath and wait. Her lips twist.

‘Ya got five minutes to get ya arses in the kitchen. I’m gonna need a coffee to deal with this one.’ She turns and marches out of the room, pausing to duck her head back in the door. ‘And before you think about tellin me that shit again the two of ya better stop and look in the mirror.’ Then she’s gone.

Rhi and I exchange a look. ‘Well, at least we tried.’ Hell hath no fury like a Thomson mother disobeyed, and we both know it.

The mirror is way worse than I expected. My eye and cheek are more bruised than Rhi’s, with some artful cuts and gravel rash thrown in. She presses up against the glass touching her eye mumbling, ‘He must’ve got a shot in. I didn’t even feel it.’

‘That’s what adrenalin’ll do. We look like we got roughed up by our pimp.’

‘How’re we gonna go outside like this?!’ Rhi wails.

‘At least it’s the weekend and I don’t ave ta go ta school like this.’ I touch my eye gingerly. I don’t want people seeing me like this either, but I’m more worried about the reaction of the woman in the kitchen. ‘Time to face the music.’

I wash my face, wishing I could wipe away the evidence as easily, and head out. I give Rhi her due, she stays right there with me.

We trudge into the kitchen; it’s now a firing squad.

‘Aunty, I gotta get home, Mum needs me to—’

I glare at Rhi. She’s already edging her way towards the door when Mum speaks.

‘Stop. Right. There.’ She casts the evil eye over both of us. ‘Sit.’

We drop into chairs and I stare at my hands.

‘Speak!’

‘I’m not a bloody dog,’ I mumble.

‘No, but ya act with about as much sense. And if ya don’t start talkin I’mma treat ya like one.’