I can’t talk to May Miller and hope to get anything useful, but I can read up about what happened. The Eidsvold Historical Society has a huge range of stuff. They might have old newspapers and things I could hunt through. Part of me wants to squirm – it isn’t the kind of place our mob go because it isn’t exactly our history. Besides, they’re only open from 10am to 3pm, so I’ll have to cut school to do it. Mum will destroy me if I do that. But she really can only blame herself for shutting me out in the first place. Decision made, I feel a bit better. Maybe if I can find out what happened to May, I can figure out where Laney is. It’s worth a try.

‘Anyone home?’ The sing-song call from the front is a relief.

‘Out the back.’

Rhi comes around the corner of the house, takes one look at me and sighs.

‘No one else back yet?’

‘Nuh.’ I can’t look at her. Partly because I don’t want to talk about it, partly because I know she’ll push it anyway. ‘Where’s Aunty Mel?’

‘Gone to get the kids settled. I’m crashing here with you.’

I finally look at her and smile. I could use the distraction and on a good day Rhi registers in the cyclone category. She drops down into one of the mismatched chairs and kicks off her shoes.

‘Didn’t see much out there. Uncle Joe’s been talking to a lot of the cow-cockies he’s worked for before, seein if we can head onto their properties tomorrow for a look. Should be good, ay. Although if that dickhead Troy keeps up his stories, I’m gonna take a detour past is place first.’

‘Stories?’ I ask casually.

‘You memba Clarrie’s sister Debbie? The one you met that other Christmas when we was all hangin out?’

I hate these ‘you memba’ games. For a small town there is way too many people and connections to keep straight. ‘Oh my God, no I don’t memba, get to the point!’

‘Fine then. Friggin ell!’ I’d interrupted her story so she has to go back. ‘Clarrie’s sister Debbie reckons she heard Edna tellin Mary from the butcher’s that Laney took off on Troy with some whitefulla from that property they snuck onto. Reckoned she used Troy so she could meet up with that other man and shoot through without anyone figurin it out.’

Watching the glass bottle shatter against the weatherboard, spraying all of its contents about, is my first hint that I’ve thrown it. It shocks us both so much no one moves. Usually it is Laney who throws things, who loses control and goes ape-shit. Laney has Mum’s temper. Not me. Never me.