My fingers are moving. It’s like I’ve got invisible needles and the wool’s going slack, then tight, looping and falling. But in truth, I’m just knitting air.

Then I hear the cell door unlocking and Elena opens it up. My legs are wobbly when I stand, but I make my face look hard.

Elena says, “We’ve found someone for you. The lawyer’s arrived too.”

She smiles at me like I should be happy at the news.

Elena takes me to an interview room. The duty solicitor’s waiting for me there. He’s called Roberto. He tells me his name and who he is straight away, maybe in case I think he’s a social worker. Roberto, man, no social worker ever comes into a police station looking like they’ve walked out a wedding.

Roberto is wearing a grey suit, white shirt and shiny grey tie. I don’t reckon he’s much older than Blake. He’s kinda got a look of Blake about him too. Same light brown hair, same small ears, same tightness around his shoulders as if he’ll throw a tantrum if some foster kid takes his bedroom.

Just then, the door opens. Elena shows in a Black version of Annie – same age and same clothes sense. She’s wearing a dark red dress and trainers and has long grey braids pulled back with a scrunchy. A big chain round her neck spells “No-To-Cuts”. She and the lawyer look at each other. They don’t shake hands.

“Hello, Charlene,” she says. “My name’s Vera. I’m here as your appropriate adult.”

Man, all these names I’m supposed to remember.

I can’t get comfortable in the interview room yet. First they’ve got to book me in. Vera goes with me. This new room is bright and white and the feds are wearing aprons. It’s like they use this place for brain operations. I imagine coming out of here with my skull flapping open and an empty hole inside. I want to laugh, but it’s not funny. I just feel sick.

I have to open my mouth so they can swab out my cheek for DNA.

I have to let them take my photo. Left. Right. Front. Like they’re gonna slap it on some damn Wanted poster and stick it on walls around town.

I have to let them take my fingerprints. Every damn finger, one at a time. Press them against the pad that takes a picture for the computer. It’s gonna be like a Police Google now. Tap in my name and see my lovely face and read what they brought me in for today.

Vera’s saying sorry that this has to happen to me. She says it’s an outrage. But it still happens.