‘You liar! They’ve put words in your mouth.’

‘Mr Lennox, final warning,’ the judge said.

But Dad was too angry to stop. ‘What have they promised you, Darryl? Whatever it is, once this is over, I’ll give you double. Just stop telling lies.’

‘Court adjourned while we remove the defendant.’

And as the guards manhandled my dad out, I knew I had to explain. ‘We have to tell them the truth so we can start again, Dad. You might not go to prison if you do the same—’

My father stared at me like he’d look at a ‘mark’. ‘You’re a fucking grass.’

‘No, Dad, I’m helping us.’

‘You’ve picked your side, Judas. You’ve been poison ever since you took your first breath: first your mum, now me. This is the last fucking time you’ll ever see me.’

He was true to his word. For once. After he’d been taken out, and the jury and judge left the courtroom, the space filled with the chatter of the lawyers and journalists left behind.

But above that chatter, suddenly I remember a high-pitched hum. Bloody hell! For years I’ve thought the tinnitus started after I went to a gig. Now I know it goes way, way back.

The hotel room’s silence takes me by surprise: the dryer has overheated. I drop it, so it hangs like the tentacle of a beige octopus, and I lie down on the navy bedspread.

This is the first time in years I’ve allowed myself to think about that day. My social worker tried to get me to talk about what happened in court, but I couldn’t bear the shame. I was a bad kid. No wonder I was alone. My foster parents were kind, but they weren’t my flesh and blood.

I shake off the memory. This isn’t about me. It’s about another kid, on the other side of the harbour, whose heart is breaking right now.

What am I going to say to Casey if I’m allowed to see her? I dig deep to think about the right words. None of it is your fault. It’s your choice whether to let me in again. Whatever happens next, you have to remember that you’re twelve years old and I’m the adult, your father, and I have a history of letting people down. You must never, ever blame yourself.

Something shifts as I form the words in my head.

At twelve, I thought I knew it all. Except actually I knew nothing. I was less mature than Casey is now. But every bit as scared.

That’s bullshit. How can I compare my situation to hers? She’s facing her own mortality and I was facing . . .

Being alone. Casey has always had her mum, but I knew that the bond with my dad wasn’t strong, that I could never count on my father.

If Casey is not to blame for her illness, couldn’t the same apply to the boy who was Darryl Lennox? And if that’s true, was any of the early stuff my fault: Mum dying, Dad being broke, then ending up in prison? He could have made different choices, but I had no choices at all.