You get respect when you earn respect

Hirsch moved on and stood looking down at the bedding. A thin foam mattress, stinkingly yellow, askew on the bedframe. Two threadbare grey blankets with blue piping bundled at the foot of the mattress, stained and worn through here and there; probably poor comfort in the night.

A faint shift in the equilibrium of the caravan. As if it lived.

Hirsch went at once to a floor-to-ceiling wardrobe and opened it and the stink rolled out at him and, shrinking into the floor, was a girl, caging her head in her hands and forearms. Matted brown hair, a grimy woollen pullover and oversized explorer socks for warmth. But her legs were bare, and a disposable nappy was straining to protect her midsection.

Hirsch reached out a hand to her shoulder and rested it there. She jerked violently and ground herself deeper into the floor. He couldn’t see her face.

‘My name is Paul. I’m a policeman. You’re safe now. Is your name Lydia?’

A stillness came over her. Not acquiescence: a willingness to listen? Give him the benefit of the doubt? He stroked her forearm and relayed some low, soft, calming nonsense for a couple of minutes: Isn’t it a cold day! Want to go somewhere warm? You must be feeling a bit uncomfortable there. Ms Ogilvie’s worried about you. Shall we find you some warm clothes?

It didn’t work. At each statement she flinched, curling herself more tightly into a ball.

Hirsch realised how tiny she was, skin and bone. Eleven? She looked about six or seven.

‘Now I’m just going to make you more snug and comfortable,’ he said, lifting her out in one motion. She stiffened but didn’t struggle. He spread one blanket over the stained mattress, sat her on it, wrapped the other around her shoulders.

She no longer hid her face in her arms but looked at the floor rather than meet his gaze. A smudged jawline, sharp cheekbones, mouth ajar. She sniffed wetly. A rattly cough. She’s not well, Hirsch thought.

She dragged a forefinger across her nostrils. It glistened, a new mucous trace upon old, and a ring glinted, fake ruby, fake silver, and that made Hirsch sadder than ever.

‘Is anyone home, Lydia?’

Nothing.

‘I knocked at the house but there was no answer.’

This time she shrugged.

‘Have they gone to the shops?’

She seemed to consider the question and whispered, ‘In Clare.’

‘Okay. For shopping?’

A pause and a shrug.

‘Would you like to go over to the house and have a nice warm bath and change your clothes?’

She shrank against the enormity of that. ‘Stay here,’ she said.

‘Is this your bedroom?’

She was very still; then a tiny nod.

‘Shall we see if we can find you a change of clothes?’

Nothing.

‘I could warm up some water so you can wash and change in here. I’ll wait outside.’