This, like ‘Bali is ruined’, is one of Ryan’s current obsessions. He’s become a broken record about it. His theory, sparked by something he read, is that every interaction between people is a power play, sometimes subtle, sometimes unrecognised – but everything is about power. It’s a depressing way of seeing the world.

Sal calls out from the doorway. ‘Ryan, our little lamb is here.’ She stands on the top step next to Finn and has her hand on Beau’s shoulder. He’s wearing denim shorts, a Milo t-shirt and thongs that are at least a size too big for him, and his hair sticks out awkwardly over his ears. It’s all I can do to stop myself from jumping up and throwing Beau out of their reach, away from all of us.

As Sal, Finn and Beau walk towards our table, I notice that the boy is staring at me with a look of worry: I’m the dangerous one, I realise, the one who came to kidnap him.

‘Let’s go back to the house,’ Sal says once they reach us and Ryan has greeted Beau. ‘Finn says he can hang out a while.’ She puts her hand on Finn’s arm. ‘We had no idea you’d been through such a terrible time, babe.’

Beau stands next to Sal, holding her hand.

‘Wait, where was Beau while you were talking with us?’ I ask Finn.

Finn cocks his head in the direction of the street. ‘Outside, playing. Not that it’s any of your business.’

Beau lifts up a calico bag, unsure whether he’s supposed to offer evidence. He looks to his father for guidance but Finn has fixed his eyes on me again so Beau slowly drops his arm back to his side.

Ryan, Sal, Finn and I sit on the veranda of a run-down Queenslander on Addison Street. The house belongs to Sal’s cousin Colleen, a nurse, who has gone to work a night shift.

We occupy a lumpy armchair apiece, with a potted umbrella tree standing by the front door, parched. The neighbour’s tabby cat slinks along the top of the crusty wooden railing and settles in the shadows offered by an overgrown jasmine vine. I feel the warm boards under my feet, the layer of grit sticking to my soles. I’m here because I’m anxious about the conversations that might happen in my absence. Otherwise there is no way I’d want to spend another second in Finn’s company.

There’s still enough light in the sky to watch fruit bats flap towards the banana groves. Nearby streetlights jerk awake. Sal has put a radio on the floor beside me, the volume on low because Beau is sleeping on Colleen’s bed. I smoke a spliff and munch on salt-and-vinegar chips, listen to 4BC.

Finn agrees with Sal that it’s a good thing her cousin moved to Red Hill and found this house on stilts with its sloping backyard, its mango and avocado trees and out-of-the-country landlord. They talk about the house they lived in with Skye, when Beau was a baby. The three of them share memories of Skye. Ryan cries. Sal doesn’t. I watch Finn’s face for any sign he knows the police suspect Abby and me, but I see nothing to suggest he does, and neither of us mentions Roberts or Doyle. No one mentions my dad.