Sarah appears at the boot of the car with Dad.

‘Great. I have a car full of food. Can you get the bags on the front seat?’

‘Sarah, take the little ones inside. I need to talk to Mum.’

‘Dad, can it wait? I’ve got ice cream –’ But I stop speaking when I see the fierce expression on Dad’s face.

Sarah, Petey and Joanne make a game of walking up the stairs to the front door, the girls holding hands and all three jumping when they reach each tread.

Dad takes a step closer to me. ‘Did you meet her somewhere, you and your brother?’

‘Who?’ Though I know who he means, the instant he says it.

‘How would Charlie know what Skye’s hair looked like?’

I am flustered, flummoxed. What has Charlie said? I glance behind Dad to see if Charlie is nearby. ‘Well, I don’t think he does. Why would you ask that?’ I pull my bag higher onto my shoulder. ‘Can I bring in the food?’

‘Forget the bloody food. Charlie said Beau had Skye’s hair. You were there that night, weren’t you? Pulled her body out of the car and left her.’ He points at me with a shaking finger. ‘That’s what happened, isn’t it?’

‘No, Dad, we – no.’ Where is Charlie?

‘Beau was here. Charlie said to him, you have your mother’s hair. Your mother’s hair.’ Dad stands an inch away from me, fire in his eyes.

‘Beau was here?’

‘How could you?’ he bellows. He is breathing heavily, hands on his hips, glowering at me. ‘You get her out and then, what, you drive off? What possessed you?’

My lips tremble but no words come.

‘Is that what happened? Say something.’

‘I tried to move her up to the road. But she was so heavy, and –’

‘Pregnant, she was pregnant! Christ, Abigail. I –’ He makes a gesture as if to erase me, then turns away. He takes the sleeper stairs two at a time and I scurry to catch up with him as he storms inside, down the hall and to his room. As I pass the kitchen I see the children are outside. Sarah is standing on a wobbly chair so she can swing on the Hills hoist. The twins are watching, will want to try, she’ll egg them on, and while none of this should be ignored, I have to ignore it. I hurry to the doorway of the spare room and watch my father hurl his suitcase onto the bed and fling the top back. He grabs his shoes, pyjamas and the stack of books beside his bed and throws them in.

‘Dad, we didn’t mean to. It was an accident. Where is Charlie?’ Where for the love of God is Charlie?

He turns. ‘You didn’t mean to?’

The air rushes out of my chest so I cave in on myself. ‘Dad, I’m sorry. So, so sorry.’

‘You caused this?’ He yells with such ferocity I shrink backwards out of the doorway. ‘You did this to her?’ He walks towards me.