It was at about that point in our conversation that Polly wandered into the lounge room. I got to my feet but Mrs Wallace smiled and said, ‘No, sit down,’ and drew her daughter to her. Polly was a slightly built girl with waist-length dark hair. She was immaculately dressed in clothes that seemed to me to be of her own choosing – pink trainers with glitter, and that kind of thing.

Mrs Wallace said, ‘Say hi to Mr Fawcett,’ but saying hi obviously wasn’t Polly’s bag. She burrowed her hip deep into her foster mum’s lap, not for one second taking her eyes off the jam tarts.

Mrs Wallace said, ‘Go on then, just take one,’ and quick as a bird Polly snatched one up and bolted from the room.

‘So that’s about the opposite of the way she was after she got out of Delaney House,’ Mrs Wallace said, watching her skip off. ‘And I should tell you this, a month or so after we left there, I ran into Snow Delaney at Coles in Bondi Junction. Now, if I’d known that I was going to run into her I’d have gone the other way, but you know how it happens: you turn, and there she is. I said, “Oh, hello, Mrs Delaney.” She looked a bit confused. I suppose because I was out of context there at Coles, and she couldn’t place my face.

‘I said, “You had my little girl, Polly, for respite some months back.” And that’s when I noticed how strange Polly was behaving! She had gone absolutely stock still and she drew herself to me like a magnet.

‘She was holding my leg, saying no, no. I said, “What’s wrong, Polly?” but there was no getting sense out of her. She was shaking her head hard. I was a bit embarrassed, and I said, “Must be the stress of Christmas. You know how frantic they get. Santa’s coming, isn’t he, Polly? Santa’s coming?”

‘Snow leaned toward her and said, “Will he come down the chimney or through the window, Polly?” And it was the first time I’d ever seen Polly do anything like it, but she pushed Snow back – I mean, really shoved her – and arched her back away from her. I thought at that moment, “No, there’s something wrong with this woman; something wrong with what she’s doing; something wrong with Delaney House.”’

‘Did you communicate that concern to anyone?’ I asked. ‘The people at the Department who recommended Delaney House to you, maybe?’

Mrs Wallace said, ‘Yes, I did, when I got home I tried, twice, to call the welfare hotline – they have a special telephone line for people with concerns about the welfare of children – but I was fobbed off when I couldn’t properly articulate my anxieties. I mean, what was I supposed to say? Polly looked funny when I picked her up. She reacted strangely when she saw Snow Delaney again at the supermarket. It doesn’t add up to much. But then when I saw those poor people on the TV pleading for information about their mum, and police saying she’d been in Sydney visiting her sister, and I saw the footage of Delaney House in the background, it was like a shot of electricity up my spine.