‘I said—’ she paused to blow her nose ‘—how boring your house was and that I had a little sister down there. I didn’t tell him any names. We told him we were in year twelve. You don’t think … ?’

Marty could imagine the conversation. Victoria and Kimmy out to impress the older guy, perfecting their lines about how hip they were in Sydney compared to the tediousness of life in Canberra. That fucker, preying on young, vulnerable girls.

‘I didn’t tell them Bella’s name or your address,’ she snivelled.

‘Who were the other men there?’

‘They all had nicknames: Robbo, Shorty, Dazza and Macca. I think they had played rugby together at uni.’

Marty held his other hand to his head, as though trying to keep the fear contained. A group of five men ‘partying’ in a room with his teenager, and now possibly with his little girl.

‘What was the street number of the house?’

‘I don’t know, Dad. But you can’t tell the police about this. Kimmy and I will get into such trouble.’

‘Who gave you the ecstasy? Which one of them?’

Victoria started wailing. Marty shut his eyes and held onto the kitchen bench for support. His daughter’s cries sounded exactly like a toddler’s.

‘It was him. Brenno.’

41 LEXIE

41

LEXIE

AS I HUGGED A BLUE TEDDY BEAR IN ARCHIE’S ‘SHRINE’, MY THOUGHTS focused on Mel. Was Marty telling the truth about how he knew her? In one way, the story made sense—Mel liked to appear very relaxed about parenting; she wouldn’t want us to know she’d been seeing a specialist. But Marty had said something about mainstream school. Sammy knew his numbers and letters; he was far more advanced than any of the other playgroup kids.

While I’d been keeping Archie a secret from the playgroup, it hadn’t occurred to me that the others might have their own secrets as well.

My mobile pinged. A text from Imogen:

R u ok? Can’t believe a playgroup mum wld do that. Hang in there. We’ll find Bella. Sending all my love and prayers xxxxxx

No messages from the others. Had it been Julia on TV? Or Tara? Tara needed attention in the same way that I needed alcohol. But she’d been here in our house the night Bella had disappeared. Surely she’d seen how much we loved Bella. Meanwhile, Julia hadn’t even texted me today; she’d hidden herself and her unborn baby away from me. Did she think our tragedy was contagious?

I walked into the kitchen where Marty was on his phone. He waved me away, saying: ‘I’m leaving a message for Sergeant Caruso.’

What would he say to that bloody detective? Go and search properly. Find out who left Bella’s shoe and water bottle at the church. Find Bella!