‘I’m partly responsible, so I deserve to be punished,’ Jake went on. ‘I really respect you, Miss Ayres, and I’m sorry I made your life harder. I hope you won’t hold it against me and that we can be really good friends going forward.’

You had to hand it to him; the provocation was so subtle you couldn’t call him on it. I was pretty sure Warren felt uneasy. I could see it in his eyes—a slight shift. A hesitation. But all he said was, ‘Right. Let’s go. You boys have a bathroom to clean.’

As he left, he and I exchanged the kind of glance I hadn’t exchanged with anyone for a very long time. It was a glance I used to exchange with fellow teachers.

Can you believe these fucking kids?

After breakfast, I cleaned the camp kitchen. Then, while the boys were doing their PT, I cleaned my own kitchen and the rest of the house too, because it wasn’t just my bedroom that felt soiled. Everything did.

I was listening to Shaun’s muffled drill commands when Joe and Rhys appeared on my doorstep. They’d come for the mattress.

‘While we can,’ said Rhys. They both looked shamefaced—Joe especially. His big brown eyes were almost liquid with distress.

‘I can’t believe we dropped the ball like that,’ he said. ‘We owe you big time.’

‘You need eyes in the back of your head with this lot,’ Rhys admitted.

‘We’ve narrowed it down, though.’ Joe was so busy reassuring me that I don’t think he noticed we were moving down the hall to my bedroom. ‘There’s three kids we can’t account for at the time of the incident—Nathan, Darren and Jake.’

‘And Sam for a moment, but that would have been tight,’ said Rhys, hoisting my dirty mattress up off the bed slats.

‘Yeah. It would have been hard for Sam.’ As Joe shouldered the other end of the mattress, his voice grew strained. ‘Though he is a prankster. He likes his jokes.’

‘It wasn’t a joke,’ I said.

‘Hell, no! But kids—they’re impulsive.’ Manoeuvring his load through the door, Joe added, ‘Where do you want this? Shaun said we have to bring one back from the other house…’

‘Yeah, I’ll unlock it for you.’ But first I had to unlock the old poultry shed. Waste disposal was a big problem on Finch Island; I had an elaborate commercial composting system, and the recycling was picked up once a month, but bulky scrap defeated me. I couldn’t use the dump site near the Aboriginal compound because it was heritage listed.

For the most part I just left my old bits of furniture in the poultry shed for the next caretaker to worry about.

‘Stick it back there. Anywhere you can find a spot.’ I pointed through the shed door. ‘And lock up when you’re finished.’