They fell into silence for a while longer, and she again pounded the steering wheel. ‘See? You did it again! You deflected my question.’

‘You’re the one who brought up Ivy.’

‘Stop! Just answer the question!’

Mackerel stayed silent. He watched the window.

Shelby said, ‘When Jesse went missing, Davey got everything. Now Forest has returned, and with what those tattoos say, and with Davey missing, I’m worried, Mack. I’m really, really worried.’ They’d reached the end of the worst traffic and she accelerated the Jeep. ‘Do I have reason to be worried?’

‘Why would you say that?’ said Mackerel.

What did she know? How much did she suspect?

‘Stop dodging, Mack, or I’ll pull over and make you walk.’

He swallowed. If he had to hitchhike, he might not make it home in time for curfew.

‘There’s a reason no one believed Ahab,’ said Mackerel. ‘Davey loved Jesse. You know that, you saw that. Davey loved Alexandra and Forest, too. He wouldn’t have done anything to hurt them. And you know that, or you wouldn’t still be married to him.’

‘Don’t talk about my marriage like you understand it, Mackerel,’ said Shelby.

That shut him up. He turned away and looked out the window, at the long sweeping curves of the highway through the hills outside Hobart. Davey had brought him out here, years ago, on one of his first driving lessons. Davey was the only one in the family who’d given up time for him. Driving lessons, kicking the footy, teaching him how to tie a lure, how to pick up girls . . .

‘Davey will be fine,’ said Mackerel. ‘Davey is always fine.’

‘Did you and Jesse ever get along?’ said Shelby.

‘You know the answer to that question,’ said Mackerel angrily.

‘So that’s a no?’ said Shelby.

‘No,’ said Mackerel. ‘Jesse was a bully.’ And I was his favourite thing to torment.

‘A lot of people loved him.’

‘A lot of people love Ivy, too,’ said Mackerel.

The final stretch into Shacktown was enclosed by bushland, the road rising and falling through the mountains that bordered the sea. They came over the hill and into town. From above, Shacktown looked like it had been reclaimed by the bush, the black peppermints and banksias and eucalypts hiding houses and yards and streets – until you saw that gigantic marina and the boats moored there. Then, if you looked closely, you could make out the mismatched houses sticking out of the trees – the cottages, townhouses, villas, container homes, mansions, caravans, tents. Everyone was welcome here, at the edge of the world.

The white foam waves, crashing against the base of the cliffs, were so distant and large they looked to be moving in slow motion. The crosshatch waves brought a shiver to Mackerel’s spine. Beneath it all, the drone of the Black Wind.