‘The . . . we want to catch the person who did this,’ continued De Corrado. ‘There’s lots of people working to make that happen. Does coming here have anything to do with what happened to you? Is there anything you want to tell us, no matter how small?’ She held Mackerel’s eyes. ‘Or, if you like, do you want to tell your uncle, who can pass it on?’ She smiled at Mack.

The boy shrugged under Mack’s protective arm. ‘I just wanted to be around family. I’m sorry if that was the wrong thing to do.’ His voice was innocent, but there was a hint of veiled criticism there.

‘It’s not wrong, but you have to understand that it’s not safe for you. Mentally or physically. Dr Joseph hasn’t discharged you yet. I’m sorry, but we’ll need to take you back to Hobart.’

‘No! No!’ Forest leapt off the couch and sprinted from the room.

‘Forest!’ called Mackerel, cursing his limp as everyone else beat him to the door.

Forest was crouched on the front steps, taking heaving breaths like he was choking. His hand was scrabbling at his throat. Everyone crowded around him.

‘Call an ambulance!’ said Linda.

‘No.’ Mack gestured for the others to hang back. The boy was having a panic attack – Mackerel knew the signs all too well.

He pitched his voice low. ‘It’s alright, Forest . . . it’s okay . . . you’re safe, no one is going to lock you up . . .’ He sat down beside him. ‘You’re going to be safe . . . you’re going to be fine . . .’

Forest gave a sad chuckle, speaking through gasping breaths. ‘If only . . . you knew . . .’

Mackerel heard movement behind him, the detectives drawing closer, wanting to hear what Forest was saying. Mackerel turned on them. ‘Give him some space! It’s alright, he’s not going anywhere. Just give him a moment.’

‘Do you know what you’re doing, Mackerel?’ said De Corrado.

‘Yeah,’ said Mackerel. ‘I do.’

He’d seen a lot of panic attacks in prison. He’d learned that soft voices and reassuring words made a difference, or were anyway far better than prison guards yelling at you.

‘Call an ambulance,’ insisted Linda.

Mackerel and Forest sat by themselves on the cold stone steps, soaking wet. Fifteen minutes had passed and Ahab had brought them both blankets to keep them warm, if not dry.

Forest’s breathing had eased, and he warily watched the detectives, who were having a conversation by the gate. He huddled deeper under his blanket.

‘It feels like I’m letting them win. I wish there was a way I could stay.’

‘You’re not losing anything,’ said Mackerel. ‘The hospital is probably better for you.’

‘Not you, too,’ sighed Forest.

Mackerel chuckled at that. ‘You’re older than you look, aren’t you?’ Flashing lights were coming down the hill. ‘How do you feel?’

‘I don’t want to go, Uncle Mack.’