Mackerel made to head inside, anxious to get away from her, but she rolled down her window and snapped, ‘Come on, then.’

‘Come where?’ said Mackerel.

‘To Hobart, dimwit. If you’re the one Forest trusts then you need to be there to get something out of him. We have to find out what happened to Alexandra and Jesse, and if it’s related to what happened to Davey. Forest is the key to it all!’ There was strain in her voice. ‘And, seeing as my useless contractor isn’t getting a peep out of him, maybe you can get him to open up. So hurry up. Davey deserves the best from us.’

‘But I . . .’

The words died on his lips. Big Mane had work for him today – another day’s work, to make up for the shift he missed yesterday. And it would do him good to be out on the boats, to be in the water, help take his mind off the grief.

‘I said hurry, dimwit,’ said Ivy. She rolled up the window.

Another day’s income lost. Another friend let down.

Another failure in a long tally of failures.

There was one redeeming thought that Mackerel kept coming back to: Forest trusts me. That thought warmed him, gave him hope.

But Big Mane was already at the boat waiting for him. He shot him a quick text, explaining that his mother had come for him – a whole paragraph of apologies.

Then he climbed into Ivy’s car.

For the whole drive to Hobart, there was no music, no conversation. Just his mother staring straight ahead, resolute. The same anger she’d shown yesterday in the face of Davey’s death.

They pulled up at a big house in Battery Point, with the names of doctors and psychologists listed on the sign out the front. Ivy had her knitting bag and a picnic basket, both of which she forced into Mackerel’s arms. He followed her into a reception room, and then was led down a gleaming, varnish-scented hallway to a large timber door. She pushed it open, Mackerel trailing behind.

Forest lay on a massive bed, flipping idly through an old magazine. He looked up as they entered and then cried out in delight.

Ivy swept the boy up in her arms.

An ageing psychiatrist entered the room and had a brief chat with them – Mackerel wasn’t sure what had happened to Dr Joseph, but this new woman seemed very cold. The psychiatrist was followed by another, far warmer young lady called Frankie, who had some other kind of ‘therapist’ title. He noticed Forest stiffen when Frankie walked in.

When the psychiatrist left, Frankie and Ivy had a chat in the corner. Mackerel sat down beside Forest, and the boy mumbled, ‘Thanks for coming.’

‘How did you recover after last night?’

Forest shrugged. ‘You’ve gotta convince Ivy to let me come home.’