‘I suppose so…I found her hard to figure out though. Her work was so demanding and she was so serious. We would only talk about you kids, nothing else. I got along with Stephen—Mr Mitchell—better. Once he was on the scene.’

I’d forgotten how much time I used to spend at the Mitchells’ house. Chunjuan fed me and made up a blow-up bed for me on Yin’s floor and left out a clean towel and face washer for me when I stayed over and washed my knees when I scraped them and patiently watched the silly plays Yin and I performed using our dolls.

‘I can’t stop thinking about her trapped in that bathroom,’ Mum says. ‘What she’s going through.’

I’ve hardly thought about Chunjuan at all these last two weeks. Sometimes, I’m scum.

‘Is Dad home?’

Mum nods and turns to look me up and down and I am definitely not her little girl anymore.

‘What are you wearing?’ She tsks, so she can’t be that tired. ‘Oh Tal, it’s like feminism never happened.’

‘Technically speaking, I have the right to wear whatever I want,’ I say in an oratory style, because this is well-worn territory with us, ‘even though some of my choices could be seen as perpetuating objectification.’

‘You do listen.’ She sounds surprised.

‘I listen to everything you say, Mummy dearest. But I still don’t think it’s my job to take care of other people’s outdated attitudes. Or their lack of control.’

‘I know.’ Her arms and legs are dangling, the chair barely holding her. ‘I don’t disagree. But it’s different when it’s your daughter. As soon as you turned fourteen and men started looking at you—’

That makes me laugh, one sharp, loud, ‘Ha!’

‘What?’

‘Oh, Ma. Try eleven. There were pervs looking at me in Junior School.’

I lean in to kiss her shocked cheek, she grabs my wrist. ‘Sweetheart, how are you doing? Really.’

I don’t like that ‘really’.

‘Fine.’ I try to wrestle my arm free.

‘It’s good to talk. Don’t you want to talk about it?’

‘No.’ I decide to be straightforward for once. ‘I really don’t.’

I pretend not to see the flash of hurt across her face.

‘I’m always here,’ she says and then she unlocks the handcuffs and my wrist is free and I ignore the invisible pull of her, which could destroy my composure so easily, and I slip away.

Even though I’m exhausted, sleep won’t come. Little strips of street light show through my blinds.

Helicopters drone overhead, tracing circles over our suburb. There have been helicopters over our area more often recently. Every time I hear them I imagine a masked intruder running through backyards, climbing fences and darting down alleyways.