The pub on the corner of Grey Street is lit up like a Christmas tree. A trio of backpackers sit smoking cigarettes in the gutter out the front, and the line to get in snakes around the corner. Oli takes a right into Barkly Street, passing wine bars and restaurants, beautiful old houses nestled between run-down apartment buildings.

‘Where do you live?’ she asks him, navigating the backstreets.

He interprets her question as an invitation to narrate his entire family history. ‘We live in Box Hill. Dad’s brother is there too, just a few streets over from us.’

‘Nice.’

‘I’m an only child.’

‘You mentioned that.’

‘Heaps of cousins, though.’

‘Right.’

‘I always wanted a cat, but my mum’s allergic.’

Oli doesn’t reply.

The street reaches a dogleg, marking the start of Paradise Street.

‘This is it,’ Oli says, interrupting Cooper as he describes his mother’s allergies.

He angles his body forward, the seatbelt straining against his scrawny chest. ‘Number twenty-eight, right?’

Oli nods. The streetlights create dull yellow circles every few metres, and while some of the houses have their porches lit, most are dark. ‘It’s further down.’ She keeps the car at a low hum. ‘There.’ Bringing it to a stop, she flicks off the headlights. A For Lease sign is nailed to the front fence, black graffiti scrawled across it.

A jolt of déjà vu charges through her. Aside from a new garden bed on the left side of the lawn and a row of rosebushes along the front fence, it looks almost exactly the same.

‘I totally remember the moment the news broke,’ Cooper whispers. ‘I was in the den watching cartoons, eating Weet-Bix—or maybe it was Coco Pops—anyway, I could hear the radio from the kitchen, that news music they used to have, and a newsreader said a woman had been killed in St Kilda, and we’d been to Luna Park the weekend before. And so I just completely freaked out. I snuck into the lounge that night to watch the news from behind the couch. My mum and dad were talking about it—you know, like playing detective. Mum said the girls sounded like trouble, but she’s pretty conservative.’

‘I was right here,’ Oli says. ‘In a much less expensive car than this one.’ She feels a stab of affection for her old Mazda; she loved that car.

Cooper bounces back against his chair. ‘It’s such a spin out!’

Oli is starting to regret bringing him here. Now that she has seen the house again, coming here feels kind of foolish. What did she expect, a lightning strike of inspiration? A clue?

‘Seriously,’ he says, ‘it’s like you’re retracing your steps, uncovering new leads.’