Slowly her eyes came up, met mine. Startled and clear, like this was more than she’d expected from me. A tiny nod.

‘Hate to break up the little chat when it’s going so nicely,’ Mackey said lazily, swinging himself off the windowsill, ‘but I’m gasping for a smoke.’

‘You told Mum you’d quit,’ Holly said.

‘It’s been a long time since I had your mum fooled about anything. See you in a few, chickadee. If these nice detectives say a word to you, you just stick your fingers in your ears and sing them something pretty.’ And he headed off, left the door swinging open behind him. We heard his footsteps down the corridor, him whistling a perky tune.

Conway and I looked at each other. Holly watched us, under those enigmatic curves of eyelid.

I said, ‘I could do with some fresh air.’

In the foyer, the heavy wooden door was swinging wide. The rectangle of cold light spilling onto the chequerboard tiles was notched with a shadow that moved, one sharp flick, when my steps echoed. Mackey.

He was at the top of the steps, leaning against a column, smoke unlit between his fingers. His back was to me and he didn’t turn. Above him, the sky was a blue aimed for night; it was gone quarter past eight. Faint and delicate, arcing somewhere in the great stretches of dimming air out there, bats’ intent shrills and girls’ intent chatter.

When I came up beside Mackey he raised the smoke to his lips, glanced at me over the click of the lighter. ‘Since when do you smoke?’

‘Just needed some air.’ I loosened my collar, took a deep breath. The air tasted sweet and warm, night flowers opening.

‘And a chat.’

‘Long time no see.’

‘Kid. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m not in the mood for small talk.’

‘Nah, I know. I just wanted to say . . .’  The squirm was real, and the red face. ‘I know you’ve been . . . you know. Putting in the odd good word for me, along the way. I just wanted a chance to say thanks.’

‘Don’t thank me. Just don’t fuck up. I don’t like looking stupid.’

‘I’m not planning on fucking up.’

Mackey nodded and turned his shoulder to me. Smoked like it was fuel and he was going to get every last inch to the gallon.

I leaned against the wall, not too near. Tilted my face up to the sky, just chilling.

Said, ‘I’m dying to ask, man. How’d you pick out St Kilda’s?’

‘You figured I’d have Holly down the local community school?’

‘Something like that, yeah.’

‘The tennis court wasn’t up to my standards.’

Narrowing his eyes against the smoke. Only one corner of his mind was on me.

‘This place, but? When I saw it . . .’ I blew out a half-laugh. ‘Fuck me.’