‘That’s what I want to ask him.’

‘Have you spoken to Inspector Perry about it?’

‘I spoke to his colleague, Sergeant Dent. She’s as bad as him, in her own way.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Neither of them want to know.’

Louisa stops at the Ocean Street crossing and lets the traffic pass. ‘I can’t understand it,’ she says. ‘Inspector Perry was so thorough.’

‘He was Steve’s boss, Mum. They kept in contact after Steve left the force.’

‘That doesn’t mean anything.’

‘I think they tried to get Dad convicted. And when that fell apart they closed the case.’

The lights change and she moves forward. ‘I don’t believe that for a minute.’

‘I do.’

‘You’ve always had a problem with authority.’

Isla draws breath to reply and thinks better of it. She counts very slowly to ten. The sky clouds over as they drive through Edgecliff, across town and over the Harbour Bridge. The water is dark and choppy, the Opera House dour without the sun. They pass Luna Park, where Scott cried as a kid, terrified by a ride that held them to the inside wall of a large, spinning barrel.

‘The Rotor,’ Louisa says, as if Isla had spoken. ‘I had to take him home.’

‘I loved it,’ Isla says. She’d stayed behind with her dad after her mum and Scott left and he’d let her go back on the ride. She’d never felt so brave and reckless and proud.

‘You know the marriage is over, don’t you? Whatever happens.’

‘Yes.’

‘He’s not going to stop drinking.’

Isla looks out at the freeway, seeing nothing, wishing she’d stayed on the other side of the world, where her family had made sense to her. She’d been able to love them from that distance.

They head west, away from the city, speaking only to check directions or to comment on the traffic. Louisa holds the slow lane all the way, the steering wheel shuddering, and Isla looks out at the telegraph poles, recalling Scott’s expression as he stood on the stairs in his socks, asking if she’d been over the limit. He fuses in her mind with Dom, the way he turned away from her, appalled, sick of her apologies. The wearing thin of love. She needs a drink like never before.

‘Do you like your job?’ Louisa says out of nowhere.

‘Mostly.’ Isla turns, and her eyes fall to her mum’s feet. She’s wearing cheap plastic thongs and her toenails are painted red. ‘I’m good at it, I think. It forces me to be patient. Hours go by and I hardly notice.’

‘Do they treat you well?’

‘I can’t complain.’

‘Good money?’

‘Not bad. I had enough saved for the deposit on an apartment. To buy a place. But I let it go.’

‘You don’t have to buy an apartment,’ Louisa says. ‘I know that’s what everybody does in London. Doesn’t mean you have to follow.’

Isla shifts in her seat. ‘Are you giving me advice?’