‘I came to rely on her. She looked after you when I went back to work. I took her for granted, although it took me a while to realise that.’ She turns into the bedroom and squats down by the bed. ‘The Mallories’ house was empty for months after we got back from England. Your father was working long hours and I had no help with Scott when he came along. I’ve never been so lonely.’

‘Sounds tough.’

‘That’s one word for it.’ Louisa reaches under the bed and pulls out a suitcase. ‘If Mandy had walked through the door back then, I’d have forgiven her anything. I’d have fallen at her feet and begged her to help me.’

Isla sits down on the bed. The rage has passed. She feels a prickle of shame, of foolishness. ‘Why didn’t you ever talk about her?’

‘It was easier not to.’ Louisa takes clothes from their hangers and throws them into the case. ‘Your father jumped out of his skin when I mentioned her name. I tried to put her out of my mind.’

She’s leaving, Isla thinks, as her mum takes sweaters and T-shirts from the drawers, barely pausing to look at them. She folds them briskly, and Isla remembers her in a yellow dress, patterned with daisies. A hot day and a taxi with vinyl seats that burned the backs of her legs.

‘I can’t protect your father any more,’ Louisa says. ‘I know you love him.’ She takes her nightdress from under the pillow. ‘I know you don’t want to believe it.’

‘I don’t believe it.’ She shakes her head.

‘He was the last one to see Mandy alive.’ Louisa nods towards the kitchen, as if the cop were still there with his notebook and his radio. ‘Steve Mallory left without her.’

‘It’s Steve’s word against Dad’s as far as I can tell. And Steve was a cop. They’re bound to believe him.’

Louisa tuts, and throws a hairbrush into the case, followed by a framed photograph of Isla and Scott, taken by the school photographer: Scott with a neat row of baby teeth, Isla with her hair teased into plaits.

‘Steve was one of the cops who carried out the forced removals. The Aboriginal kids who were taken from their families.’

Louisa stares at Isla. A cloud passes over the sun and the light flattens. ‘How did you know about that?’

‘Dad told me.’

She snaps the suitcase shut. ‘I don’t see how it’s relevant.’

‘A job like that could send a man off the rails.’

‘You’re clutching at straws.’ She lifts the case from the bed. ‘Steve adored Mandy.’

‘You’re ready to think well of a man who was involved in that? But not your own husband?’

‘You seem ready to suspect anyone but your father.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘I think it is, darling. I think you want to lay blame on anyone but him.’ The sun comes out. Louisa stands in a slant of light from the window, lit up with dust motes. ‘Come with me, Isla.’