A long-dormant memory shunted itself to the front of Manolis’s mind. It was of Molly standing on stage at a school assembly, being applauded, the dux of her year. She’d been a bright student, full of promise and potential. Inevitably, the reality of living in Cobb had caught up with her.

Manolis retrieved the notebook and biro from his pocket. ‘Sorry to ask, but when did your son die?’

Vera sat back in her chair and considered the burnt-orange sky. Her eyes were soon glistening. ‘Four years ago this April. I’ll never forget the day. We’d just returned from protesting.’

‘Protesting?’ Manolis asked, writing.

‘The brown house,’ said Rex. ‘It was around the time they first mentioned plans for it to be built.’

Vera nodded lightly and fixed her gaze on a small patch of dirt near Manolis’s brogues. ‘That place has absolutely gutted this town,’ she said coldly.

She described how the detention centre had been ‘foisted’ upon them, and that the information they were told was ‘bloody lies’.

‘We used to get out and enjoy the town,’ said Rex. ‘Not anymore.’

‘Look, I’ll be the first to admit we’ve had a few more bookings,’ Vera said. ‘So the money’s been good, yep. But it’s still a pittance compared to the trouble that comes with it. The security guards, interpreters, cleaners come and go every few weeks, so they don’t give a hoot what they do to the place.’

‘They come for the money and a good time, but that’s about it,’ said Rex. ‘We’re like a paid vacation for them.’

‘My back’s broken from cleaning their mess, and poor Pa has to fix all sorts of damage to the cabins,’ said Vera. ‘They’re animals. And don’t even get me started on the boat people.’

‘Dangerous to our nation,’ Rex grumbled. ‘To Australian unity.’

‘We’re under attack,’ Vera said. ‘Look around you, look at the town, there’s no Aussie faces anymore.’

‘We’ve already got terrorists here,’ Rex added. ‘Right here, in Cobb. We’re living among the enemy, and they’re runnin’ up a tab on our dime.’

Vera looked up at Manolis. ‘I bet you my bottom dollar those troublemakers are mixed up in this.’

He stared at her blankly for a while. ‘How… so?’ he asked gradually. ‘Did Molly have anything to do with the asylum seekers?’

‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ said Vera.

‘You’re not sure, then?’

‘Not really, no,’ Rex interrupted. ‘We’d drifted apart in recent times. She loved our Patrick dearly, so I think we became a painful reminder.’

‘And do you have anything to do with the asylum seekers yourselves?’

‘No way,’ Vera hissed. ‘Not a chance.’ Her voice was as soft as cotton, her words as sharp as glass.