‘I think I might have trampled a garden bed when I came over the fence,’ he said. ‘They were agapanthus, I think. Sorry. I’ll pay for the damages.’

I’ll pay for the damages. Abby wondered if she’d ever heard those words from a mouth so young. Come to think of it, she could say the same thing about agapanthus.

‘You came over the fence?’ she asked.

She put a glass of water on the table for him and he gulped it. When he’d drained the whole glass, he stifled a burp, and nodded. ‘From Elk Harbour, rather than coming up Bay Street, I walked up Hat Island Road and through the bushland there. I forgot to bring a torch, but I know those trails pretty well and there was enough moonlight to see for most of it. I followed the sound of the surf until I hit the sand dunes, then came in through the back.’

‘Over my agapanthus.’

‘Again, I’m really sorry about that. But I was sure the police would be watching the house.’

‘You mentioned that,’ she said. ‘Why would it matter if the police saw you? You’re not here to see Eddie, are you?’

He wet his lips and looked down into his lap. ‘No. I … I saw on the news that Mr Gilpin had been arrested. That’s … They got that wrong. That’s not how it happened.’

‘How what happened?’

‘It’s not how that man was killed.’

‘… And how do you know that?’

He looked up and to his right. Eddie was standing in the kitchen doorway, crying. The kettle began to whistle loudly. Abby stood frozen in place for a moment, then turned off the stovetop. She watched the boys as the screeching kettle faded into silence.

‘What are you doing here?’ Eddie asked John. When John didn’t answer, Eddie turned to his mother with the same question. ‘What’s he doing here?’

‘We have to tell, Eddie,’ John said. John looked back down into his lap. His posture reminded Abby of melting snow. ‘We have to.’

‘Tell me what?’ Abby asked.

‘… Mum,’ Eddie said.

Abby steadied her hands. She swallowed the ball of panic that had climbed up her throat and opened the pantry. She took the tin of Milo down from the pantry and prepped two mugs.

‘Sit down, Eddie,’ she said. ‘It sounds like we need to have a talk.’

Reluctantly, he took a seat across from John. Abby felt hot and bitter, sad and fearful. Part of her – and it was a big part – didn’t want to hear what they had to say. Even before they started talking, she knew it would change everything. But slowly, tensely, painfully, like pulling a leech from the skin, she drew their story out of them.