‘Uh . . . follow me, please.’

Tully and Rachel nodded solemnly and followed Jazmin down a narrow corridor to a small windowless office. It was funny how far she’d fallen. Normally, Tully felt right at home in Myer. The marketing was tailored to people like her. The clothes – for both adults and children – were aimed at people like her. The salespeople smiled at her when they saw her, confident that she belonged. Now she was in a back room. She felt like one of those people on Border Security who’d been detained for trying to enter the country without a visa.

‘Does this remind you of Border Security?’ Rachel asked.

‘That’s exactly what I was thinking,’ Tully replied.

They waited in the windowless room for what felt like an eternity. It must have been part of the process: trying to ‘sweat them out’.

‘Do you think someone’s going to come in with a spotlight and a glass of water?’ Tully asked her sister. But Rachel’s gaze was faraway, her mind somewhere else.

‘It was weird, what Mum said at Miles’s party, don’t you think?’ Rachel said. ‘About how Dad made her life hell and she should have left him years ago?’

‘It was weird,’ Tully agreed. ‘But not true, obviously. You don’t think she meant it?’

It took Rachel a long time to respond. So long that Tully turned to her and repeated, ‘You don’t think she meant it?’

‘No,’ Rachel said hesitantly. ‘I mean, I don’t think so. But . . .’

‘But what?’

‘I guess I keep thinking about it in the context of the money. If Mum wanted to leave Dad, maybe . . .’ Rachel paused.

‘Maybe what?’

Rachel looked at her as if assessing whether Tully was up to hearing this. The answer must have been yes, because she continued, ‘I was going to say, it’s almost as if she was saving to run away.’

Tully gave a little scoff, as though the very idea was unthinkable. Which, of course, it was. Mum and Dad had been married for thirty-eight years. They were a solid couple. Mum would never have wanted to leave him. He was her soul mate. ‘You can’t possibly believe that,’ Tully said, right as the door opened and the police strolled in, with Jazmin on their heels.

‘Which one of you is Mrs Harris?’

Tully shot to her feet. ‘Me.’

She looked at the police officers, trying to get a read on them. She’d ascertained from Law & Order SVU that there were two types of cops: the thirsty-for-an-arrest type, who liked to make an example of people; and the lazy kind who couldn’t be bothered with paperwork. Tully prayed for the latter, but it was hard to tell at a glance. One was a young man, probably in his twenties; the other was older, in his fifties. He had a kind, lined face. There was a fuss around who would sit where for a moment, before the older cop, who introduced himself as Sergeant Paul Harvey, offered to stand. He was the one who did the talking.