‘What about the truth being the most important thing we have?’ he demanded. ‘That’s what you used to say. Whatever happened about telling the truth?’

‘Do you mean about the sketchbook? I just want to understand!’

‘I mean about everything!’

‘I want to protect you.’

He sneered. ‘How about protecting other people?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Everyone thinks I’m a murderer. They think those people would be alive if it weren’t for me.’

‘Caleb, this isn’t rational. They only think that because they think you lit the fire. But that isn’t true. You know that. We just have to convince them.’

‘They want me dead. That’s the truth. Rosie wants me dead.’

I only wanted what I could bear. I took a backwards step, towards the door. ‘You shouldn’t have to go through this.’

‘The truth is they’re right. I deserve to be hated.’

‘I don’t want to hear this.’

‘But you wanted me to talk.’

‘I want you to clear yourself. That’s what you want, too.’

‘Is it? Are you sure?’

Of course I was sure. He was my son.

Jack came over. ‘I saw In Australia Tonight. I’ll do whatever I can to help.’

We had coffee. I didn’t know what to say. He tried sitting close to me like none of this was really happening. I wanted to pretend that was true. He was warm and strong.

‘You’re tired,’ he said. ‘Lunch tomorrow?’

‘All right.’

We’d been in the tiny Brunton Primary staffroom the first time I really noticed Jack as a man, and not as a generic firey (pictured semi-naked on a fundraising calendar). This was over a year before the fire. ‘I’ve seen you playing guitar at the Brunton Hotel,’ he’d said.

It was a long time since anyone flirted with me. ‘I do that once a month or so,’ I’d replied.

‘Your songs were great. I nearly bought you a drink.’

I grinned at him. ‘You should have done that.’

His returning smile was bright. ‘I will next time. Assume you like wine?’

It had been nice to feel attractive, especially after Stephen and Ivy. We went out for coffee and discovered a lot more to like about each other. He once brought a bunch of herbs for me, ‘Not from my own yard, obviously. Brown thumbs,’ and, eventually, roses.

13

13

PAMPHILA | Historian during Nero’s reign

Author of thirty-three volumes of history, many being the biographies of famous men and women. Many of her books were falsely attributed to her husband, before they were lost.

There was too much I didn’t know, that Jack did. The next morning, I washed and blow-dried my hair, I put on a dress Jack had once complimented. I went to see him at the CFA station.