‘Legally—’ the lawyer began.

Detective Feng interrupted. ‘Phoebe, legally the house was left to Caleb.’

Claire had thought the house would be a good start in life for Caleb. Those had been her exact words. A good start in life. In legalese I was too familiar with, the form I’d been handed said a number of alleged victims intend to seek compensation for property loss, and for pain and suffering. It told me the property needs to be restrained to ensure maximum equity is maintained.

‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘Where are you taking it? How?’

Detective Feng actually smiled. I suppose I was ridiculous. ‘The house will stay here… Anyone guilty of destroying property can have their own goods seized to compensate victims. What we’re doing now is securing the property in case of future claims.’

‘Douglas Anderson’s office has been notified,’ one of the lawyers added.

‘Why are you here?’ I asked Detective Feng.

‘We’ve asked for police presence to ensure there are no untoward incidents when these documents are served,’ said the lawyer who had wanted to doff his hat.

Untoward? I was a school principal, a (supposed) pillar of the community. I bore the name Wharton like a local street, like the football oval. What might I do? Slip the house into my pocket and run off? ‘Do I need to leave now?’

Detective Feng shook his head. ‘You’ll have a while. You can’t make significant changes to the property. Or destroy anything. But you need to prepare to leave.’

They walked back to their cars. Next door, Rosie watched. No longer my neighbour. No longer our house. Lost. Our home destroyed.

What would I take, this time, if I had to flee, as I had fled the fire?

Firstly, of course, anything that might be useful to Caleb. Were these photographs and yearbooks useful for his defence? They proved Caleb didn’t fit any arsonist profile I’d ever read. Until the accident where Sean was injured, he’d been, if not perfect in every way, the perfect son. There was a photo of Caleb, winning subject awards early in his school career. Caleb who thought football was nowhere near as important as history and who excelled at both. Caleb with his big plans to be successful like his father.

Should I scan the reports, send them to people? Sadie Riley, for instance? Would a more complete picture of Caleb make her kinder to him? I remembered Caleb’s hopes for the lie detector test and his disappointment. I wouldn’t share these personal things with reporters. If I had to leave my home – Caleb’s home – I’d take them with me. If I had to leave our home…

Where would I go?