Charles returned to the bar. Mum sank lower. Caleb tried to sit still, watching the audience. When Charles had the floor, people saw things as he instructed. A future jury would be composed of such people. A grandmotherly woman glared at Caleb, like she’d caught him kicking a dog. A youthful victim stared at his scarred hands. Caleb had known him. Once, those same hands had rested on a desk next to him in maths class. Did the other young man remember? His school days seemed to belong to another world. Caleb closed his eyes.

Charles swayed them with matter-of-fact language, devoid of emotion. He was so certain. His certainty was rivalled only by Mum’s. How did she manage it? She’d always been determined. Once, she called Caleb’s Hawthorn high school to get him out of a detention that clashed with football practice. The assistant principal had been helpful, impressed that Mum cared enough to call, happy to talk with her, peer to peer. Caleb had been excused from detention. Mum’s power shocked him, embarrassed him even. Other boys caught smoking with him were punished – and knew he’d escaped. And Mum had continued interfering. But there was no way she could get him out of this. She couldn’t control everyone.

On their way to lunch, Leanne Beckwith approached them and said, ‘I know he didn’t do it. I know you’re good people. I just had to say.’

Mum smiled, like she was hoping someone would hear. No one did. No one who could do anything.

A girl in a black apron, a girl for whom this was an ordinary day, delivered sandwiches to them in the conference room. Over smoked salmon on sourdough, Dad talked like Caleb wasn’t there and patted the smooth lapels of his boring suit. ‘Douglas, you have to stop the newspapers. Old photos of Caleb could prejudice a future trial. I never understood Caleb’s ridiculous emo get-up.’

Mum put her sandwich down. ‘He dressed goth because you hated it.’

Dad swallowed. Mum and Dad were very polite with each other, like in the worst of their fights. ‘He never dressed like that in Hawthorn.’

‘The drugs happened in Hawthorn,’ Mum said. She was white as a nightmare and had kept ignoring her lunch. Not eating was as much a part of her response as not sleeping.

Caleb chewed with his mouth open. Mum hated that. ‘Hey. I’m here.’