I brushed Jack aside and cut through the line of police officers. ‘Caleb?’

The brown blanket moved. Caleb’s face appeared. His eyes were red. I knew him well enough to know it wasn’t just from crying. ‘Mum.’

Rosie grabbed my arm and shook it, fiercely. Her hands were warm and damp. ‘He ran over my boy!’

The bushfire was still a long way off. But the air dried in my mouth.

‘I needed to get to footy training,’ Caleb said.

‘Are you all right?’ I demanded.

He held my eye. ‘You said you’d drive me there.’

The world fractured. Bits fell off the house, the ground ruptured. Behind us all, the trees faded into a black sky, then there was no sky, just jagged crumbled edges. This had to be a mistake, a practical joke, a nightmare.

‘You’re Ms Wharton?’ the sergeant asked. ‘I’m Michael Gillan. Your son needs medical treatment. That can happen at the station. We want to question him tonight.’

‘Mum, you were going to drive me. I thought I’d try the four-wheel drive. I don’t know why Sean walked behind—’

‘We’re ready to leave, Mrs Henderson,’ a paramedic said.

Rosie climbed heavily into the ambulance. I turned to Michael. ‘What happens now?’

‘We have some tests that need to be performed. Drugs, alcohol. Caleb will come with us.’

‘Doesn’t he…? You said he needs a doctor.’

‘He’ll see one of ours. Come along, Caleb.’

Caleb stood. Michael led him to a police car. I followed.

‘I want to stay with Mum,’ Caleb said.

Michael shook his head. ‘We need you to come with us.’

His words echoed through my head over and over again.

I don’t know why Sean walked behind the car.

He had apologised too often over the years.

I didn’t know you were looking for me.

I didn’t wag anything important. Only English.

I thought it was a normal cigarette. You used to smoke.

Rosie’s front door gaped open, her timber hallstand with its row of keys and handbags visible even from here. Was that safe? Perhaps, with the police officers here…

I shook my head. I knew what these stupid thoughts were. Denial. I was impatient with myself. Focus, concentrate, I thought.

But my mind continued to gather impressions and misread them, trying to force aspects of what was happening now into the shape of the life I lived yesterday, or that morning, or ten minutes ago. My mind was at war with itself. I knew what was going on. I couldn’t understand.

The firey, Jack, stood beside his vehicle, talking to his colleagues. Another car crunched through the gravel. A neighbour, I assumed. They’d really have something to talk about now.

‘Oh no,’ Michael said, sotto voce.