‘Everyone’s confused. Police say you were here. Jack says he saw you in town…’

‘Maybe that’s all true. The world was on fire, Mum. Who was writing the time down?’

‘But you did come back here? Was it to warn Rosie and Sean?’

He shook his head. ‘Rosie said her brother was getting them. I thought they’d…’ he faded away. He was still working out what to do, what to say. I remembered Genevieve’s advice after his accident, a year ago. Don’t commit yourself to any statement until you know what the prosecution are saying. That was one piece of advice that Caleb had apparently taken to heart. He wouldn’t even talk to me.

‘I wish…’ I remembered him yelling when I confiscated his Game Boy.

I’m playing with that!

You need to go out and play, I had told him, ruffling golden brown hair that framed his face like a halo. While it’s still cool enough. Here’s your helmet. Ride your scooter. Get some exercise.

His wide blue eyes had become wider and bluer with planned cheekiness. Five minutes later, I found him jumping on his bed. This is exercise, Mummy. Now, he looked up, beneath the black fringe. ‘You wish what?’

‘I wish we could talk like we used to. For hours, after school, while I cooked dinner. Do you remember?’

He shook his head. ‘That was a really long time ago.’

I never knew how she discovered my mobile phone number, but Sadie Riley rang a few times over the next three hours.

‘You’ll have to talk to someone eventually,’ she warned me. Her voice sounded of cigarettes and threats.

‘Calling me doesn’t change things.’ I resented every word I had to speak to her. ‘I have no comment to make.’

Her voice increasingly had an edge. Eventually, she gave it everything she had. ‘Phoebe, I remember Caleb’s accident. I’m running a story about him. I’ll be mentioning Sean Henderson. We can do this with your contribution—’

‘That won’t be happening.’

‘—or without. It’ll be better for you to talk, to encourage Caleb to talk. Australia needs to hear your side of the story.’

And that wasn’t all I had to worry about. Caleb borrowed my phone. ‘I need to talk to Penelope, Mum.’ He stood in front of me while the call went through to her message bank. He heard the message I’d already heard. She was with her aunt, she appreciated people’s care, and would get back to them eventually. Then, he let me hold him. Hold his newly big, grieving body close to mine as I so often had, and rarely would again.

‘She’ll talk eventually,’ I promised, as if this was something I could know.

Penelope had lost her parents. Could she suspect him?