But then what, really, would ever change?

‘Tell me,’ I said.

17 January 1996

That day

Cathy had watched Danny pause on the road as Hessel stood leaning against his ute waiting for him. And then, while Cathy willed him to behave differently, she watched as he resumed his normal pace again, picked up his walking, heading for home with that defiant Danny-nonchalance. Cathy didn’t move, she just watched as he walked evenly across the gravel towards Hessel, his small thin frame not missing a step as he walked steadily towards the broad and stocky form of his father. She didn’t move. Why didn’t she move? Why wasn’t she moving?

She was too far away to hear what they said, Danny and her father, but she saw Hessel speak without looking at Danny, and then she saw Danny reply, standing straight and looking directly at Hessel with his chin held up, and then he turned to walk away.

She could have walked then. Could have gone to them. Got herself in between them. But she didn’t. She watched as Hessel drew himself up and reached after Danny. She watched as Danny began to run. She watched Hessel chase him down – he had longer legs than her brother and he got hold of Danny’s arm within two strides.

And still she didn’t move. Still she stood rooted to the spot as Hessel spun Danny around – Danny’s thin frame, skinny arms whirling like a windmill – and she saw, as though she was moving it herself, Hessel’s solid fist sweep up from below, catching Danny’s chin and lifting him off the ground. Danny fell, instantly, and limply. Cathy heard the sound of his head hitting the gravel, a louder thump than a head should make. She cried out, a primal howl buried deep inside her, felt, not heard.

And then more: Hessel wasn’t done. He leaned over Danny and punched his sandy blond head twice where it lay on the ground. And still Cathy watched. She no longer felt her own body, her own limbs, her own mind, but still she watched as Hessel stepped away from Danny – she saw the anguish on his face at what he’d done, and the fear, and the despair. Cathy sat perfectly still. Watching, and waiting, just waiting for it to stop; not feeling this moment. She just had to wait. She just had to. And she waited and watched as she saw Hessel’s despair flicker again into rage, a fresh wave, arising from the anguish itself, and Hessel stepped forward to kick Danny’s floppy body where it lay. She watched him kick it again and again, as if punishing it for making him do that in the first place.

Bette’s car pulled up and Bette got out and ran towards Danny where he lay on the driveway, ran screaming to him. Hessel stepped back as Danny’s mother held him to her. And Cathy could hear Hessel’s words now, even as he bent over and leaned his hands on his knees from the exertion, even as he shook his stinging fists out.