Dad shrugs. ‘It’s not their job, to go hunting for Patchewollock kids who’ve gone out on a tear. They’ve got plenty to do already. And his mum’s worried.’
‘She’s right to be worried.’ I pour myself a glass of juice, sit at the table. ‘She should have a talk with Mrs Davies. Jesus, I don’t know if I could deal with that. Having a son who’s slowly losing his mind.’
‘It’s not…’ Dad frowns, considering how to phrase it. ‘Gavin’s not a bad person. Craig’s not a bad person, either.’
‘I know he’s not a bad person. He’s a nice person, Craig. And Gavin and his little brother came to the Walpe Christmas do, just last year, remember? He was chatting up the girls, helping with the barbeque… He’s a nice kid. I don’t get it.’
‘Drugs make people do bad things.’ Dad concentrates on his plate. ‘This drug in particular.’
I nod and sip my juice, but the conversation has made me sad. Or maybe I’m still feeling sad from dealing with the Harris thing. I’m not sure.
‘So work’s going okay?’ Dad scrapes up eggs with the edge of his fork, but he’s no fool. I’m only quiet when I’m pensive like this.
I shrug. ‘It was okay. A bit horrible at the end, when I had to watch Harris Derwent go home with his father.’
‘Dennis took him back?’ Dad straightens, pushes his empty plate forward. ‘Yeah, not exactly the happy homecoming, I imagine.’
‘That’s what Barb said.’ It annoys me that I helped manage the guy’s care for five days, but apparently I’m the only person who’s not up to speed on the situation. ‘How long has that been going on?’
‘Longer than I would’ve liked.’ Dad shakes his head. ‘Probably feels like forever to Harris.’
‘Why didn’t you do anything about it?’
It’s not like the way I spoke to Barb; I really do sound accusing this time. Barb’s hog-tied, to some extent. She can make recommendations, but there’s a limit to what she can do.
Dad’s a copper, though. He’s in a position of authority. He has more power in a situation like this.
‘It’s not so simple, love.’ He angles his head to hold my eyes. ‘You know what it’s like – I get a call-out for a domestic and by the time me and Jared rock up, everyone’s gone quiet. Or the wife has started defending the bloke who’s bashing her, and the kids are told to keep their mouths shut. It’s a bloody complicated business.’
I take a sip of my drink, feeling dry-mouthed and frustrated. ‘But Harris isn’t a minor anymore. Why’d he go home? What would make him go back to that?’
‘We might never know. Maybe Dennis has got something over him, or something there keeps pulling him back.’ Dad turns in his chair, leaning one elbow on the table. ‘It’s a shame, yeah? Dennis is a complete bastard, but Harris… Funny kid. Personable, y’know? But obviously not quite a hundred percent. I remember about six years ago he started pinching stuff around Five Mile, getting into strife in other ways. Lots of attention-seeking stunts, I guess, which stands to reason. Stole that ute out of Shane Morang’s front yard – remember that? You might have been too young…’
‘No, I remember. That was a big deal, wasn’t it?’
‘Too right it was a big deal. New generator sitting under a tarp in the back of the tray and along comes this snot-nosed thirteen year old, decides to take the whole thing for a joy-ride.’
‘Was he charged?’
‘No, but he came bloody close. I had Shane in the back office at the station for about an hour, talking him out of it.’
‘What did Dennis say?’
Dad doesn’t reply for a moment, and it’s as if the light in the kitchen has shifted. The lines of wear on his face suddenly look like shadowed gouges.
‘Don’t know if you want to hear it,’ he says finally.
He’s right: I don’t know if I want to hear it. Just looking at Dad’s face is enough. But it’s all tied up in what I saw, what I felt this afternoon. Somehow, I have to know.
My voice comes out quiet. ‘What happened?’
‘Well, it was years ago, but...’ Dad traces the edge of the table with the flat of his thumb. ‘Dennis collected Harris from the station the day before, so I went up there to see what the outcome was. Dennis kept me talking in the front yard – it’s a broken-down old place, I figured he didn’t want me sitting in his kitchen, y’know?’
I nod. Lots of rural folk keep up outward appearances, but the insides of their houses reveal the quiet poverty of farming life. And not everyone is comfortable with the local constabulary in their kitchen.
‘Anyway,’ Dad continues, ‘I just had a bad feeling. I couldn’t see Harris around. I didn’t want to get Dennis any more riled, but I asked to see his boy, made some excuse. So Dennis goes in, gets Harris to come out.’
I’ve already steeled myself to hear the worst, but the look on Dad’s face still makes me shiver.
