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‘What happened to your cheek?’

I raise my hand and touch it. ‘Netball,’ I lie.

‘Out late with friends?’

I nod again.

He turns back to my dad. ‘Would you like to talk to your daughter? We can take a quick break.’

Dad doesn’t look up. He just shakes his head.

The dark-haired policeman clears his throat. ‘I’m PC Johnson and this is Detective Eakin. You can call me Chris.’ He towers over me and I feel like he’s going to squat down to speak to me but he doesn’t. ‘Would you like to sit down?’

‘Where’s my mum?’

‘I’m afraid… Please, I think you might want to sit down.’

‘Where’s my mum?’

He looks over at Eakin.

Eakin gives me that smile again. ‘Georgia, I’m sorry to have to tell you that your mother is in hospital, in critical condition. The doctors aren’t sure that she’ll make it.’

I don’t know if it’s what he’s said or my ankle but my leg gives way and I fall, jarring the bones of my palm, knocking the door so it bangs against the wall.

Johnson kneels and scoops me into the armchair facing my dad, who still isn’t looking at me.

‘And I’m afraid she’s also under arrest,’ says Eakin, ‘for the sexual assault of your schoolmate, Tristan Beaufort-Bradley.’

Something inside of me cracks.

He eases off the sofa and comes to sit on the floor in front of me. ‘I understand you attend PES, where your mother teaches?’

I don’t nod. I just sit staring at him, the world shattering around me.