He’s shaking his head. The grimace is back but there is even more emotion.

“Please,” I say. “I just want to see him. I need to. Because I’ve worked out that my father is dead and Fitz knew him and Fitz would be here because he was a Townie and I want to know someone who knew my father. Is that so much to ask?”

“I can’t do that, Taylor.”

“Why?” I say, and I realise that I’m close to tears. “Just give me one reason.”

He pauses for a moment and I realise that the tears aren’t just in my eyes.

“Because Fitz is dead.” Nothing comes out of my mouth but a shaky breath. I feel gutted, but these days that’s pretty normal.

“How?” I ask when I find my voice.

He shakes his head. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Can’t because you don’t know?”

“Why don’t I call Raffy’s mum and she’ll come and get you?” he says, and I know he’s not going to give me the answers I need.

“Because I don’t want you to call Raffy’s mum. I want you to call my mum and I know you can do that through Hannah. But you can’t, or won’t, or would love to but not today, thank you very much. Not a good day to hand out information.”

He reaches over and touches my hand and I recoil. I’m embarrassed by my reaction but I keep my distance all the same.

“I promise you this, Taylor. Hannah’s coming back. Hannah will always come back for you. You are everything to her and Jude.”

Jude. Jude’s alive. I feel relief for the first time in ages. Narnie’s alive as well.

“And Tate?”

He hesitates for a moment and then nods and for the time being that has to be enough.

I hear him dial the phone and I know he’s calling someone to come and get me so I turn to leave but then I see a poster on the wall. It’s old—I can tell by the edges—and it’s drawn by a child. Or children. There are two names at the bottom. CHAZ AND RAFFY, 5 YEARS OLD, ST. FRANCIS PRIMARY, JELLICOE. They drew trees, big ones, filled with animals and bird life. So full of colour and imagination and love for this place. I’ve seen this drawing before. My memory is like Hannah’s manuscript—distorted and out of sequence—but instantly I know that years before my mother dumped me on the Jellicoe Road, I had been in this police station.

Narnie and Jude sat side by side watching the police divers.

It was a week since Webb had disappeared and suddenly the focus was on dragging the river. Even the press were there and throughout the day Jude tried to get close to the action, if only to catch a word or glimpse of something constructive he could bring back to Narnie.

“Keep her away,” the young constable advised quietly. “You don’t want her around if we find him.”

“What makes you think you’re going to find him here?”

“Take her home, Jude.”

But Narnie wouldn’t budge. She watched the divers move gradually down the river with a creased concentration on her face, like she was trying to work out a puzzle.

Most of the time, though, they watched Fitz. He kept climbing a tree to the very top branch and throwing himself into the river. Then he’d swim to the surface and make his way up the tree again.

Once Jude thought he saw Fitz watching them from behind the branches and for the first time all day, he left Narnie and made his way up. Climbing had always been Webb’s forte, and both Webb and Fitz could do it with an agility that Jude lacked. By the time he heaved himself onto the branch at the top, the sound of his breathing was only surpassed by the sound of Fitz’s sobbing.

“Fitz? Mate, come out. Narnie and Tate need you.”

There was no answer, just a muffled sound like Fitz was forcing a fist into his mouth to stop himself crying.

“Come on, Fitz.” Jude straddled the branch and moved in closer until he was able to see through to where Fitz was crouched.

But the Fitz in front of him was almost a stranger—caked in mud, his hair matted with debris, his face streaked with dirt and grime.

“Fitz,” Jude whispered. “Where have you been? Why are you doing this to yourself?”

Fitz stood up on the branch and looked at Jude through bloodshot eyes. Barely balancing, he leaned towards him.

“Listen to the sound, Jude,” he said in a hushed voice. “Listen.”

And he threw himself over the side. Jude watched as Narnie waited below, like she did every time, for Fitz’s head to emerge from the water. When Fitz reached the bank, he looked up to where Jude still sat.

“Did you hear that, Jude? Did you?” he called out.

Jude looked down at Narnie again, who was now standing, waiting for what would come next.

“Did I hear what, Fitz?” he called back, confused. To his dismay Fitz began climbing the tree again.

“No. Stay down there, Fitz!”

But Fitz was back up on the branch with Jude. There was blood on his forehead from where he had hit the riverbed.

“I went back,” Fitz whispered. “I went back, Jude.”

“Back where?”

“For the fifth tin,” he answered. “The one I missed. Ping Ping Ping Ping. Remember I missed the fifth tin?” Fitz laughed. His normal crazy laugh. “That’s almost a rhyme.”

Jude’s blood went cold. “What are you saying, Fitz?”

“And when I walked away, I heard something hit the water and I thought I must have killed a fucker of a bird. I looked but I couldn’t see anything.”

“Fitz? What are you saying?”

“Do you want to hear the sound it made?”

Jude lunged, trying to grab him before he went over again, but it was too late. He looked at Narnie, still staring up at him, and started to make his way down the tree.

“When is he going to stop?” Narnie asked quietly after he had sat with her for a while.

Jude didn’t answer.

“Fix things, Jude. Tell him to stop,” Narnie implored.

“I can’t. Let’s go home, Narnie.”

But Narnie shook her head. “I don’t have a home.”

So they stayed. Long after the police divers had gone. Long after the photographers had packed up and disappeared. Long after the Cadets and Townies and Jellicoe kids had headed home.

Watching Fitz. Jump from the top branch. Wade to the bank. Climb up the tree. Jump from the branch. Over and over again. Ten times, fifteen times, his grunts and sobs as he pulled himself out of the water were unbearable. Then Jude realised that he was himself crying and the pain of it was like nothing he had ever experienced. But then Narnie stood and made her way into the river, wading towards Fitz lying exhausted in the shallows. She pulled at his wet clothing with all her strength, the bulk of him hard for her to manage. Then Jude was beside her, dragging them both onto the bank, where Narnie cradled Fitz in her arms, rocking.

“Shhh, Fitz. Shhh.”

He shivered uncontrollably, but Narnie held him close.

“Narnie,” he sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Shhh, Fitz.”

“Forgive me, please. Please. Please. Please. Please.” The words were pouring out of him, soaked with tears and phlegm and spit and blood, as she continued rocking him, while Jude held onto them both.

And at that moment Jude thought something that he would never forgive himself for.

He wished that he had never met any of them.

When I was fourteen years old, I met the Hermit who lived at the edge of the property at the end of the Jellicoe Road. Before I met him, I sensed him, watching. Sometimes I’d call out, but nobody would answer. But on this day, there he was. When I looked into his eyes I saw genuine love. Not guarded love like Hannah’s or crazy erratic love like my mother’s. I saw the real thing. I don’t know why I felt no fear. Maybe he reminded me of the illustrations of Jesus Christ from Raffy’s bible.