‘This caravan - is it near the beach?’
‘I think so. I can’t remember much of anything. The whole weekend is a blur. I know we left on Friday afternoon and I can remember coming home. Gordon said I slept most of the time. He said it was food poisoning.’
‘Is that the only time you went away?’
She nods. He eyelids are half closed. She forces them open.
‘Did anyone ever see you with Gordon outside of school?’
‘I don’t think so. Mostly we stayed in the car or went somewhere private. Sometimes I slept over when I was babysitting. I stayed in the spare room, which is next to where Billy sleeps. Gordon would sneak in and spend a few hours with me.’
‘What about Natasha?’
‘She was sleeping. I was scared she might wake up, but Gordon said that wouldn’t happen.’
‘Why?’
‘He mentioned something about sleeping pills.’
Sienna’s skin has grown ashen and beads of sweat prickle on her upper lip.
‘Did you ever tell anyone about Gordon?’
‘He made me promise.’
‘Did anyone suspect - someone at school, a friend?’
Her head rocks from side to side and then stops. ‘Miss Robinson asked me.’
‘What did she ask you?’
‘If I was spending time with Gordon outside of school.’
‘When was this?’
‘Late last year.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me where you went on that Tuesday - after Danny dropped you in town.’
Sienna shrugs. ‘It doesn’t matter any more.’
‘Did you meet up with Gordon? Did he take you somewhere?’
Sienna’s line of vision sweeps past me as though watching something terrible approaching. Something she has to escape from. She wants to run but I need her here. Gently gripping her shoulders, I make her meet my gaze.
‘You don’t have to be frightened, Sienna. I’m going to protect you.’
‘I didn’t kill Daddy.’
‘Show me. Prove it to me. Where were you?’
Tears hover at the edges of her eyelids.
‘With Gordon,’ she whispers.
‘Gordon says he wasn’t with you. He’s given a statement to the police. He has an alibi. Natasha has backed him up.’
‘They’re lying.’
‘He’s letting you take the blame, Sienna. Just tell me where you went after Danny dropped you off.’
‘Gordon wanted me to do something for him.’
‘What was that?’
Her mouth opens, but she can’t bring herself to tell me. I wait and she tries again. The words come slowly and then in a rush as though she wants them gone, forgotten, buried.
‘Gordon said he was in trouble, but I could help him. I just had to do this one thing for him and everything would be OK. I’d prove myself. He’d know I was the one. Then we could be together.’
‘What sort of trouble?’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘What did he want?’
She shakes her head, embarrassed, ashamed.
‘I had to visit someone and do what he asked.’
She puts the heel of her hand against her forehead. There are patches of colour on her throat as if someone has wrapped an invisible rope around her neck.
‘What did you have to do?’
‘I had to sleep with him,’ she whispers.
There is a tingling in my chest like a heated wire is being pressed against my heart.
‘Who was he?’
‘I don’t know his name - some old guy who lived in a big house.’ Her voice starts to break. ‘I was dropped off and picked up later.’
‘Who dropped you off?’
‘Gordon and another man.’
‘Another man?’
‘His eyes looked like they were bleeding.’
‘Where did they take you?’
‘I don’t know. It was a big house. Old. It smelled funny.’ She rocks forward, breathing through her mouth. ‘It was horrible. I had to have . . . I had to let him . . . he did things to me. Gordon said it would prove how much I loved him.’
I can hear the wetness in her throat as she swallows. At the same time, a shudder goes through her body like tension leaving a metal spring.
‘What happened afterwards?’
‘Gordon drove me back to his house but we couldn’t go inside because Natasha was home. He said it turned him on - knowing what another man had done to me. He took off my clothes and we had sex in the car but he was rough. He hurt me. I told him to be careful.’
‘Did you tell him you were pregnant?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He swore and shoved me away. He was yelling at me, saying I’d tricked him, saying I got pregnant on purpose. He told me to get rid of the baby. An abortion. That’s when I ran away. I ran home.’
Sienna looks at me blankly, too numb to cry. Touching her upper arm with my palm, I feel the coolness of her skin. She leans against me, pushing her face under my chin. Motionless in my arms, she remains curled up, her skirt pulled tight over her knees.
The patchwork quilt has slipped down, uncovering her feet. A dark stain runs over her right foot. It looks like a birthmark or a lesion. Then I notice that it’s shining and viscous, soaking into the sheet beneath her.
‘What have you done?’ I whisper, unhooking my arms and raising her skirt up her calves and over her knees, which are slick with blood.
Sienna’s eyes are closed as though she’s fallen asleep, but she’s still conscious.
‘Don’t tell Mum,’ she murmurs.
Twin lacerations on her inner thighs are swollen and leaking. She has cut from the edge of her panties towards her knees, probably using a razor blade wrapped in a tissue.
I glance around the room. Where did she hide her implements?
‘You need stitches.’
‘I’ll be OK.’
‘You need to go to hospital.’
‘It doesn’t matter any more.’
Her eyes are closing.
‘Have you taken something, Sienna?’
She doesn’t answer. I shake her gently. ‘Did you take something? ’
In a sing-song voice, ‘White pills, yellow pills and long green pills.’
‘Where did you get them?’
