The Full Ridiculous by Mark Lamprell Page A

and they appear to reflect not only what she has previously divulged but also the version established by Christina Bowden’s investigation.
    Constable Johnstone reappears and tells you that you will need to return next week with Rosie for a formal warning. You ask him to clarify. Does he mean a hearing? Will there be a court hearing? He tells you, like he’s doing you a great personal favour, that there will be no hearing; Rosie will be given a caution instead. Wendy asks whether he can give her the caution now so she doesn’t have to return. He says no, that it’s a formal process, that it will take an hour or so, probably one night next week.
    You burst onto the street like you have broken out of prison. You and Wendy envelop Rosie in an embrace as a pretty policewoman passes and smiles at you and you think, Fuck off and die .
    As you drive home, Rosie withdraws into a traumatised shell.
    When you pull into the driveway, Juan and Declan are waiting at the top of the stairs, solemn sentinels. Rosie flies up the stone steps and surprises you by hurling herself into her brother’s arms, not her boyfriend’s. Juan pats her back as Declan hugs her tight. It’s barely a glimmer in the darkness of this ugly night but as you watch your son and daughter cling to each other, you think: at least we must have done something right .
    That night you lie awake next to Wendy, torturing yourself with all the things you should have said and done in that police station. You are furious with yourself for your failure to protect Rosie, and you are furious with Constable Lance Johnstone for so many things that you think your head is going to explode. You get up and pace around on your crutches, then go back to bed and writhe around in the sheets.
    And that’s how it goes for the rest of the night, fury, pace, fury, writhe, pace, fury, writhe.
    Like a demented Sisyphus, you roll your frustration up the hill of your impotence until you are so profoundly exhausted that you sleep.
    Sunlight streams onto your face and wakes you. You blink against it and turn to see Wendy sitting on the bed, buttoning a blouse. The brilliance is not kind to her: there are deep bags under her eyes and worry lines etched across her face. She tries to smile at you but it looks more like a wince and you smile-wince back, feeling almost no connection to her whatsoever. You’re like two strangers who have happened to survive the same shipwreck.
    Rosie appears at the door, headed for the shower. It’s supposed to be her first day back at school but neither of you will force her to attend. ‘How are you feeling?’ asks Wendy.
    ‘I’m going to go.’
    ‘Sure?’
    ‘Gotta start some time,’ she shrugs.
    In awe of your daughter’s resilience, you say, ‘I think that’s a good decision.’
    The doorbell rings and you wonder what fresh horror awaits. Wordlessly, Wendy shuffles off to answer it. Rosie goes to the bathroom. You hear Wendy answering the door. You can tell by her tone that it’s someone familiar and unthreatening. Later you will learn it’s Declan’s mate, James Brentwood.
    James B of the pencil case.

14
    James Brentwood leaves the house and Declan appears in the kitchen where the rest of the family—even Juan who has now started work at the chicken shop—is preparing for the day. Declan tries to act relaxed, bored even, but you can see something chaotic in his eyes. ‘Has anybody seen a pencil case?’ he says, offhand. ‘It’s James’s. He left it in my room.’
    You study the porridge that you have been pretending to eat and feel Wendy’s eyes boring into the top of your head. You don’t want to look up because you don’t want to give yourself away so you say casually to the porridge, ‘Nup.’
    Wendy says she hasn’t seen it and Rosie responds as if she has no idea what he’s talking about, which, of course, she hasn’t.
    ‘Are you sure?’ presses Declan. As he starts to describe the pencil case, desperation cracks his cool