Joy paused, the gauze midair. ‘So . . . but . . . so are you saying, we don’t, you don’t . . .’ She tried to think of a more elegant way to put it, but couldn’t. ‘You don’t know us?’
She saw now that she’d been kidding herself thinking the girl was familiar. She was only familiar in the way everyone seemed familiar these days. They’d just let a stranger into the house.
She checked for signs of criminal tendencies and found none, although she wasn’t exactly sure how those tendencies would manifest themselves. The nose stud was really quite pretty. （Amy had the most dreadful lip piercing a few years back, so Joy wasn’t too concerned by a nose piercing.） A tattoo of a leafy green vine wasn’t exactly intimidating. She seemed fine. A bit flaky perhaps. But she was sweet. This girl couldn’t be dangerous. She was too small. As dangerous as a mouse.
‘You didn’t have any friends or family you could go to?’ asked Stan.
Joy gave him another look. It was true she wanted to ask the same question but there had to be a nicer way.
‘We’ve only just moved down here from the Gold Coast,’ said the girl. ‘I don’t know a single person in Sydney.’
Imagine, thought Joy. You’re all alone, without money, in a strange city and you can’t go back home, what can you do except throw yourself on the mercy of strangers? She couldn’t imagine herself in the same situation. She had always been cushioned by people.
Stan said, ‘Do you . . . maybe want to call someone? Your family?’
‘There isn’t really anyone . . . available, right now.’ The girl lowered her head, so that Joy could see her poor defenceless thin white neck between the clumpy strands of her hair.
‘Look up at me, darling.’ Joy pressed the gauze over the cut. ‘Finger there.’ She guided the girl’s hand to the gauze, taped it in place with a strip of adhesive, and sighed with satisfaction. ‘There you go. All fixed.’
‘Thank you.’ The girl looked at Joy with clear pale green eyes framed by the fairest eyelashes Joy had ever seen. They looked like they’d been dusted with gold. Joy’s children all had those dark matador eyelashes. Joy herself had very ordinary eyelashes.
The girl was unexpectedly pretty now that the blood had been cleared up. So pretty, and so very skinny and dirty and tired. Joy felt an overwhelming desire to feed her, run her a bath and put her to bed.
‘I’m Savannah,’ said the girl, and she held out her hand for Joy to shake.
‘Savannah. That’s a pretty name,’ said Joy. ‘I have a friend called Hannah. Quite similar! Well, not that similar. Savannah. Where do I know that name from? I know, I think Princess Anne has a granddaughter called Savannah. She’s a cute little girl, a bit wicked! I don’t think she’s Princess Savannah, I don’t think she has a title at all. Not that you’d be interested in that. I’ve just always had a special interest in the Royal Family. I follow them on Instagram.’
She couldn’t seem to stop talking. It happened when she felt upset or shocked, and she realised that she possibly did feel a little upset and shocked, right now, by the blood and the story of violence she’d just heard. She saw she was still holding the girl’s small icy-cold hand, and gave it a quick comforting squeeze before releasing it.
‘There’s another Savannah I’m thinking of, besides the royal one, I’m sure there is . . . Oh, I know! My youngest daughter, Brooke, has a friend who just had a baby, and I’m ninety per cent sure she called her Savannah, or it could have been Samantha.’
She remembered the baby’s name was actually Poppy, which was nothing at all like Savannah or Samantha, so that was embarrassing, but no need to mention it. ‘Brooke herself isn’t ready to have a baby yet, because she’s started her own physiotherapy practice, which is exciting.’
Not exciting at all, infuriating, but as her grandfather used to say, ‘Never spoil a good story with the facts.’
‘She’s very busy focusing on that. It’s called Delaney’s Physiotherapy. I have a card somewhere. She’s really very good. Brooke, I mean. My daughter. Very calm and patient. It’s interesting because we never thought –’
‘Joy,’ interrupted Stan. ‘Take a breath.’
‘We never thought we’d have anyone medical in our family . . .’ Joy trailed off. She put her hand to her neck and felt the headphones that were still sitting there like a giant statement necklace. ‘I was listening to a podcast,’ she explained, idiotically. In fact, she could hear the tinny disembodied voice of her podcast host, still chatting obliviously on, unaware that Joy was no longer listening.