FIFTEEN

I’d said I’d try to get over to Mary Griffin’s. And I’d said I’d sort out the return of Dodge’s van. The presence in my house of a son with a driving licence offered a way of killing two birds with one stone.

Also, it ensured that, at least for the drive over to Ferring, Ben would not be on his own. I knew what he’d said about his bloodied bedclothes was a joke, but my son joking about suicide was never good news. Ben was in a bad way. Apart from any other signs, the fact that he’d turned up in Chichester during university term-time told me that.

So, I was kid-gloved with him on the way to Mary Griffin’s. I told him briefly about her situation, just that she’d been a victim of domestic violence. And asked if he’d mind driving the Morris Tipper back to Dodge’s. I told him Dodge was a bit debilitated at the moment, but I didn’t tell him why.

Ben was delighted. I knew he would be. It had been the same with Oliver. When he was low, the prospect of a physical task, something that demanded no intellectual input, had always cheered him. At least, for a while.

‘Riq and Raq animation project going all right?’ I asked, sounding as casual as I could, as we drove out of Chichester on to the A27.

‘Hit a bit of a brick wall there, Ma,’ he replied. But his tone wasn’t downcast. It was dangerously bouncy. ‘I think maybe I need a little space from Riq and Raq.’

His use of the word ‘space’ offered me an obvious cue to ask about his relationship with Tracey. Too obvious. As if Ben had planted it there. Something he was quite capable of doing. So, I resisted asking him about Tracey. Let that conversation come in its own time.

‘Dodge is in a bad way,’ I said.

‘I could see that from the state of my bed.’

‘Yes. So, if there’s anything he needs help with when you’re there … you know, just moving stuff …’

‘Of course I will, Ma.’

‘And I’ll come over and pick you up when I’m through with Mary.’

‘Sure.’

Till we passed Arundel, there was silence in the Yeti. Not only silence, actually. There was also a large elephant. The elephant of the reason why Ben had come home so suddenly. And that elephant in the Yeti might well have been related to another elephant, also looming large – the situation regarding Tracey. Which in turn produced a third elephant, bigger than the other two – the state of my son’s mental health.

Finally, the silence was broken. ‘And how’s your work, Ma? Any juicy murders?’

Ben had become rather more involved than I would have wished in my dealings with the case of the murder victim Kerry Tallis. I hesitated for a moment as to whether I should discuss Ingrid Richards with him. I have to be extremely strict about client confidentiality. But in this case, since Ingrid never got as far as being a client – and since she was dead – I could see no harm in talking about it to my son.