‘Well, that’s Dodge for you.’ A silence. ‘Do you want me to tell you what happened?’

‘Not really. Was it something to do with the domestic violence woman?’

‘Yes, it was.’

‘OK, that’s fine. I don’t need to know more than that. If Dodge didn’t want to volunteer anything …’

The ice lumps clinked against the glass as he took another long swallow. Then he said, ‘God, Ma, I am hopeless.’

I have a lot of experience of talking to depressed people and I know the worst thing is to immediately start trying to jolly them along. ‘In what particular way?’ I asked.

‘Oh, I don’t know. Every way. There doesn’t seem to be any direction I can turn without hurting somebody.’

‘Are you talking about someone specific that you’re hurting?’ There was no way I was going to bring the word ‘Tracey’ into the conversation. If he did, though, then fine.

Another silence. Another clink of ice. ‘I just seem to cause trouble for everyone.’

‘You don’t cause trouble for me.’

‘How can you say that, Ma? I can see how tense you are. You’re watching me like you’re terrified of what I’m going to do next.’

‘Not terrified. Just concerned. I don’t like seeing someone I love unhappy.’

‘No? Well, you must’ve got used to it over the years, mustn’t you?’

That was a deliberately hurtful remark. Ben rarely mentioned Oliver by name, but the implication was there.

‘Things’d be better,’ said Ben despairingly, ‘if I wasn’t here.’

‘Here in Chichester?’

‘Here anywhere. If there was no Ben Curtis in the world. It wouldn’t matter. Nobody would notice. Be simpler all round.’

Again, don’t argue. In this state, he’s not going to be brought around by logic. ‘How long have you been depressed, Ben?’

‘All my life.’ He flung out the answer.

‘Yes, OK. But you know what I mean. This time. How long have you been this low?’

‘I don’t know. It feels like for ever.’

‘And you have been taking the anti-depressants?’

‘Oh yes. And how does that make me feel? Worse. I’m taking anti-depressants and I’m still depressed. They’re useless. My last lifeline’s gone.’

It was going to be a long day. I’d heard it all before, in virtually the same words, from Oliver. Many times.

Though it was May, I lit a fire in the sitting room. Comfort, comfort, comfort. Ben ate well, devouring the steak and ‘Mum’s fat chips’. He also sank a lot of Merlot. When we went through to the sitting room, he took the bottle with him. I did not object. So long as I was with him.

And I did not attempt to stem the familiar litany of self-hatred. Just listened, nodded, said ‘Yes’, and ‘Mm’.

After about half an hour, he fell asleep in his armchair. He was clearly exhausted. I didn’t know what time he’d got up that morning to make it from Nottingham to Chichester. Or maybe he’d travelled overnight. And if he was so depressed, the chances were that he hadn’t been sleeping well for some time.