But how could I say that to Tracey? She was in her early twenties; she was finding her own identity. It would be desperately unfair for me to put pressure on her.

‘And it messes with my head,’ she repeated. ‘It makes me feel inadequate, kind of sucks all the confidence out of me. I don’t know what to do. Ben and I have a good patch and everything’s fine. Then he goes into this dark place and it all falls apart. The we get back together and it’s OK for … I don’t know, a short while, and then … I don’t know that I’m strong enough. Sometimes I think the most sensible thing I can do is just to walk away.’

Everything within me was screaming for her not to do that, but I knew I couldn’t voice that thought. It would be unfair on the poor kid. This was something the two of them had to work out for themselves.

Instead, I said, ‘You know by now that Ben suffers from depression, don’t you?’

Tracey sighed. ‘Yes, he’s talked about it endlessly. It would be so much easier if it were a physical illness, something disabling, something that stopped him from, I don’t know, getting upstairs or … That I think I could cope with. I’ve tried to understand what’s going on with him but, never having suffered from depression myself, I find it difficult to get a handle on the condition.’

Again, she could have been echoing my own words. ‘In Ben’s case it’s hereditary,’ I said.

She looked at me in amazement. ‘Surely not you?’

‘No. His father.’ A silence. ‘Has he talked to you much about his father?’

‘Hardly at all. Ben’s said he’s dead. That’s all.’

Well, I wasn’t about to tell her that Oliver had committed suicide, was I? That would have increased the pressure on her even more. If Ben wanted to volunteer the information, no doubt he would find the right time to do it. Though I was beginning to wonder how much more time he and Tracey would have together.

What she said next confirmed that anxiety. ‘The thing is …’ Tracey began. She wasn’t finding the conversation easy. ‘The thing is … that all I wanted to be for Ben was a girlfriend. I do love him … but I didn’t sign up to be a nurse … or a therapist … or a psychiatrist …’ She winced. ‘… Or a mother.’

‘He’s already got one of those,’ I said wryly.

‘Yes. Yes, of course. I’m sorry if that sounded rude.’

‘It didn’t.’

‘So … You won’t tell him you’ve met me, will you?’

‘If you don’t want me to, I wouldn’t dream of it.’

‘OK. Well, Ellen, can you do this for me? Say to Ben that I’ve contacted you by phone – which is true – and that I told you he wasn’t responding to my attempts to contact him.’

‘All right.’

‘If he wants to see me again, he must ring me … and we’ll see where we stand.’ She stood up. ‘Now can I pay for the coffee?’