Then, gradually, in that strangely distorted timescale of dreams, I realize I’m in a car, locked in a garage. There’s a mouth-drying smell of petrol. And then, as I try to counteract that with a gulp of fresh air, I suddenly know that what I’m breathing is not air. Not that mixture of nitrogen, oxygen, argon and other gases which sustains life. No, I’m inhaling something noxious, something that will choke me and cause every organ of my body to close down.

Every time, just before asphyxiation overcomes me, I wake up in a smothering twist of sweaty bedding.

And I wake knowing that, at moments of stress, I am doomed in dreams to relive the circumstances of Oliver’s death for the rest of my life.

I felt terrible, but when I made it down to the kitchen on the Tuesday morning, Ben looked much worse than I did. He was fully dressed, and his hollowed eyes suggested he hadn’t slept at all.

‘I need to go back to Nottingham,’ he said.

‘You sure?’

‘Yes, Ma. Got that “Riq and Raq” project to finish.’

‘Of course.’ There were a lot of questions I wanted to ask, but I stuck with: ‘What do you want for breakfast?’

‘Bacon and eggs, maybe? As you see, I’ve made coffee.’

‘Yes.’

I cooked his order, bulking it up to a Full English. The least I could do was to see he went back to Nottingham well fed. I guess we did talk a bit over breakfast. He asked automatic questions about Fleur and Jools, but he wasn’t listening to the answers.

I couldn’t resist saying, ‘You know, if you want to stay longer …’

‘I know. Need to get back to face the things that need facing.’

I so wanted to ask if that meant facing Tracey, but I curbed the urge.

After he’d finished eating, I offered to run him down to the station.

‘I’ll walk it. Do me good.’

He went up for his backpack. I stood waiting for him, awkward in my own hall.

He didn’t resist the big hug I gave him, but his body felt tense as coiled metal.

‘I know there are lots of things you want to say, Ma, but I know what they are, so you don’t need to say them.’

‘Right. Well, can I just ask you to text me or something to say you’ve arrived safely in Nottingham?’

‘I’m only going on a train, Ma. It’s not an expedition up the Amazon.’

‘I know, but …’

‘I’ll text you,’ he conceded. ‘Ma, I’ll be OK.’

I wished I could believe him. And then he was gone.

I felt as if part of my body had been wrenched away.

I couldn’t settle to anything that morning. There were things I felt I should be doing, like going to see Minnie, checking up on Dodge and Mary Griffin. I also needed to check through the clothes I’d taken from Edward Finch’s bungalow and see which should be chucked and which should go to the charity shops. But everything seemed like too much effort. I kept trying to think what more I could have done for Ben. I felt inadequate as a mother, as a person.