OK. OK, they’d said murder. But surely that should have been manslaughter? Surely, if the boy had been a petty thief, there’s no way he’d intended to kill? It had just been a mistake. So manslaughter. But why had they said it? This was the BBC, not some local radio station. Why had it been on the national news in the first place? Because Michael had written for a national newspaper once? Probably. And Helena told me there’d been a bit on the news when he’d died, not that I’d seen it. Had in fact deliberately avoided it. And so therefore – I whipped out my phone. Yes. Two missed calls. One from Imo, one from Helena. They’d both left voicemails. Plus a text from Ned. All were along the same lines. I listened to Imo’s voicemail.

‘Soo delighted, Mum! They’ve got him. All that worrying for nothing! Now you can relax – oh, thank God. Ring me!’

Thank goodness my phone had been on silent. I sat down and quickly messaged back on our family WhatsApp.

‘Such good news! I saw it too! Can’t talk now cos Mum and Dad need supper.’

No. I deleted the last bit. No lies –

‘cos am getting supper, but will ring you all tomorrow!’

I added a row of smiley faced emojis to keep them happy.

‘Da-dah!’ My father appeared in the doorway, brandishing an Abercrombie & Kent brochure. ‘Found it. Darling, you’ve still got your coat on. And don’t let the fire go out.’ He hastened to put a log on. It had become something of a leitmotif for my father: not letting life go out. I straightened up. I removed my coat and went to hang it up.

‘Shall we have fishcakes tonight, Dad? There are a couple in the freezer. And we could watch an episode of The Crown.’

‘Good idea. And let’s have a G&T while you rustle it up.’ He hurried to the drinks cupboard and poured a couple of large ones. Amazing how fast he could move with a bit of adrenalin. I took my drink to the kitchen with me. I’d drunk half of it before I realized the pan was burning on the hob, with nothing inside it.

The following morning, it seemed to me I’d never really been asleep at all. I’d spent a fitful and frightening night in the gloaming, that terrifying place where the sweet release of sleep is always on the horizon, but never quite achieved. And where hallucinations are common. I got up wearily and prepared to collect my mother. Before I left, I arranged my face into a bright smile and popped into Dad’s bedroom to let him know I was going. He was already shaving at his basin in his paisley dressing gown.