As always there was that connection, even though I had severed the other ties. Silence hung between us now, weighted with concern and on my part at least, regret for a lost possibility more than any faded reality. Tony and I couldn’t discuss regret either, nor even refer to it, because it was much too late and neither of us could allow the intimacy that talking about such things would call up. Intimacy existed, bred by all the years we had spent together, but it was kept in abeyance.

The thought made me profoundly sad. The denial seemed to parallel the state of affairs between Ted and me, and to presage the likely future with Jack as well. I held the receiver so tightly that sweat sprang from the palms of my hands.

‘Thanks, Sadie,’ Tony said gently. ‘You can count on me. You as well as Jack. And try not to worry. He’ll come home when he’s ready.’

Would he? I was afraid that he might never want to come back, that I had lost him without knowing what was happening and that it was now too late for me to make amends. I tried hard not even to admit to the much darker, Gothic fears that went with the shadowy depths of the house in Turnmill Street. ‘I’ll keep you posted,’ I said at last. ‘Tell Suzy I’m pleased about the new baby.’

‘I’ll do that.’

Later, I stood yet again on the step at Turnmill Street. There was no response to my knocking. If anything, Jack’s resolve to stay put seemed to be strengthening. All I could think of was how much I wanted to get him home again, yet I had packed a bag with some more of his clothes and the other belongings I thought he might need. I didn’t want to allow the possibility of his staying here tonight, let alone any series of nights to come, but I wanted him to have the comforts he might need from home if he did stay, if it did come to that.

There were so many contradictions in my mind, it was hardly surprising that they were reflected in Jack.

I could only guess, but perhaps part of Jack also wanted to emerge from the house and be driven home. Maybe he felt that matters had already gone too far for that, though and he’d have to stick to the route he’d chosen in order not to lose face to Audrey, or to me. Maybe Audrey was cajoling him into staying put. Maybe he was simply glad to be at Turnmill Street instead of at home. Maybe he just wanted attention, from me or his father or from a world that didn’t seem to acknowledge his desires. And perhaps this rebellion meant that his bewilderment and disappointment with life were finally taking pointed and aggressive shape.