‘Coming,’ Mel shouted back. To me, she said: ‘I’ll have a G & T, if you’re pouring.’

She headed back up the stairs to his bedroom.

‘Surely it’s Daddy’s turn.’

When she was back upstairs, I took the two phones out of my back pockets. A crumpled Post-it note was stuck to my phone, ‘STEB?’ scrawled on it in Ben’s looping handwriting. I peeled the note off and shoved it back in my pocket.

The display on the Samsung said: 8 of 8 sent, transfer complete.

I slipped the Samsung back into the secret pocket of her handbag, pushing it up through the cut in the lining and trying to position the bag as it had been on the hall table. Almost too late, I remembered the Bluetooth function was still enabled, retrieved the phone again and switched it off before replacing it in the handbag’s lining.

Mel returned a moment later.

‘What was Wills shouting for?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice level.

‘Said there was a noise outside his window and he thought it might have been a policeman trying to get in.’ She stopped, studied me. ‘Are you OK, darling?’

I shrugged.

‘Still a bit freaked out by Ben being there tonight.’

‘You look a bit peaky.’

‘Can’t believe how close we got. You sure you didn’t see him?’

She picked up her handbag and headed for the kitchen.

‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Her words came out too quickly.

‘Was William all right just now?’

‘Just a bit scared.’

I followed her into the kitchen, busying myself with gin, lemon and a sharp knife.

‘He normally shouts for me when he’s scared.’

‘It’s because I tucked him in, that’s all.’

‘He’s barely said a word to me today.’ A sudden thought hit me like a punch to my heart. ‘It’s as if he’s frightened of me.’

She handed me a tumbler from the cupboard.

‘He’s not frightened. He’s worried.’

‘Worried about what?’

I dropped ice into the tumbler, topped up the gin with tonic water, and handed it to her. She half filled a glass with red wine and handed it to me.

‘He’s worried that his Daddy’s going to prison.’

I nodded slowly, a lump in my throat. I hated what this was doing to our son. Hated that he was caught in the middle.

‘How about you? Are you worried?’

‘Not about that. But I am worried about the toll this is taking on you.’

‘I’m all right,’ I said, taking a large sip of Cabernet Sauvignon. The wine was strong and heavy and dark, a deep, deep red that seemed to absorb the light in the glass. It matched my mood.

‘Are you, Joe? I’m not even sure you realise the effect all this is having. You just keep ploughing on, keep going, keep going, without thinking about what this is doing to you.’