He did suspect the worst, based on what little he knew. For instance, her expensive art piece ‘The Hanging Box’ had, for some reason, been confiscated by the police as evidence. Then there were the bruises all over her body, which he had caught a glimpse of at one point, when he forgot to knock before entering their bedroom. And it wasn’t just the bruises. What he saw was a broken woman who seemed to have lost all faith in herself.

At least when it came to her art, if she was to be believed, she was done with it. She was nothing but a talentless bluff anyway. It wasn’t something they’d talked about, just something that had trickled out in throw-away subclauses; whenever he brought it up, she shut him down. Just like she had every time he’d broached the subject of their future.

The past few weeks had, granted, been one long crisis, and all their energy had been spent sitting by Matilda’s bedside; maybe everything would change now that she was coming home. Maybe things would finally return to normal.

He pulled out Gone to Earth with David Sylvian and studied the cover. It was the second CD he’d bought, after Sign o’ the Times with Prince, and he could still remember playing it for Sonja in the flat they’d just moved into together.

She had liked it so much she had improvised a dance, and he had turned it up so loud their neighbour had eventually rung their doorbell. But they had simply stuffed the bell with cotton wool and opened another bottle of wine. As though no problems would ever find them, so long as they stood united.

He connected the speakers in the kitchen, turned the volume up and started making dinner to the sound of old Japan members Steve Jansen and Mick Karn’s sophisticated groove in ‘Taking the Veil’.

Since Sonja was spending the night with Matilda, it was just him and Theodor. Which meant last night’s leftover pasta, fried crispy in olive oil with some finely sliced garlic, a few chopped tomatoes and olives, would have to do.

The door to his son’s room was closed, as usual, so he tapped it gently before opening it, only to see Theodor startle violently in his desk chair and quickly turn on the screensaver on his laptop.

‘Dinner’s ready.’

‘All right, I’ll be right there.’

Fabian nodded and turned to leave but stopped mid-motion. ‘Actually, what are you up to?’

‘Nothing. I said I’ll be right there.’

Fabian remembered his own teenage years all too well. Like Theodor, he had been prone to shutting himself up in his room, driven by an overwhelming need to be left alone, always worried about the door being thrown open at any moment by a curious parent.