I send the message and try to block out that needling concern. Gabe is talking about Evan’s gaming. We’ve eased up on the supervision and restrictions with both the kids. I have more time to do my research, now that I’m not so stressed and preoccupied.

‘He’s doing really well,’ Gabe says, which is apparently an acceptable way of describing someone’s proficiency at playing video games. Doing well. Raze disappeared online, which is completely unsurprising. I guess Joe doesn’t have internet access in jail. The first thing July did with her restored freedom was go to Hudson’s place to tell him all about it. Which reminds me.

‘What time is Hudson coming tonight?’

‘Seven,’ he says. ‘I’m cooking. Can you please be home early?’

‘I can try. I’ve got a five-thirty,’ I say. ‘But I’ll leave straight afterwards. No more late nights for me.’

July is eighteen in a month. It’s hard to believe she’ll be an adult and leaving school for good in a few weeks. If she gets into medicine she’ll be studying hard for the best part of a decade, but it’s what she wants. ‘I’m still worried about her, Gabe. We can’t have her go through what she went through last time, not this close to exams. I’m not going to have some boy derail her career aspirations.’

‘It killed me, too, to see her heartbroken like that, but you’ve got to let her learn to navigate the world of boys. You came out of it alright.’

I reach out and take his hand in mine.

•

After lunch, Gabe drives me back to the office. On the way, I get him to stop off to pick up coffees. ‘Wait here,’ I say, as he pulls in. ‘I’ll be quick. Long black for you?’

‘Perfect,’ he says.

I climb from the car and stride across the road. The cafe is quiet. I guess Friday afternoons are hardly peak time for coffee consumption. The barista is there, leaning against the counter behind the machine. You don’t need to see her hands to know she is looking down at a phone. There’s no one waiting for coffee, so I walk straight up to her.

‘Hi,’ I say. ‘A skinny latte and a long black please.’

‘Sure,’ she says. I pay with my card. Her eyes are winged black and I realise now she has a tiny nose piercing. Beans grind, and she tamps them down.

Feigning curiosity, I ask, ‘Remember the Irish guy that worked here?’

‘The one you asked about last time?’ she says, leaning on the bench, waiting for the espresso shot to come through. Before I can answer she is talking again. ‘You’re curious about him, aren’t you?’