“I know,” Jude said. “All I can say is what I said to the police. I don’t know anything. I don’t know why he got in touch with me. I don’t know what he was planning, or wasn’t planning. I don’t know why he died.”

“I’m his mother,” said Tara. “I won’t have him smeared like this. Not by the police, not by you, not by anyone.” She leaned forward, eyes glinting, face contorted, but speaking very clearly. “It’s not right. I can’t bear it.”

The words rang out in the little room, and then there was a silence. Tara put her fist into her mouth, biting her knuckles. Andy reached a hand out toward her, changed his mind, put it back on his lap.

“I’m not smearing him,” said Jude. “I wish I could help but I can’t. I don’t know what he was planning or why he died. He was lovely,” she added, hearing the words before she knew she was going to speak them and only then understanding they needed to be said. “He was special. Everyone who knew him saw that.”

Tara took her fist from her mouth, uncurled it, trailed her fingers across her cheek.

“I’m so bloody tired,” she said. “But I can’t sleep. And time stands still. I don’t know how to get through time. I keep thinking he’ll come whistling through the door with his laundry or something. My handsome lad.”

Jude nodded but didn’t speak.

“And I’m angry. I’m so angry.”

She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, her tight face going slack.

Andy shifted in his armchair and coughed, a signal he wanted to speak.

“We actually had a specific reason for wanting to see you,” he began. It sounded as if he was saying something he had prepared. “Aside from what happened.”

Jude looked at him expectantly.

“Liam used to come and visit. Not that often but occasionally. The last time he came here was about four months ago.” He looked at his wife. “Is that right?”

“More like three,” she said.

“Three or four months ago. He came with his little boy, Alfie, who was a baby then. Not walking, though he pulled himself up on the furniture. Anyway, while Liam was here he did a big sort-out of his old room. It’s funny the stuff he still had here all those years after he moved out. He threw things away and before he left, he said there was a drawer in his room for documents. I thought it was strange. Documents. Liam didn’t seem like the sort of person who would have documents.”

“He had documents,” said Tara, opening her eyes and sitting up straighter. “Like his National Insurance card and his exam certificates.”

“There weren’t many of those,” said Andy. “Unless they give out certificates for failing.”