‘What? What do you want to tell me, Ben?’ I asked fearfully. If it was something bad, I wanted to hear it. I was afraid, but I needed to know. It pains me to say I went to a dark place and thought he was about to confess to an affair. ‘Tell me.’

He finally looked at me, but he wasn’t the man I’d known for so many years. In place of my quiet, thoughtful, true friend was someone who looked quite unhinged. I got to my feet slowly.

‘What would you do to get her back?’ He rattled off the words like a child.

‘What would I do . . .’ I trailed off.

I didn’t know whether grief had finally broken him, or what was going on inside that mind of his, but I wasn’t in the mood for one of his philosophical enquiries. Beth wasn’t the subject of a thought experiment. I grew quite angry that he felt entitled to abuse her memory so.

‘Yes. What would you do?’ he said.

‘What kind of question is that?’ I snapped.

‘One that needs to be answered,’ he replied calmly. His nervous energy dissipated and was replaced by a resolve I was more familiar with. ‘We both know the answer, but I need to hear you say it.’

‘Anything,’ I replied. I was exasperated and resented him for prising the word from me. And I hated myself for answering, although not as much as I would in future. I should never have replied to that damned question, but I didn’t know any better and I went on. ‘I’d do anything. I’d sacrifice anything. I’d suffer anything,’ I said with tears in my eyes. ‘That a good enough answer for you?’

He looked at me unflinchingly.

‘Yes,’ he replied thoughtfully. ‘There’s something you need to see.’

Chapter 51

I followed Ben along the corridor that connected our offices. A young student I vaguely recognized passed us, and Ben waited until she was out of sight before he opened the door and led me into his office.

‘Can’t be too careful,’ he muttered, adding to my growing concern for his state of mind.

The room was plunged into darkness when he closed the door, and I realized he’d stuck sheets of card over all the windows, blocking out the world and giving him complete privacy.

‘Ben?’ I said hesitantly, feeling that discomfort many experience in the presence of someone who’s in the grip of acute mental illness.

What was this? Had Beth’s death been too much? Did he need help?

‘Wait, wait,’ he replied hurriedly.

He fumbled around his desk and switched on a lamp, but it really didn’t make things any better.

There were piles of paper everywhere and stacks and stacks of books. Used fast food cartons and empty cans and bottles littered the place, which had changed drastically since I’d last seen it.

‘Ben, what is this?’ I asked. ‘What’s happened?’

He hurried round the desk and opened the small cupboard beneath it.