Griff Adamson, left, ex-director of disgraced property development company, Hemisphere, which was the subject of an investigation, came under scrutiny again, recently, when his connection to –

Another old photograph of Alex, at a charity ball with some trashed-looking girls. Bea wanted to cover him up, he would hate it, his nineties hair and the clothes that looked like fancydress for ‘the privileged’.

Friends remember Alex as a ‘gentle soul’, a fun-loving charmer who lit up a room –

‘What was she doing, talking to the press?’ said Bea, furious.

‘They called her at home,’ said Arun. ‘They took her by surprise.’

‘Fucking hell,’ Bea said, ‘this is disgusting.’

‘They did the old trick, “if you talk to us you can give us your side”.’

‘How stupid can a person be?’

‘Bea!’ barked Griff, coming back down the stairs. ‘Keep your voice down.’

She shoved the paper back at Arun, and Dan took it from him.

‘Can we get it out of here?’ she said. ‘Why did you bring it here? That’s my brother.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Arun. ‘Forgive me.’

‘Throw it out,’ said Bea.

‘It’ll be online,’ said Dan, looking up. She saw it was a thrill to him, that Alex’s death had made the papers. He tried to hide it, but he couldn’t.

Arun took the paper, deftly, from his hand. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘Your mother feels terrible.’

‘No, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault,’ said Bea, then, ‘They got his age wrong.’

There was silence.

‘It’s a quarter past one,’ announced Roche, standing alone.

‘I don’t care,’ said Griff. ‘Let them wait. And they’d better give us some answers.’

‘It really wouldn’t do to keep them waiting,’ said Roche. His English was stuck somewhere in the twentieth century, the too-perfect grammar of the bilingual.

‘Fine,’ said Griff. ‘Bea, go and get your mother.’

‘You get her.’

‘Bea!’

‘What?’

‘Please,’ said Griff. ‘Please would you fetch your mother?’

Bea could never resist a plea for help. She went upstairs for Liv.

Her mother was lying flat on her back, still in her shoes. The curtains were drawn. It was like a room with a body laid out, but it was the wrong body. Her large handbag was open on the corner of the bed. The air smelled strongly of her scent, a single-note essence that clung like the blood of something to everything she touched.

‘I’m going to open the window,’ said Bea. ‘You and Griff have to go to the police station. You need to get up.’

She opened the curtains and lifted the sash. Liv propped herself up on the pillows, slack-faced. Her eyes struggled to focus. Bea wondered if she was unable to speak, rather than choosing not to.

Mother and son overdose within a fortnight of each other. Distraught mother takes own life.

Bea tried to calm down. She did not want to feel this hatred. It turned her stomach.