“Didn’t have a name.” He bit into the roll, perhaps to delay answering. “It was just a pill,” he said eventually. “We got it in a club.”

“They oughtn’t to have let you in. You must have been under age.”

“They thought I wasn’t.”

“More like they didn’t care.” I’d felt proud that he looked older than his years, but not now. “Are you going to tell me the name of the club?”

“Doesn’t matter. I won’t go to any more if I get all this grief every time.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t finished yet. What did this substance of yours do for you?”

“Colours and patterns and shapes. Made me see them like I bet your aunt did.”

“She was taking part in a controlled experiment run by a university, and she was twice your age. Your brain’s still forming and you shouldn’t interfere with the process.”

“Nothing wrong with my brain.”

“And we don’t want there ever to be.” Now I had to acknowledge “I’m not sure if the drug trial left my aunt with a problem.”

“I wouldn’t mind that kind of problem,” Roy said and stared through the kitchen doorway. “Doesn’t look like she had one to me.”

He might have been invoking a presence, but he was gazing at some of her work. My aunt had sketched me every year I’d stayed with her, and now all the portraits hung in the hall. Behind two versions of my face a year apart I saw an impression of trees, which at that distance resembled part of a spider’s web, and I was on the way to making out another detail when Roy’s phone gave its nostalgic trill. “Mum,” it announced as well.

“Just calling to say you won’t be able to reach me while I’m in session today.”

I suspected this was a way of checking up on him. Since he didn’t answer, I did. “I’m sure there’ll be no need.”

“Isn’t Roy there? Can’t he speak for himself?”

Roy looked away from me before saying “Yes.”

“Is that all?”

“What dad said.”

“Sorry if I’m intruding. What are you up to today?”

As our son had no reply to this I felt I should explain “Some of us have only just got up.”

“You roust your father out of bed, Roy. Make the most of your summer.”

Had she really misunderstood my comment, or was she loath to hear anything against our son? He seemed to prefer to return to her question. “We were looking at his portraits his aunt made.”

“The ones he didn’t want to part with. Well, we don’t need the money now.” I knew better than to take this for absolution, having recalled how strident our disagreement had been. “It’s a pity she didn’t concentrate more on her family,” Julia said.