He held Theodore, the bear I gave him for his fifth birthday, patting the soft toy’s threadbare back. ‘What did they take?’

‘Some of your clothes.’

‘My sketchbooks? Which ones?’

‘You’ll have to check.’

He saw his room and dissolved into fury before his empty bookshelf. ‘The sketchbooks are mine!’ he yelled into his phone, across the Yarra Valley and into Melbourne, at Stephen. ‘You’re a lawyer! Make them stop stealing!’ Then he flung the offending device against the wall. ‘Can’t Dad get even one fucking thing right?’

Still raging, he stomped through the living room. Towards the front door.

‘You need to stop!’ I called. ‘I need to try something new.’ He walked into the front yard.

Anxiously, I strode out too and grabbed his arm. ‘Caleb!’

He shook me off. ‘I need this to stop.’ While I watched, horrified, he crunched up the driveway, approaching Sadie. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I want to talk.’

Sadie looked stunned. By now she had to expect nothing more than No comment. But she flipped through her notebook, excitement registering beneath her pancake make-up.

‘You once asked if I’d do a lie detector test,’ Caleb said. ‘Remember?’

‘What?’ I yelled.

Sadie nodded. Behind her a photographer, apparently caught by surprise, grappled with his camera. Microphones of various sizes were pushed at Caleb’s face like the feelers of a giant, curious insect. ‘Will you agree to that?’ Sadie asked Caleb. Ignoring me.

Caleb nodded at Sadie then turned to me. He had some pity left. ‘You wanted me to talk,’ he reminded me.

‘To me! Not to a junk journo who’s already spread lies.’

Sadie glared. She stepped closer. ‘Caleb will also have the chance to talk to our psychologist.’ She sounded earnest.

‘A television psychologist?’

‘She’s the best. She’s been on the best shows,’ Sadie insisted.

Caleb nodded. ‘People need to hear me.’

‘No,’ I said to Caleb. ‘You are not going to do this.’

He held my eye. ‘But Mum. I am.’

‘When?’ I asked Sadie.

‘As soon as you can arrange it.’

For a desperate half-hour, I tried to stop this. I grounded Caleb, I tried to find someone he’d listen to. At the other end of the phone, Douglas was horrified. ‘For God’s sake try talking sense into him.’

‘He’s past seeing sense.’ I must have been loud. Caleb had overheard.

‘I’ve decided,’ he said. ‘I’m doing this.’

‘I won’t let you!’ I told him. ‘I won’t let her into my house.’

‘I’m eighteen,’ Caleb countered. ‘It’s my house. And I could meet her somewhere else.’

When Sadie knocked on the door, I took it up with her. The idea of her, here in my home, was nauseating. Barring her entry, I took her on. ‘Don’t you have journalistic ethics? You can’t do this.’