I opened the door, a tiny bit, waiting for his protest. ‘Caleb, would you let me do this one thing for you?’ I tried one last tactic, knowing Jack was still his hero. ‘Jack always wears a suit to court.’

Caleb sat up, shrugging. I checked he didn’t smell too bad and told him to meet me in my car. We drove to Myer, and found the suit department in a miasma of old air-conditioner and starch. There isn’t much to grey suits. In fact, you’d think the whole task would be simple, one any mother could undertake with her son.

‘I don’t need to try anything on,’ Caleb said.

I took it from him and led the two of them, boy and suit, to the fitting room. Caleb was swallowed by white swinging doors while I sought a new tie for him, too, settling on staid, sensible blue stripes.

Caleb swung back through the doors. A grown man, in a suit. Allowing the tie, his Adam’s apple bobbed against my fingertips. I’ll never know what words he swallowed and suppressed. Don’t patronise me. Perhaps. He stepped away. His tie wasn’t quite right. ‘This is all fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll take it off now.’

I waited on a courtesy seat beside the cash register, reduced to the status of a credit card, checking my phone. Slow rock music from my own teenage years thumped softly overhead, comforting as a heartbeat.

‘You fucking bastard!’ Caleb’s voice!

I leaped to my feet.

A loud thump. A yell of pain. Other customers turned, alarmed. A couple of sales assistants strode over. The yelp was followed by a low-pitched clatter, then the smash and tinkle of glass breaking.

‘Leave me alone, you freak!’ I didn’t recognise the voice. ‘Call the police!’

I stepped into the fitting room. ‘Madam!’ a sales assistant called. ‘This is for men!’

‘This is my son!’

Caleb stood in a clutter of collapsed swinging doors, a shower of broken mirrors. An empty grey suit resembling a man collapsed over him. Nearby, a teenage boy pulled himself upright, hand clamped to his head.

‘Caleb, what happened?’ I demanded.

A man in a grey uniform pushed me aside with his shoulder. ‘Madam. I’m store security. I’ll deal with this.’

The other boy checked his hand through his good eye, and brushed bloodied glass fragments from his shirt. He formed a fist and shook it at the sales assistant. ‘You better’ve called the fucking cops. You shouldn’t let crazy people in here. Fucking arsonist. Murderer. You know how many people this guy already killed? I just wanted jeans and now I’m bleeding. I’m gunna fucking sue you.’

Later, we were at the police station. Caleb knew he could be returned to remand for breaching bail. I asked what had happened, why was he stupid enough to get into a fight?