What had seemed a monumental discovery lapsed for a while into further fruitlessness. I was everywhere surrounded by loss. I walked through ash and soot, past blackened tree stumps and rubble-strewn house-sites where no one had the heart to rebuild. There was Aaron Morgan, a living ghost, always looking for his lost Elizabeth. Dave Briggs with burn scars from Australia, despite having returned uninjured from a foreign war. Caleb, another ghost, would never be the man he should have been. Guilt, that malicious emotion, had destroyed him. Perhaps he’d learned his emotional repertoire from me.

Why did I feel guilty? Where to begin? So many reasons, some in direct opposition to others. I wasn’t a good enough mother or wife or teacher, because of the effort invested in being a teacher or mother or wife. I spent too little time with Caleb, or I was too involved. Any amount of care or attention was always too much or too little.

I had to face it. My legacy to my son was guilt. I’d been unable to maintain either my family or career. School was difficult enough before Caleb’s arrest. Now, parents distrusted me with their children, because of my own mistakes.

It was time to get ready for the evening with Jack. I’d talk to him about Caleb’s sketches of the ignition site. They seemed to prove that Caleb had been there, as everyone else had said. Everyone except Jack. Jack had said Caleb was in Brunton. I’d wanted to believe Jack and, further, I’d wanted to believe that Jack cared for Caleb. But now I wondered, what if Jack had been honest about when he saw Caleb, but dishonest about where? Had Jack been at the ignition site? Could Jack’s motivation go beyond wanting to provide Caleb with an alibi? The only answer I could reach was that Jack wanted to hide why he was there.

Jack had to know something: it was one more piece of information I needed to get from him over dinner.

Six months ago, a lyric in my notebook recalled the anxiety of a woman on a date, anxiety that began with needing to wear – as if they existed – the perfect dress, perfect bra, perfect knickers. An anxiety that didn’t diminish even when all had worked,

the date over,

the date asleep in her bed.

Like all my songs, this came from experience. I knew that anxiety.