I drove to Hawthorn at lunch time and sat with Caleb in the Hawthorn sitting room that had once been mine, while Ivy loitered in the hall, apparently suspicious. Stephen was at work. Caleb’s eyes shadowed with fatigue, he obviously found the same in me. ‘Mum, you need sleep.’

I made a game of lifting his hair and staring at the scalp beneath. He shook me away. ‘Mum! What the hell?’

‘I’m trying to work out who you are. Caleb was never this wise.’

‘I’m worried about you. Jack said you hardly sleep.’

‘You’ve spoken to Jack?’

He looked evasive. ‘He’s still my mate.’

I got down to the business of my visit and showed him my photos of his sketches. ‘These are the pictures I told you about. This white smudge is the same in every one. It’s not caused by a blunt pencil, Caleb. You’ve drawn a person. You need to tell me. Who is this?’

Caleb stared at his burned hand. ‘I dunno.’

‘It looks… It looks a bit like a woman. An old woman, maybe.’

He stabbed at the butter. ‘I don’t know.’

‘She’s really white. This woman you’ve drawn. It’s a woman, isn’t it?’

Long pause. Then, finally, ‘Maybe she wasn’t really there.’

‘Everything else you drew is really there.’

Caleb’s eyes were wide and honest, belonging to the boy I used to know. ‘Remember when I tipped paint through John Zynda’s locker?’

At least he was talking. ‘His mother was furious,’ I said. ‘We bought him new books.’

‘Some new ones. I gave him my books, for subjects we both did. I used the damaged ones myself. I had to cut the edge off every single page because the paint was like glue.’

‘What are you saying?’

He took my hand. ‘What I’ve been saying for ages. When people do wrong, they’re meant to pay. You taught me that.’

I wanted to scream into my tea towel. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong!’

He touched his scarred lips. ‘Someone was going to be blamed for the fire. It might as well be me.’

I recalled so many times when he’d wanted to talk but I’d been too busy cooking or following some fascinating – now forgotten – story on the news. Now I couldn’t make him say anything meaningful at all.

Stephen rang. Apparently Ivy had complained about my visit. I let him rant but only briefly. Despite Ivy, he was less interested in telling me to go away, and more in trying to control how I’d testify. ‘I know what I need to do. I won’t argue with you, Stephen.’

He sucked in his breath. ‘Jesus, Phoebe. Didn’t you listen to anything I said? Please stay sensible.’

‘I’ll do what I think is sensible. And I’ll see you in court.’