Caleb stared at me as I disconnected. Then he stared at the closed door. Ivy’s footsteps, once more, had stopped outside.

‘Mum, can I come home?’

I imagined his life here. Ivy, angry and disappointed. Her contempt. How would she speak to Caleb? When I’d wondered what traits my baby would inherit from Stephen, I’d imagined his beautiful eyes or brilliant mind, Imaginary Ivy said. Now I wonder what gene made you this… this… Does my baby have this gene, too? How can I know?

I saw her, clutching the newborn child as though this could prevent her from hearing the sort of words Stephen used when angry. Ivy had freed me. I didn’t have to listen to those words anymore. Of course Caleb could come home.

‘What’s happened with Dad now?’ I asked him, in the car.

‘That baby can’t be normal. It doesn’t stop crying.’

Stephen was living through that newborn night screaming again. Sucked to be him. ‘You used to cry a lot.’

Stephen hadn’t been a patient father. Caleb didn’t like my laugh but I’m pretty sure he liked the silent car. He didn’t even turn the radio on to his usual objectionable station as we drove towards home and the next disaster.

I hadn’t planned for him to be coming back, I’d been forgetful. My collection was open, out. I was exposed, on display.

This was it. The moment I knew must happen, happened. Caleb stepped into the living room. I could have rushed past him, swept the things into my cabinet, slammed shut the lid. But what was the point?

Caleb saw everything. Right away. ‘Mum? What the hell is this?’ His fingers lingered over the wedding ring. Did he recognise it as Stephen’s? Next, he saw Jack’s lighter. More distinctive than any ring. He picked it up, his eyes accusative. ‘You took all these things?’

I blinked, lost for words.

‘I don’t understand. Mum… you steal things? Why?’

I peered around the room, desperate, foolish, trapped. As if the answer to how I could get out of this might be written on the wall somewhere. ‘Can I make you a coffee? A hot chocolate?’

‘Jack will want this back. These other things. People must miss them.’

I tried to explain. I didn’t do a very good job. ‘It started small. Like… like an art gallery. A museum… People who mean something to me…’

‘People who mean something…? So you steal from them?’

I shrug. What can I say?

‘Like souvenirs? Why not take photos?’

‘Don’t look at me like that.’

He continued touching, contaminating my collection with his anger. ‘These things belong to other people. To Jeannie. To Dad. Even to Ivy… Jeez, Mum.’

I tried to explain.

He didn’t avert his eyes as he attempted to paraphrase. ‘You think this is a way to be closer to people? Closer? Like a vampire?’