Michael didn’t want to meet my eye. He must be thinking about last time we met. He spoke to a plain-clothed man beside him who then approached me.

‘Come through here, Ms Wharton.’ He indicated a nearby door. ‘Let me explain.’

We stepped into another waiting room. ‘I’m Hong Feng. Detective.’ He indicated I should sit. My muscles twitched in a way that made sitting seem painful. I forced myself down, and stared at the officer.

‘Your husband isn’t here?’

‘We’re divorced. My friend…’ I tried to say Jack’s name, that he’d be there soon, but the sentence was a broken necklace – I couldn’t string my words together.

‘I see. Sit down, Ms Wharton…’

I realised I was standing again.

‘Sit down. Please.’

I shook my head, forcefully. ‘My son. I need to speak to a doctor… He was in the fire…’

‘I know that, Ms Wharton,’ Detective Feng said. His voice sounded at once gentle and efficient. Practised, whispered an evil little voice I didn’t want to hear.

‘He hit his head,’ I continued. ‘I’m worried about him.’

‘There’s no easy way to tell you this, Ms Wharton.’

‘Tell me what?’

He sucked in a deep breath. ‘Yesterday’s fires are under investigation. A number of witnesses have already come forward. A suspected arsonist was spotted.’

What could this possibly have to do with Caleb?

‘And I’m sorry to say more than one description we’ve received of this alleged arsonist matches your son.’

My world shifted. My ears weren’t working. ‘What?’

‘Witnesses saw the arsonist, Ms Wharton. The man they describe sounds like Caleb.’

This couldn’t be right. ‘Are your officers questioning him?’

Detective Feng pulled at his moustache with narrow fingers.

‘While I’m out here?’

‘Ms Wharton, your son is eighteen.’

Mentally, I flailed, searching my mind for things that, later, I’d wish I’d said.

‘Without a lawyer? While he’s in hospital? Concussed? You shouldn’t be doing this. It can’t be legal.’

Finally, Detective Feng looked uncomfortable. He glanced at his phone. ‘It’s my understanding he hasn’t requested…’

I strode down the hallway to Caleb’s room, passing the police officers. Michael Gillan was on the phone. He looked white. ‘You go home,’ I heard one of his colleagues say. ‘Look after Shelly and Violet. We’ve got it sorted here.’

No one tried to keep me away from Caleb. Through the door, I heard him talking to someone. He didn’t sound alarmed.

‘Caleb?’ I tried the doorknob. Locked.

An unfamiliar voice answered, ‘You can come in.’

The door rattled, then opened. I crossed to Caleb’s side. The head of his bed was raised. His hands were crossed over his chest. Two police officers sat beside him, one male, one female. And behind them, looking distressed, stood Jack. Hopefully he’d be thinking of how much Caleb needed him.

Caleb always had something in his hands. Now it was his phone. Lying in the hospital bed, he managed to give the impression of a sixth grader sending an illicit text message.