All of a sudden the phone rang. I heard Arthur leave a short message to say he was thinking of me and hoped to speak soon. Yvonne had slumped onto the sofa and was crying. Wailing sounds followed me as I went to put on the kettle. The phone rang again. This time it was DCI Kent asking if I’d pop by the station. He’d a couple of things he wanted to clear up.

As the kettle boiled I went to the bedroom and pulled on a pair of jogging bottoms and a rumpled T-shirt and ran a cursory brush through my hair for the first time in seven days. I threw cold water over my face and noticed the deathly grey pallor of my skin. I didn’t want company; I wanted to be alone, sort things out. I needed time to think.

I returned to the living room, set down two cups of tea, and sat opposite Mrs Moreton. She had managed to regain some composure and launched into a rehearsed but heartfelt tirade.

‘Oliver isn’t a murderer. He says you were at the scene before he got there,’ she began, staring at me, willing me to agree. ‘He says he only turned up because Mitch had texted him earlier in the day asking him to come round. Mitch had wanted to clear the air, make up. Whatever happened between them he wanted to sort it out. My son didn’t murder Mitch. You know that, don’t you?’

I kept my mouth firmly shut. The clock on the wall had stopped at two but it still wasn’t midday. The damp patch in the right-hand corner of the ceiling had grown and was creeping inwards, invading the room with its dull wet presence. The flaking yellow walls would never be painted over, not by me at any rate. I’d be leaving soon. There was a small cottage, somewhere far away, with my name on. I still had thousands in the bank.

For a third time the phone rang. I excused myself from the distraught presence and unplugged the wires from the wall beside me. My mobile rang in tandem and I switched it off.

‘I need to go out. I’m sorry about Oliver,’ I lied. ‘Perhaps you should ask your son what it was they’d fallen out over. That might give you some answers.’ I stood.

Mrs Moreton didn’t budge. ‘I know Oliver stepped in over Mitch’s toes after he deserted you and went off with someone else to Italy. But because my son never loved you, that doesn’t give you the right to frame him for murder.’ I watched spittle spurt from her wet lips and the angry veins pulse in her cheeks.