An unusually feeble knock at the door signalled the arrival of Mr Boil. Virgo saw that Elliot looked quite serene. Unlike his father, who looked entirely capable of a second serious mortal crime.

As ever, Mr Boil’s organic-foodstuff aroma preceded him. Mr Boil was the only mortal Virgo had encountered who made Elliot seem like an advert for excellent hygiene. That reminded her – Elliot was due his weekly shower tomorrow; she’d have to remind . . .

Tomorrow.

The strange twisting sensation returned as she realized she wouldn’t be there to insist on Elliot’s Friday-night shower. Tomorrow she’d be back in Elysium. Not here. With Elliot. She sniffed loudly at this happy thought.

‘Lance,’ said Mr Sopweed stiffly, as Boil took his place on the opposite side of the office.

‘Gra— Mr Sopweed,’ Boil replied quietly.

Virgo was taken aback. Even by his shambolic standards, Mr Boil looked awful. Gone was the sneer, the defiance, the sweaty upper lip . . . No, upon closer examination, that was still there. But this wasn’t the cocky Mr Boil of old. This man was . . . sub-optimal.

‘I understand that you have provided Ms Givings with an account of your recent behaviour,’ Mr Sopweed continued. ‘But now I want to hear for myself how on Earth you justify keeping information about a child’s welfare from your superior?’

Virgo awaited Mr Boil’s sneering defence. But none came.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, barely audibly.

‘Is that the best you’ve got?!’ shouted Dave, rising from his chair. ‘You knew that my son . . . that my wife . . .’

‘Dad,’ said Elliot softly, this time putting his hand on his father’s arm. ‘It’s OK.’

‘It is not OK,’ said Dave more calmly, returning to his seat.

‘You’re absolutely right, Mr Hooper,’ said Mr Sopweed, staring directly at Boil. ‘It’s far from OK. What you did was utterly reprehensible, malicious and potentially dangerous. What do you have to say for yourself?’

Boil shrugged again.

‘Nothing,’ he muttered.

‘I see,’ said Mr Sopweed, closing his notebook. ‘Well, then, Mr Boil. You leave me no choice. Given your woeful professional conduct, I immediately terminate—’

‘Can I ask something?’ Elliot interrupted.

Mr Sopweed looked slightly taken aback.

‘Er, yes . . . of course you can, Elliot,’ he said gently. ‘Ask anything you like.’

Elliot rose from his chair and walked over to Mr Boil. The teacher’s bloodshot eyes remained fixed on the floor. But after Elliot had stood before him for a few moments, he lifted his head.

‘I just have to know,’ Elliot said. ‘Why do you hate me so much?’

Boil paused for a moment, unable to look Elliot in the eye. Virgo was curiously hooked. This was better than the TV channel that sold dolphin anoraks all day and night.

‘I don’t hate you,’ Boil said eventually. ‘I just don’t always like myself very much.’