‘Your mother told me to change the password,’ Orisa explained coldly, glancing away from Nigerian Idol on the living-room couch. ‘You are not to use the house telephone or have the new wireless password until your mother has dealt with you.’

‘Fabulous …’ Julius said.

On the skulk back to his room, he kicked a wooden stair rod, hoping to snap it. But it just sent a jarring pain up to his hip, which seemed like a perfect metaphor for his powerlessness.

It was midnight when Bunmi got home. Julius loathed her as he peeked between the curtains, a drunken sway as she stumbled out of the front passenger seat, while the bodyguard scooped Gabe, fast asleep, from the back. He heard her walk up the stairs, stopping briefly to drop a bag in her office. Julius blocked the hallway as she stepped out.

‘What’s going to happen?’ he asked fearfully.

Bunmi looked clownish. Barefoot, squashed hat, smudged make-up and a taint of body odour.

‘I am tired,’ she said softly. ‘My life does not revolve around your antics. You must wait until I decide what the consequences are …’

Julius barely slept. Monday morning had the usual routine with a weird vibe. Orisa waking him up. Uniform, teeth, books and breakfast. Gabe was gluey-eyed and irritable and the twins strangely muted as they rode the long-wheelbase Lexus to St Gilda’s.

Duke sighted Julius during morning break. His lumbering walk seemed sad, but his presence was a relief, since Duke feared his friend might already be on his way to military school. But Duke had been hopeful enough to dig his uncle’s prehistoric Nokia out of a drawer and buy a cheap SIM card in the market. When he got a chance, he’d press it into Julius’s hand and they’d at least be able to talk.

Duke had double art after lunch. Rainy season had arrived late, but hard. The paved path was blasted by giant raindrops as he jogged towards St Gilda’s art and drama block. He’d almost reached the entrance when Collins steamed towards him, with a protective cup over his surgically rebuilt nose and school shoes sploshing waterlogged grass.

‘Dirty queer!’ Collins shouted, emphasising his point with a vicious punch in the mouth.

A couple of kids from art class saw Duke crumple but didn’t intervene. As Duke splashed down, tasting blood, Kehinde and Taiwo helped Collins drag him around the side of the building.

‘On your feet, queer,’ Taiwo ordered as Duke got yanked up.

The three muscular lads marched Duke through the rain to a groundsman’s shed near the school perimeter. As the twins bounced Duke’s face into the side of the hut, Collins produced a key and freed a padlock from the door.

‘Inside,’ Collins spat.