‘That sounds like a really scary dream, darling.’

I clap the air around his head. ‘All gone away now. Remember I told you it’s all in the imagination?’ I brush his damp hair off his forehead.

He pushes me away.

‘And Fireman Sam saved the day!’

His eyes dart around him, not sure of anything.

‘You’re here now, Tommy, you’re here. This is real.’

He pinches the skin on the back of his hand.

‘Ok now.’ I gently stroke the red mark. ‘Look around you, Tommy, what do you see?’

He looks dazed. ‘The colour of creamy ice.’

‘What do you really see? Herbie, Marmie and Yaya, yes? We’re all right here.’ I speak softly.

He swats the air in front of his eyes. I take his hands in mine and kiss his fingertips.

‘You’re safe now.’

He looks at Herbie and Marmie, still sleeping soundly on the bed, and starts to breathe more evenly.

‘How about we get you ready for school and you can see Miss Maeve and paint another picture?’

‘No, Yaya, no. I won’t go.’

Exactly like I was at his age. I remember my father walking out of the room, saying: ‘Enough of the dramatics, we are leaving in twenty minutes, end of.’

‘Is this because of the bad dream?’ He shakes his head vigorously.

‘Ok, Tommy, how about I go with you?’

‘No no no no no no no.’

‘Why, Mr T? What happened yesterday? You can tell me.’

He continues shaking his head. Herbie stands unsteadily on the mattress, shakes himself off and pads over to Tommy, lies beside him and lays his big heavy head on his lap. Tommy leans in and hugs him, now inconsolable with grief, his whole body racked and convulsing.

‘Ok, darling. It’s ok. You don’t have to go today.’

He sniffs, looks at me.

‘Maybe you can tell me later what happened, ok?’

He clamps his lips tight. I’m not happy with that school anyway, that busybody, that cross, that image of distress, emblem of martyrdom. I’ll scout around, find somewhere close to my new workplace, wherever that might be, somewhere more progressive, Educate Together or something, although the thought of all those little people saying prayers together, words they couldn’t possibly understand, is strangely sweet. A room full of children imagining the Mother Mary in her pearly blue gown, with her luminous face, the babe in her arms. Their little nodding heads. Baby Jesus. Nod. I’m back in the room with the monstrous Mary, all those men, Jimmy’s bald head, up and down, up and down, clearing itself of its clamour. I look at my son. He is my priority now, and for ever.

‘What would you like to do today?’

‘Beach, Yaya!’

I’m relieved to see he’s got used to this question so soon. Surely other remnants of his chaotic conditioning can just as easily be undone. Such a clever little thing; an outing is exactly what we all need right now. Sea, sand, perhaps even a smile from Mr Sunshine.