‘I hope you won’t just laze around all day. You should really spend the time catching up on your school work for when term starts again. That last report of yours wasn’t anything to be proud about, was it? Your mum showed it to me. I know it’s not altogether your fault, your father butting in and causing as much upset as he can, but there’s never any excuse for laziness. You want to knuckle down and make something of yourself. Your poor mother, what she’s been through these last two years, you don’t want to add to her troubles by bringing home bad school reports like that one, do you? All the sacrifices she’s made…’

Seymour kept his eyes on his plate. He didn’t want to be reminded of all those sacrifices. It was as painful as listening to some creaky old tape played over and over, rewound when it reached the end and set in motion again.

‘She might call over to see you Friday night,’ Thelma said. ‘I don’t think it’s very wise, myself. You never know if he’s having her followed. I certainly wouldn’t put it past him. She should go to court and get the whole thing sorted out once and for all, proper rights of custody, that’s what she should apply for. If he finds out you’re staying here in Victoria Road, he can come in and take you away, and there’s not a thing I can do. I’m just a bystander, not even a relation.’

Seymour thought of his weak-willed father engaged in a confrontation with Thelma, and knew very well who’d come off second-best. But he’d had eleven years of experience in the futility of arguing with adults or expecting his opinions to be listened to. He put the spoon neatly in the bowl and carried it to the sink.