I like the old kids’ books best, so I took a Shaun Tan from the shelf. His drawings and paintings seem like they’re from a different world, one I recognise but can’t quite place. When I turn the pages, I turn over my imagination as well as his. Aiden chose a science fiction novel.

We lay in bed reading but for once Tan wasn’t able to take me with him. I kept going over the events of the day, the terror, the fascination, the feeling of being deliciously alive in the darkest moments of fear. I worried about Mr Meredith and what I’d say to him in the morning, assuming he hadn’t lost his job in the meantime. If he had, I’d bug Mum and Dad to employ him, at a better salary than teaching paid. We could make up a job for him. I couldn’t bear to think I was responsible for him being sacked. I knew, I’d been told, that unemployment was so high that the chances of finding employment once you lost it were slim to say the least. Finally, I put the book down on my chest.

‘Thank you, Aiden,’ I said.

‘What for?’ He didn’t put his book down.

‘For protecting me. For taking the blame, saying it was your idea when we both know it was mine.’

‘Oh, that.’ He turned a page. ‘You’re welcome.’

‘Why did you do it?’

He glanced over at me then. His face was puzzled as if my question was entirely unreasonable, almost unfathomable.

‘You said it yourself. To protect you. You’d have done the same for me.’

That doesn’t make sense, I thought. How does that make any kind of sense at all? Obviously I wouldn’t have done the same for him because I could have told the truth, exposed his lie and taken responsibility. But I hadn’t.

Sometimes I hate him for making me feel bad about myself. I wonder if he does it deliberately.

After lights out he tried to take my hand, but I wasn’t in the mood. I lay in the darkness and listened to thunder rumbling in the distance.

4

‘We owe you an apology, Mr Meredith,’ I said.

I was so relieved when he popped up in class first lesson, seeming happy and relaxed and most definitely not like someone who was working out his notice. But we had to wait until recess for the opportunity to speak to him privately. Now he looked at us over his glasses, head bowed. I could see a small bald patch on the very top of his scalp. It was sprinkled with dandruff.

‘I believe you do,’ he replied. No smile. He wasn’t going to make this easy for us and I couldn’t blame him.

‘Sorry, Mr Meredith,’ I said.

‘Sorry, Mr Meredith,’ said Aiden.

‘We’re so glad you didn’t lose your job,’ I added.

‘Hmmm.’ Our teacher took off his glasses and cleaned them with a small cloth he took from his trouser pocket. ‘It is easy to say sorry,’ he continued, ‘and even easier to accept it. Which I do, by the way. Apologies accepted. But …’ He put his glasses back on and regarded us. ‘I do wonder if you are really sorry or if an apology is just something you feel should be offered.’