In slow motion, Josie’s face crumpled. Her eyes scrunched shut and her mouth stretched wide as words tumbled out. ‘Jessica doesn’t want to be my friend any more. She says everyone in Mrs Calcashaw’s class is dirty and stupid. She told Sadiq and Ira not to be my friends either. And I won’t have anyone to play with at playtime after half-term,’ she wailed.

‘Oh, baby.’ Nico rocked his slender daughter, his heart clenching in rhythm with her sobs, aware of Emelie giving a soft ohhhhh of sympathy. ‘That’s not a nice thing to happen, is it? But you know that Jessica, Sadiq and Ira aren’t your only friends. Who’s coming trick or treating on Saturday?’

Josie sniffed. ‘Steph’nie and Martha. If Jessica doesn’t stop them.’ A shudder ran through her.

‘I don’t think she will and if Stephanie and Martha are your friends to go trick or treating with then they’re your friends to play with at playtime too.’ Nico decided to contact the school when it reopened to reiterate his concerns and wished kids came with a manual, giving parents a shot at doing and saying the right thing. ‘Sometimes when children are difficult it’s because they’re upset about something quite different. It makes them cross and they say things they don’t mean.’

Josie met this in silence. Nico didn’t blame her. His words hadn’t given her anything helpful and positive to go on. He cast about for something more constructive. ‘I think Jessica, Sadiq, Ira, Stephanie and Martha are in Mrs Symonds’s class, aren’t they? Who do you like in Mrs Calcashaw’s class?’

‘No one.’

He debated whether to call her on such a sweeping statement but going through the names of every child he remembered and have her deny liking them or telling him loftily they were all in Mrs Symonds’s class wouldn’t help. He changed direction. ‘Tell me what’s your favourite thing to do at school and who you do it with.’

Josie released herself from his embrace and slid from his knee. ‘Home time with you,’ she sniffed, neatly converting his different approach into a blind alley. ‘I’m going to the toilet.’

She trailed out of the kitchen, shoulders sagging. Nico stared after her. The negativity about school was worrying enough but why had she hit on him fetching her from school as her favourite thing? He rarely did it. Mid-afternoon, when school finished, he was usually in his company’s offices in Holborn, visiting clients at their premises elsewhere in the country or in Stockholm for meetings.

He passed his hand over his face. If his life depended on it he couldn’t face the rest of his bowl of granola. It felt as if eating it would betray his daughter, though that made no sense or logic. His little girl was unhappy and was getting unhappier.