Devine just gave me one of his looks. It was a look that conveyed in a glance everything that was wrong with me: my unruly hair—more of it then, of course, and distressingly curly; my lackadaisical posture; my tweed jacket, which was durable, if not exactly glamorous; even the smell of chalk dust and smoke that seemed a part of my essential being—all of it marked and judged lacking by Dr. Devine, the self-­appointed arbiter of everything.

I cursed Devine in Latin and went back to room 59, where I found the Harringtons, sitting outside and dressed for church; she in a beige fur-collared coat and a modest string of pearls, he in the kind of charcoal suit that manages to convey both affluence and self-restraint. I shook their hands and invited them in (much as folklore dictates we should invite a vampire before he can feed).

Mrs. Harrington sat down. Dr. Harrington (MA, Oxon) remained standing, which meant that I was obliged to perch uncomfortably on the teacher’s desk, neither seated nor standing. Not a good position for a Junior Master trying to project a confident sense of authority. Nowadays, his son relies on just the same kind of tactics.

A moment for Harrington Senior. It was the first time I’d seen him. A tall man with dark blond hair and a striking resemblance to his son. Long, elegant, brain surgeon’s hands; an obstinate line between his eyes. Five years older than I was, at most; and yet I found myself stumbling through my words of welcome like an ill-prepared schoolboy.

“Mr. Straitley,” said Harrington Senior, cutting short the pleasantries. “Perhaps, as Johnny’s form master, you could give us some insight as to our son’s lack of progress over the term.”

That took me rather by surprise. Most parents do not initiate discussion on Parents’ Evenings. In fact, most parents do not expect to hear specific concerns from members of staff, but only attend in order to feel (however wrongly) that they are taking an active part in their son’s education. The truth is that most parents are best kept as far away from their sons’ education as possible, while the professionals deal with the day-to-day business of teaching. Parents’ Evenings are simply a means of reassuring parents that they are doing all they can, and ensuring that they do not feel the need to visit the School again. There are exceptions—boys who actually need the School to involve their parents; but for the most part, parents are the least helpful port of call for a Master trying to do his job.