I started heading for Samuel’s classroom – his ‘experience pod’ – but Gaby came out and met me in the corridor. Nature sounds – dripping water, breezes through trees, bird calls – floated past us, putting us at ease and allowing us to enter our most creative and receptive states.

‘Where is he?’

‘Dr Tomlinson, it’s so nice to see you. Thank you for coming in. Samuel’s fine.’

‘Where is he? What happened?’

‘Everything’s fine.’

‘What happened?’

‘Why don’t you have a seat?’

She gestured to an undulating green bench. I didn’t sit.

‘So help me God, Gaby, if you don’t tell me right now what the fuck is going on…’ Spittle was flying from my mouth as I enunciated my consonants. My winter coat had cost over a thousand dollars – it swished in what I liked to think of as an authoritative fashion around my knees.

There was a pause, and we heard a kookaburra singing. Gaby looked around to make sure no-one had witnessed my outburst.

‘This way,’ she said.

Samuel was asleep in the sick bay, which Blossomings called the ‘wellness centre’. We stood in a kind of anteroom filled with low children’s chairs and educational toys made from felt and wood, and looked in on him through the window, as if he were in quarantine. There was a bandaid on his chin. Blossomings used bandaids derived from bamboo.

‘If he has any lasting damage —’

‘Dr Tomlinson, we can assure you, it’s just a little graze. Barely noticeable. He’s really here because he needed some space to calm down.’

‘He needed to calm down? He needed to calm down?’

‘What I mean is —’

The door from the corridor opened. We turned to see a frumpy woman coming in, early forties, wearing depressing earth-mother-ish clothing – some sort of thermal skivvy stretched over the welcoming expanse of her bosom, a thick elastic headband, a tunic that was probably made of hemp. Her shoes were red and fastened with Velcro. Her leggings had stripes. Her rosacea added another level of clash to the overall ensemble.

‘Are you the nurse?’ I said. She looked like someone who might work at Blossomings.

‘You must be Samuel’s mother,’ she said, glancing at Gaby. ‘Dr Tomlinson – is that right?’

When I assented, she said, ‘I hope I’m not interrupting?’

‘Oh no, not at all, Deidre,’ said Gaby. When Gaby smiled, you could see more gum than tooth. It was off-putting. ‘I was just going to come and ask you to join the conversation.’

‘Why don’t you sit down?’ Deidre said to me.

‘Who are you?’

Her smile was indulgent. ‘Deidre Moss,’ she said. ‘Luna’s mother.’

‘Luna?’

‘She’s in Samuel’s pod. They found themselves a little out of sync today.’