‘How many fingers am I holding up?’ I held up two.

Samuel looked at me, his eyes searching.

Come on, I thought.

‘Four,’ he said.

On the way home we stopped at McDonald’s. I bought us both ice-cream sundaes with extra chocolate topping.

‘Don’t tell your father,’ I said.

He promised he wouldn’t. We sat in companionable silence in one of the booths, scratching the sides of our cups with plastic spoons, scraping up every iota of lactose we could get.

In bed that night: another whispered conversation with Connor. I don’t know why we whispered; Samuel’s room was downstairs. But that was how these talks happened, as though someone were listening, as though they might not approve of what they heard.

‘He could have been concussed,’ I said.

‘But he wasn’t.’

‘He could have been.’

‘He’s fine. Aren’t you the one who says we should be teaching him resilience?’

‘That’s exactly what I’m doing. This little bitch came for him and I’m teaching him not to back down.’

‘Jesus Christ. She’s what – four years old? You really need to let this go.’

I didn’t tell him Luna’s real age.

‘Someone punched our son and you want me to let it go? What the fuck is the matter with you?’

‘Nothing. God. I just think you should pick your battles.’

‘I do. I pick this one.’

He sighed for dramatic effect in the darkness. I’d demanded that Samuel receive a medical examination, that there be an investigation into Luna’s behaviour and Gaby’s negligence. I’d felt strangely exalted there in the anteroom, making my list of demands. The rage had been white-hot. I’d had the distinct sense that this was how a mother should feel, that for once I was getting it right. At home, I’d sent the director of Blossomings a strongly worded email. I wouldn’t stop until Luna was expelled from Blossomings. I would make sure she was kept out of every good school. I would hunt down her university applications and see them rejected. I would phone her future employers. I’d show up at her wedding, bristling with objections.

‘Try to remember she’s just a child,’ Connor said.

‘Can you grow a spine for a second, please? You’re supposed to be on my side.’

‘I am on your side.’

‘Are you in love with Deidre? Is that it? You want to put her floppy tit in your mouth?’

‘What? Where did that come from?’

‘You want to bury your face in her bush? I bet it’s a big one, Connor. I bet it goes all the way to her knees.’

‘Christ, Fiona. I wish you could hear yourself sometimes.’

‘Have you seen her rosacea?’

‘I’m going to sleep.’

Roger, thankfully, was on my side.