‘Mr Rainbird’s okay. Most of the girls are just lame, they’re always sniggering and whispering and fooling about. Some of the boys are all right. People like Wes Gordon and Jason Smith. But they wouldn’t be interested in me. And the rest are dumb.’

This was the most information he had volunteered in about six months, since the end of the maddening old days when he used to respond to every remark or instruction with ‘why?’.

I supposed Wes and Jason would be the cool ones, big, blunt-faced boys surrounded by hangers-on like those I had seen swaggering out of school this afternoon. I couldn’t see Jack in their company any more than he could see himself.

I pushed my luck. ‘Go on.’

His face contracted with irritation and his shoulders hunched up. It was just like watching a hermit crab pull back into its shell. ‘That’s all,’ he snapped. ‘You always want stuff. There’s nothing, all right? I’ll go back to school on Monday if that’s what you want.’

‘I want you to want to go. What I want isn’t important.’

His head lifted then and he stared straight at me. It was a full-on, cold, appraising stare that told me Jack wasn’t my baby any more. ‘Is that so?’ he sneered.

I was still catching my breath when the doorbell rang. Jack turned the television on again and increased the volume.

It was Mel on the doorstep, with two carrier bags and an armful of red parrot tulips. I had forgotten she was coming. She took one look at my face. ‘You’d forgotten I was coming.’

‘No. Well, yeah. I’m sorry. I’ve just been having a set-to with Jack.’

‘Do you want me to go away again?’

‘Depends on what’s in the bags.’

‘Sashimi-grade bluefin tuna. Limes, coriander, crème fraîche, some tiny baby peas and broad beans, a tarte au poire from Sally Clarke’s, a nice piece of Roquefort …’

I opened the door wider. ‘Come right inside.’

Mel breezed into the kitchen. Her polished brightness made the dusty shelves and creased newspapers and sticky floor tiles look even dingier than usual. My spirits lifted by several degrees.

‘Hi, Jackson.’

Jack quite liked Mel. ‘Hi,’ he muttered.

‘I’ve come to cook you and your mum some dinner. However, that’s going to be tricky if I can’t hear myself think.’

‘Oh. Right.’ He prodded at the remote and Buffy went from screeching to mouthing like a goldfish.

Mel busily unpacked fish and cheese. ‘Great. How’s school?’

I tried to signal at her but she missed the gesturing.

‘It’s shit,’ Jack said.

‘So no change there, then.’

I thought I caught the faintest twitch of a smile on his face before it went stiff again. ‘No. None.’ He stood up and eased himself out of the room.