‘Child protection is what’s at issue here, Ben,’ Ifan Hopcyn spat out. ‘Like every parent of a child in this school, I’m concerned that no vulnerable boys are buggered by a sodomite.’

Ben was silenced by the affront of the Head Teacher’s allusion. Closing the door of the office behind him a pain in the palm of his right hand made him wince.

Ben keyed into the memory of the CD player the track numbers of the opera’s overture and Rienzi’s aria from the beginning of act five. They played alternately at full volume, for there were no neighbours on Ben’s hillside to be disturbed. He watched the colours of the sunset play on the river far below and the menacing clouds swirl around the giant’s throne high across the valley. Wagner’s music invaded the remotest recesses of Ben’s consciousness, its turbulence routing the recollected insults, its tenderness pacifying his spirit.

The red flashes of the answering machine bore witness to the calls that the music had muted. Ben listened first to Gomer Prys, choir leader and governor at Bro Meirion: ‘…given your trouble it would be better if you don’t sing at the Easter concerts.’ Then Ieuan from the local Plaid campaign team, also on the governing board: ‘Hopcyn’s got it all wrong of course; I have told him, Ben. The stupid bugger thinks all gays are paedophiles… but then, you know, perhaps a lot of the locals will think that too… so, maybe, with this hanging over you, like, it won’t do the election campaign any good to have you out canvassing. Sorry Ben.’ And Ifan Hopcyn: ‘…I’ve talked with seven of the governors and the unanimous feeling was that we call an emergency meeting next week. Until then you’re suspended. Do not come to school until further notice. I’ll put all this in writing for you.’ The same stabbing pain that had earlier caused his right hand to clench now contorted the left one.

In the minutes before the morning assembly, Manon, who’d heard enough from her father’s study to know what was going on, persuaded four of her friends that it was the right thing to do. They had to stand against bigotry and injustice. When everyone else sat down after singing the hymn, the five remained standing. Manon, in her clearest eisteddfod voice, announced that she thought she might be a lesbian and wondered when she could expect to be suspended like Mr Pasgen. None of her four friends let her down, each voice rising above the commotion that was breaking out in the school hall:

‘I think I’m a lesbian too….’

‘I think I may be gay….’

Ifan Hopcyn called for silence and for a moment the hall became quiet. Then, to Manon’s surprise, Tracy stood up in the row before them:

‘It doesn’t matter if Mr Pasgen is gay, he’s the best teacher we’ve got,’ she said, her voice faltering, betraying a softer, more vulnerable quality that surprised many in the assembly. And a cheer grew louder through the hall and more students rose to their feet. Mr Hopcyn’s face went from red to purple. Though he called out for order, more than a third of the gathered students stood in defiance of his authority.