The sharp tap makes me flinch. I spin round and look at the small window tucked between the two flanks of the vaulted ceiling. From this angle, all I can see is clear sky. I turn back to the piano, readying myself to strike a chord. The noise comes again. As I focus on the little panes of glass, a shard of gravel glances off the outside.

I check the corridor. Miss Morgan is still busying herself in the kitchen. I creep the length of the room, past the iron fireplace. Again, a small stone chinks the surface and leaps away. The sill is the height of my chest. I can only see the ground once I’m up close.

I have a bird’s-eye view across the field. It’s deserted as far as the bank of trees at the boundary. I lean closer. A lone figure stands on the grass close to the building. Her head thrown backwards, Sophia glares up at me. I smile. She doesn’t.

‘We need to go!’ she yells.

I check behind me. I’m still alone. I raise a finger to my lips. ‘What are you doing here?’ I mouth.

‘Jesus, Ollie. Come on!’

I hold my index finger in the air. One minute. She urgently taps at an imaginary watch on her wrist. I motion her to go away. Her being on school premises is dangerous; she needs to hide.

‘Hurry up!’ she shouts, swaying from side to side.

‘Will you shut up,’ I mumble, flailing my palms to silence her.

She drops on to the grass and sits with her arms and legs crossed.

‘Not much of a view, is it?’ Miss Morgan says, standing in the doorway, clutching her saucer in both hands.

I’m certain I have the look of a man who’s been caught out. She stares into my face for a moment, but then her eyes fall away from mine, her gentle smile returning. I saunter towards the piano, searching for an excuse about what I’ve been doing. But she doesn’t ask.

‘Not in the mood for Ray Charles?’

‘I’ve got to go now, miss. I’m not very well.’ My holdall is in my hand; my feet are angled towards the exit. I’m tensed to power out of the door and descend the stairs.

‘We won’t be seeing each other for a while,’ she says. ‘I’d like you to stay a little longer.’

I stand with one foot grinding on top of the other, my nasal breathing abrupt and noisy. It’s like being five years old again and desperate for a pee in class, but unable to excuse myself.

‘Please relax, Oliver. I’d rather you sat down. There’s something I’d like to talk about. I wasn’t sure whether to mention it or not, but I think perhaps I owe it to you – to treat you as an adult.’