Mr Farley is a liar. Either that or he’s blind. He was standing right next to the pool when it happened. I didn’t imagine the hands that grabbed my ankles as I approached the deep end, or invent the elbow to my spine that winded me. I clawed in desperation at the foaming surface, fighting and failing to get a clear breath of air before I went under. My pointless thrashing was like a whiff of blood to the circling school of starved sharks. My lungs were already burning when my head slid under the water, the echoing shouts suddenly muted and distant. Two feet were clamped round my head, another pressing down on my ribcage. I felt the sensation of my eyes bulging, like they’d pop out of my face. And then, as if they instinctively knew the brain’s exact tolerance for oxygen starvation, they released me.

Mr Farley dragged me out of the pool. He walloped my back as I hacked and vomited chlorinated water through my nose and mouth. He knelt over me as I lay on the freezing tiles beside the pool until I found my breath.

The lesson went on while I was sent to shower. My eyes were on fire and poured with tears, my breathing impossible to predict, as I sat on the changing-room floor and tried to tell Mr Clark what had just happened.

That was nearly a month ago. This is the first time the two of us have spoken alone since.

‘I did you a favour there, Ollie. By not making a scene about what you said. You understand that, don’t you?’

For once, I’m not even close to crying. I raise my eyes and stare at him. He looks uneasy.

‘I didn’t want to give the others another reason to be upset with you. I wanted to give you a chance.’

‘I don’t care what upsets them,’ I tell him.

‘And that’s why you bring it on yourself.’ There’s a flash of anger in his expression. ‘Let’s be straight here: you do have a rather questionable relationship with the truth, don’t you?’ His eyes peel open wide as he delivers the line.

‘So I’m a liar.’

‘On occasion, yes.’

‘OK.’ I can’t be bothered with this. I know what he’s about to say. It’s what he always says.

‘Do we need to discuss that little stunt of yours before Easter?’

That’s what he always calls it. My Little Stunt. He has no idea. It was the worst night of my life.

‘Are you surprised that they all turned on you after that, Ollie?’

They had turned on me long before that disastrous overnight school trip.