‘Too bad,’ he says. Leaning forward, he rolls a fresh piece out of the packet and into my hand. As he and Dimi discuss their excitement over Mr Clark’s imminent descent, I break it open. The outer shell crunches apart as it should. The centre smells only of peppermint. But chewing on it would be madness. I shove my hand into my pocket and exchange it for a scrap of tissue, which I stuff into my mouth and noisily chew.

The mocking I receive over the assembly incident as the rest of the class returns from lunch is less widespread or savage than I’d expected. There are some heaving noises, some comments on the disgusting mess I made, but nothing close to what I usually endure in this room.

‘You OK now?’ Lei Pang asks as he takes up his position in front of me.

I force a limp smile. He gives me a thumbs up. Nate and Joey Mackie walk past me as if neither of them so much as notice I’m here.

‘Move along, Morky,’ Amit says, shoving his chair alongside mine. I shimmy across to the edge of my double desk and he makes himself at home. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he says. ‘I will leave early, mate, but only if you come too.’

‘Shut up,’ I hiss, flapping my hand.

‘Sorry,’ he whispers. ‘What do you say?’

‘I’ll meet you a bit later,’ I lie.

His face relaxes. ‘Time? Place?’

My answer hardly matters. ‘Your house. Five thirty?’

He grins at me. ‘It’s bloody perfect.’

‘Our last afternoon together, lads,’ Mr Clark says from the doorway. He wipes away an invisible tear. ‘So emotional.’ He looks round the room and his eyes settle on me. ‘My word! Morcombe has made it back to us. You must have the constitution of an ox! Round of applause, please, for the improbable return of the Morcombe.’

There actually is a round of applause. I’m almost certain it’s a joke at my expense, yet I can’t think what the punchline might be. I’m ready for it to graduate into the howling of my surname, but it doesn’t happen.

The room falls silent as Mr Clark approaches his desk. Excited glances are exchanged around the classroom. He cottons on, looking suspicious. He knows something’s up. He checks the whiteboard behind him.

‘Ollie, I can’t imagine you’re in on whatever this is,’ he says, turning his back to me. ‘Is there anything stuck to my back? A nice big notice inviting people to kick my fat arse perhaps?’

The roar of laughter round the room is too much. ‘No, sir. Nothing like that,’ I tell him.