Ten minutes later, he opened the front door, knelt and scooped up the bits of the unicorn’s white fluffy innards, then led the dog through into the kitchen, and opened the treats tin. He took a bone-shaped one out and held it up. Obediently, Humphrey jumped into his basket and Grace gave him his biscuit. ‘Night, boy!’ Then he turned the light out and headed upstairs as quietly as he could.

As he switched the landing light off outside their bedroom, he turned on his phone torch at the same time in the hope of not waking Cleo. But he could see she was awake.

‘Hi, darling!’ she said as he crept into the room, her voice only very slightly sleepy. An instant later her bedside light came on and she peered at him, blinking.

‘Sorry to wake you, darling,’ he said.

‘You didn’t, don’t worry, I’ve only just come to bed.’

‘You stayed up late. Everything OK?’

‘Not really. Some issues with Bruno – tell you tomorrow.’

He sat down on the bed and kissed her. ‘You can tell me now, if you want?’

Looking down ruefully at her swollen midriff, she said, ‘What I really want is a glass of wine. Or two. Or three.’

Alarmed, he said, ‘Why, what’s happened?’

‘Your sweet little boy.’

Grace had noticed over the past months that whenever Bruno was well-behaved, Cleo referred to him as our son. But when he’d behaved like a little shit, he suddenly became your boy.

‘Tell me?’

‘I had a crazy day in the mortuary, didn’t get home until nearly 7 p.m. Kaitlynn collected him from school much earlier. You’ll never guess what he did?’

‘Try me?’

‘He’d let out all the hens.’

‘He always does that.’

‘Yes, in the garden. But this evening he’d let them out into the field – he said he’d decided it was cruel to keep them cooped up in such a small garden as ours. It must have been that fox, the one we’ve seen in the garden, right? It got Bella while they were out there.’

‘Bella?’

She nodded.

‘No, not poor Bella.’ He felt really upset.

Bella was their favourite hen, named after one of Roy’s team, Bella Moy, Norman’s fiancée, who had sadly lost her life two years ago. She was the smallest and the most affectionate of all the hens they had, always coming running towards them and the only one that would let them pick her up and cuddle her.

Cleo had tears in her eyes. Grace kissed her again. ‘How bloody stupid of him. What did he say?’

She shook her head, signalling disbelief. ‘That it would be wrong to blame the fox. That it was probably hungry.’

‘He didn’t accept any blame himself?’

‘I don’t think he knows the concept of blame.’

Before he could respond, she went on. ‘That’s not all. I had Mr Hartwell on the phone for half an hour.’

Hartwell was the headmaster.

‘What did he say?’

‘He’s a nice man and he really wants to help, but he said they’re at their wits’ end with Bruno. Apparently his behaviour hasn’t improved over the summer: he still won’t engage with any of his fellow pupils and has already been rude to all his teachers, and it’s only the first day back. Mr Hartwell says that unless Bruno’s attitude improves before the end of this term, he is very sorry but he won’t be able to return next year.’