‘This is ECS. Everyone’s life is complicated round here.’

‘Yup.’ She grins. ‘My kinda place!’

‘I’m happy you’re here.’

They stare deeply into each other, both of them perfectly still.

‘Fuck, Will,’ April snaps, breaking away. ‘Been so wrapped up in my own stupid world, I forgot to ask. Your nain. How was she this morning?’

‘Yeah, so she’s not really … Just trying not to think about –’

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ a reedy male voice says. It’s Mr Leavers, music teacher. ‘There’s some gentlemen here with a bouncy castle.’

‘Right, yes,’ April says, ruffling her already dishevelled hair. ‘In the quad, I guess.’

‘Bouncy castle?’ Will says.

‘They were supplying the inflatables and asked if we wanted it.’

‘Cool!’

‘It’s got a bit out of hand, I know.’

‘It’s fantastic.’

‘I was just thinking, like, Boomtown Fair meets Burning Man, you know?’

Will nods. He doesn’t know.

‘So I’ll tell them to put it outside in the quad, yes?’ Mr Leavers interjects.

‘Please,’ April says. ‘Like, touching the doors, so you step out of the hall straight on to it. We’ve got some propane heaters coming for outside.’

‘What’s Leavers doing getting involved?’ Will asks, as the rather squat music teacher scurries off.

‘Got told I had to have some staff supervision.’

‘And you chose him?’

‘God, no! Ms Simon offered, actually.’

‘Aha! Of course.’ Will scans the hall, spotting her nursing a coffee mug in the corner as she supervises the unrolling of a length of fake grass. ‘And there she is. Either that or some more inflatables have turned up.’

‘Fucking massive, aren’t they? She must have a permanent backache.’

‘Small price to pay.’

‘Come on, Will. What would you even do with them? Are boys actually into that?’

‘Not really,’ Will says, his memory briefly alighting on just how much time was spent in his bathroom during year ten, replaying Ms Simon’s English lessons in forensic detail. ‘She’s doing it for Mr Leavers, though.’

‘One of the great mysteries of the modern world. I mean, I hate all that out-of-their-league shit. But Leavers and Ms Simon?’

The two teachers have been attracting attention throughout this term. She’s a twenty-something bombshell in stiletto ankle boots; he’s unhappily married and late-thirties with the sort of symmetrical haircut a well-meaning parent gives their toddler. They’re always together when supervising break times, or else Ms Simon is to be seen poured against the piano, gazing into Leavers’ eyes as he rattles off a Lloyd-Webber number. It’s no surprise the pair have turned up to supervise today, an otherwise deserted building soon to be at their disposal.

‘Maybe he’s got a whopper,’ Will says to April.

‘Maybe it’s made of chocolate and he jizzes shoes.’

Mr Leavers gives them both a wave when he spots them looking over. They both fall about laughing.