James opened his eyes and sensed fear dropping off his father’s flat cheeks, like rain; the panicked flicker of the eyes, like water on the surface of a well, worried by the chance of sun.

‘That’ll sort you out,’ his father said, releasing him and scuffing his shoes on the path all the way back inside the hall.

James rubbed his arm where it stung, like that might erase this fresh attack. Surely his father was bluffing. Mum hadn’t mentioned anything about a new school for a couple of years. He bent forward over the toilet, hands on his knees, wondering if he would vomit, but he felt suddenly awake and ready to sort out this nonsense.

Up the ramp and inside the mostly empty hall he found his mother taking down the family tree. Grandma was sitting with Yvonne’s head in her lap, probably waiting for someone to drop her back to the nursing home. Aunty Doris was loudly farewelling the women left in the kitchen.

James took to ripping harshly at the tacks holding the posters in place.

‘What’s up with you?’ Mum said.

Now, he spewed out a reply: ‘Am I going to boarding school?’

It must have been loud. Grandma’s foot, which had been tapping impatiently on her plastic chair leg, came to a sudden rest. Yvonne drew breath and was about to react when Aunty Doris appeared at the kitchen door, her mouth open in shock.

‘What did you say to your mother?’ she asked.

James contritely repeated his question with all the sarcasm that good diction delivers, eyes on the floor.

‘That’s none of your business, young man,’ his aunt said. ‘Both your parents will decide what is best for you.’

‘Doris-’ Mum said.

‘Are you going to let him speak to you like that, in front of everyone?’ his aunt said, stalking towards James.

Mum inhaled. The air escaped right through her. James went to speak, but couldn’t decide what his mother’s silence meant. Strands of hair were collapsing down her proud forehead.

Aunty Doris shook her head and signalled to Yvonne. They disappeared into the tricky light of the entrance hall.

The noise of crockery being dried and put away returned, and they all breathed.

‘You’re a very good sport, Rebecca,’ Grandma said. ‘You’ve handled yourself very well, you know? You didn’t have to come back.’

Mum grimaced like she was holding in tears. ‘Well, I came for the boys’ sake,’ she said, as other women emerged from the kitchen and started wiping tables.

‘And that’s the right thing to do,’ Grandma said. ‘Now listen, I’ll say one thing about boarding school. I’ve spent the last thirty years telling my sons never to send their kids away. If Bill and Daniel hadn’t gone, I’d know them better. As it was, it felt like they were strangers once they turned eleven.’