‘We don’t encourage students to bring any of their favourite toys from home, and this one is quite dangerous—’

‘I know! I know it is. I told Scott, but he wouldn’t listen.’ Suddenly the words started pouring out of her. ‘He’s so rough with Aaron. He’s always on at him to be a little man. He gets angry when he cries and hits him when he acts up—’

‘Ms McCall—’

‘Scott’s dangerous. I’m worried he’s going to hurt my son.’ Krystal’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘Maybe you should go to the police.’

‘Scott is the police. He’s a senior constable.’ She was gabbling at me, pressing so close I had to step back. ‘Once he poured boiling water over my hand, but he said it was an accident. Nobody believed me—they thought I did it myself. They thought I was drunk.’

‘Ms McCall—’

‘I can’t talk about it. Not to anyone. People are embarrassed. They don’t want to know he used a chokehold on me. Or handcuffs. I went to the doctor but—’

‘Hey!’ A shout from across the playground cut her off. It was Joyce, and she was making a beeline for us. Had she been lying in wait for Krystal? ‘What are you up to?’ she yelled. ‘Telling more lies? That’s defamation! I could sue!’

Krystal shrank away. Then she plunged through the front entrance. I was standing there like a fool, my mouth hanging open, when Joyce brushed past me on her way inside.

‘Just so you know, she’s an alcoholic,’ Joyce announced. ‘And a drug addict. You can’t believe a word she says.’

The door banged shut.

I took a deep breath. Everything around me looked peaceful. There was a cute koala mural on a nearby wall. Hopscotch squares had been painted on a concrete path.

I’d left Sydney to escape all the turmoil and heartbreak there. But was escape even possible?

Perhaps I was fooling myself.

2019

2019

‘RIGHT! YOU CAN put your stuff back in your bags and empty out your pockets,’ Shaun Steiger told his platoon.

A rising clamour of protest was cut off by the kitchen door as I banged through it, wheeling my barrow. I spent about three minutes hastily stowing supplies: lettuce in the second fridge, bread in the pantry, bananas in a bowl.

By the time I emerged again, every kid’s pocket had been emptied. Zac Henderson, now phoneless, was sitting on the grass, eyes red, arms folded.

‘This is a strike,’ he was saying. ‘I refuse to cooperate.’

Trundling past, I cut a glance at Aaron. He was picking at a pimple, looking bored.

Then Joe Malouf intercepted me and put his plastic bin full of phones and iPads into my wheelbarrow. I knew the drill; all confiscated technology had to be locked in my safe.