He shook his head. I opened my mouth to speak but wasn’t quick enough.

‘No,’ Joyce told her grandson. ‘You haven’t been a good boy. So I guess that means I have to take you home.’ She looked me in the eye as she started untying her apron. ‘That’s right, isn’t it? You’ll be wanting him off your hands again?’

Her hectoring tone made my hackles rise. But I scrambled to my feet and said, ‘Um—it’ll probably be detention…’

‘You don’t know much about kids, do you? If he gives me any trouble, he gets a smack.’ Turning on her heel, she headed back towards the canteen, adding over her shoulder, ‘We should talk about it this afternoon. You people seem to be living in la-la land. It’s not my fault you’re not properly trained.’

Aaron, I noticed, was biting his knuckles. Hard.

‘So what exactly is this?’

Scott Rooney looked suspicious. He was peering at Howard’s permission form, his thick eyebrows knotted into a frown. I could see where Aaron’s colouring came from. Scott had the same olive skin and dark hair, though his eyes were hazel. And unlike Aaron, Scott was big and heavy, with hands like softball mitts and a rugby player’s neck. I could easily imagine him assaulting a member of the public. Or beating up his wife.

I thought he looked like a thug.

‘We just need you to sign that form so Aaron can get some counselling.’ Howard spoke in a placid voice. He was safely tucked behind his desk, which was covered in a parapet of stacked files. ‘Our school counsellor is available every Friday, and we think Aaron would benefit from seeing her.’

Scott sniffed.

‘Aaron’s all right when he’s with me.’ Joyce was sitting next to her son. They had the same burly shoulders and bulldog jaw. ‘He’s only acting up because of Krystal. She’s a bad influence.’

‘Which is why he may need some help dealing with her,’ Howard said smoothly. He then pushed the form towards Joyce. ‘Since you’re his primary carer, you should probably sign that too.’

I had to admire Howard. He might have been a slave to bureaucracy, but he knew how to massage egos. The words ‘primary carer’ seemed to calm Joyce. She picked up a pen and signed the paper without even reading it. Then she shoved both items at Scott, who followed her lead.

‘We also think he should see a paediatrician,’ Howard went on. Over by the window, I tensed in my chair.

Sure enough, Scott rolled his eyes and folded his arms.

‘Why? Aaron’s not sick,’ said Joyce.

‘No, but we need to make sure he isn’t disadvantaged by any learning difficulties.’ Howard took a deep breath. ‘Or if you’d prefer, an occupational therapist might be a good idea—’

‘He’s not a spastic!’ Scott interrupted.