Joyce went on as if she hadn’t heard. ‘You’re incompetent, you’re a bully and you’re colluding with his mother. I know all about you. I know why your husband left. You don’t like men—that’s your problem. You’re a lesbian.’

I couldn’t believe it. I literally could not believe my ears. I was too shocked to speak for a moment, and Joyce took advantage of that.

‘I’ve got a right to be here. Aaron’s my grandson. When it comes to his welfare, what I say goes. And I’m not happy.’

Joyce was big, but I was taller. I could have grabbed her arm and marched her out the door. I could have yelled at her. I could have called her a homophobic cow.

But I couldn’t do any of those things because I was in a classroom full of tender little people who were watching us silently, wide-eyed and worried.

‘I think you should go.’ You could have chipped at my voice with a rock hammer. ‘Patricia’s waiting for you.’

Mentioning Pat was a good idea. It reminded Joyce of her social obligations. I’d seen Howard do it with some success, and now it worked again. Joyce hesitated for a moment, jaw set, eyes blazing. Then she turned and stomped across the room.

On the threshold she paused and said cheerily, ‘Goodbye, children! I’ll see you later!’ It didn’t sound like a threat, but that’s how it was meant.

After she’d gone, the kids all looked at me. I smiled back. Then I noticed Aaron was missing.

Bugger.

‘Aaron?’ I checked again, scanning the faces in front of me. Nope. ‘Where’s Aaron?’

Little heads turned this way and that as I edged towards the supply cupboard. There was no one inside. Then a squeaky voice said, ‘Teacher.’

It was Chloe, a fragile elf of a girl who always looked bemused, as if the world was one big puzzle that she couldn’t quite solve. She was so quiet I worried she might have a speech problem. She certainly had a lisp.

‘Aaron’th in the tent,’ she squeaked.

‘Oh! Thanks, Chloe.’ I told the kids to hang up their smocks, then hurried over to the time-out tent. Sure enough, peering inside, I saw Aaron curled up on the blanket. One whiff told me all I needed to know.

He’d wet his pants.

‘Aaron?’ I spoke very softly. ‘Do you want to go to the bathroom?’

He didn’t answer.

‘You can put on some new clothes—’

‘No!’ he screeched. ‘Stupid bitch!’

‘Aaron—’

‘Stupid bitch! Stupid bitch!’ Suddenly he sprang up, arms spread. The tent came crashing down. He burst out of its crumpled folds and attacked it, stamping and screaming.

‘Aaron!’ I tried to put a hand on his arm; he slapped me away and lunged for the nearest chair.