‘It’ll even the odds. After Scott’s big stuff-up.’ Prue paused to drain her glass of wine. ‘I used to teach that boy, twenty years ago. He was always a little thug. And Joyce…well, don’t get me started. Do you know she once accused me of ruining a student’s science project just so I could blame Scott?’

‘Listen.’ I took a deep breath and lowered my voice, though no one else could hear. The bar was quite noisy, and my other colleagues were bitching about the Catholic school across town. ‘Do you think Joyce planted those roaches?’

‘No.’

I raised my eyebrows.

‘She wasn’t there,’ said Prue. ‘You told me.’

‘No, but Pat was. And Kate.’

Prue grunted.

‘Would they have done something like that for Joyce?’ I asked.

‘Oh, yeah. She used to mind Pat when Scott was little.’ Prue’s gaze lost focus as she thought back. ‘Pat’s mother was a real piece of work. She’s dead now.’

‘It’s possible, then?’

‘Sure. But don’t quote me. Actually, forget it. Right now.’

‘But—’

‘Do you know how crazy you sound? Listen to yourself.’ She leaned towards me; I could smell the shiraz on her breath. ‘Planting cockroaches? Everyone will think you’re madder than Joyce.’

‘In other words, I should let her get away with it.’

‘Like we all do. Yes.’ Prue lifted her glass to me. ‘Welcome to the Honourable Society of Joyce Rooney Survivors. Our secret signal is a nervous tic.’

She gave a honk of laughter and went to get a refill.

I received three phone calls that night.

The first was from Linda Balodis, the learning and support caseworker. Howard had already told me she would be observing Aaron at school the next day; she was calling to arrange an eight o’clock meeting beforehand. She sounded quite nice, though it’s always a strain to have some random expert scrutinising your methods.

The second call came after dinner. It was Krystal McCall, and she sounded upset. ‘I heard about the cockroaches. One of the other mums told me.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘Those things didn’t come from here. There’s no way. We don’t have roaches here. We have ants in the kitchen sometimes, but that’s all. Have there been any roaches at school?’

‘Not that I’ve seen.’

‘Was Joyce there this morning?’

‘No.’ I could hear her ragged breathing and it pricked my conscience. ‘But Pat Haas was.’

Silence. I didn’t know what else to say. Then I heard a sniff. When Krystal spoke again, her voice was thick with tears.

‘Joyce did it. She must have heard about our toilet.’

‘What?’

‘Our toilet backed up last night. There’s stuff all over the garden and we’re still waiting on a plumber.’ Krystal blew her nose. ‘I bet she’ll call someone. I bet she’s going to say our house is a dump.’

‘Is it?’

‘No!’