‘What?’ I could feel the hot blood creeping up my face. ‘I hope you told her to back off!’

‘Of course I did. I also told her we wouldn’t be moving Aaron to Deb’s class. I told her we have a policy about that.’ Howard’s tone was glum. ‘Oh—and Beth Meyer called. She’s another one who wants us to move Aaron. Or Amber. If we don’t, she’s going to enrol her daughter at St Killian’s.’

That was a blow. We stared at each other. Outside, the only sound was the roar of a distant car engine. All the kids were long gone.

‘We need to put a stop to this endless drama,’ Howard said at last. ‘I know Joyce is difficult, but difficult carers are part of the job. You need to disengage. If she asks you for something like this?’ He tapped my report. ‘Just send her to me.’

‘It’s hard to disengage when she picks Aaron up from school every afternoon.’ I sounded grumpy. I couldn’t help it.

‘I told you, just send her to me.’

‘All right.’

‘And ease up on the conspiracy theories. You don’t want Joyce suing you for slander—she’s perfectly capable of it.’

Ten minutes later I was heading for my car, loaded down with folders and flash drives and exercise books. I felt bone tired; all I wanted to do was go home and soak in a hot bath. But as I popped the boot, someone called out.

‘Robyn?’ It was Krystal. Her beat-up blue Mazda was parked nearby, and she was standing next to it. ‘Can I have a word?’

I groaned to myself. ‘What’s up?’

She glanced over to where someone was climbing out of her car. As soon as I saw him, I thought: Mitch McCall. He was short and nuggetty, with white hair and sun-baked skin. Gleaming dentures were partly concealed by a massive moustache. He was wearing a bizarre hat covered in feathers and tinsel and fluffy toys.

‘This is my grandfather, Mitch,’ said Krystal.

‘Hello, Robyn!’ Mitch’s voice was as rough and warm as a woollen blanket. He bustled towards me, hand outstretched.

I shook it.

‘You weren’t home, so we thought you might be here.’ Krystal sounded nervous. ‘Mitch wanted to meet you.’

‘Face to face is more polite,’ Mitch said cheerfully. ‘You can see what you’re letting yourself in for.’

‘Sorry?’ I was confused.

‘He wants to be a parent helper. Like Joyce,’ Krystal explained. ‘I can’t do it because I’m working, but Mitch has plenty of time.’

My heart sank. ‘Joyce isn’t a parent helper anymore.’

‘Pat is, though. And Kate Canning. Kayla’s mum told me.’

‘I’ve helped raise the lad. He needs someone in there looking out for him.’ Mitch’s pale grey eyes were full of mischief. ‘I’m good with kids. Ask anyone. I do magic tricks.’