I got a paper napkin, held it against Thomas’s head. Outside, Jake ordered everyone off the trampoline. Paddy sat by my side, holding a wad of bloody tissue to his nose, taking a gulping sob every few seconds.

He hit me, Mummy, he gasped thickly through the blood – I looked down at Thomas, who shook his head unconvincingly, his eyes filling with tears. I felt a surge of joy: it wasn’t my child, after all, who had committed an act of violence. It was this child, with his wholesome, ever-­present at the school gates mother, his imposing, suit-­wearing father. I smiled broadly before I could stop myself.

Well, no one should hit anyone, should they? I said blandly, making my mouth serious, trying to move my head equally between the two of them.

But, Mummy, I didn’t! Paddy started to protest. The sword hit him by accident, and then he punched me. He was spluttering now, the blood from his nose still covering his teeth, his lips, spraying across the table as he spoke.

Put your head back, I told Paddy. Anyway, let’s just remember – I did look at Thomas this time, I couldn’t help it – Kind hands, kind words. Isn’t that what they say at school? My pulse was returning to normal, at last. I tried to breathe slowly. It wasn’t my fault, I kept trying to remember. I had given Paddy a good party; I had done everything I could.

I texted Thomas’s mother, Sarah, as soon as it happened. It was important to be accountable, I knew that. To follow all the steps, as they did at school, where they sent home Accident Reports, strangely bureaucratic documents that featured a police murder-­style outline of the human body, the injury a wobbly circle. Hit shoulder on another child’s head. Fell in the sensory garden. Applied ice.

Thomas banged face while on the trampoline, I texted Sarah. He okay, no stitches needed we think. X

Was the mention of stitches reassuring, or not? Was a kiss inappropriate, or would the tone be too abrupt without one? I resisted the urge to apologize in the text, but when she arrived to collect him, the sorries poured out of me, liquid exhaustion, landing at her feet.

No problem, she said, tight lipped, inspecting Thomas’s head. But then: How many were on the trampoline? She was looking straight through to the garden, where four or five boys, now weapon-­free, bounced in the sunshine.

Well, there were quite a few, we took the swords away . . . I’m so sorry, Sarah, I really am. I feel terrible.