“Invocation, I mean,” Nikki said. “I think I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t do the A-level actually. I’m sorry—it’s not that you’re not a good teacher—you’re really good,” as if she thought Walden might take this personally, as if the problem with one of Chetwood’s brightest dropping one of her three A-level subjects in November of Year Thirteen was that her teacher’s feelings would be hurt. “I just think—I thought really—I think I shouldn’t do magic anymore. So. I thought I should tell you.”

Stall, thought Walden instantly. “Nikki, I disagree with you,” she said—best to start clear and firm—“but I think we should have a proper conversation about this at a better time. The process for dropping subjects”—is that you don’t, not this late in the game—“is a whole system, and I am not the person who makes the final decision.” That would be the Head and the decision was going to be ‘no.’ “We’ll discuss it at the right time. Let me just get Matron for you before I have to rush back to the classroom.”

Ebele’s New House office was one of the most pleasant spaces in the school. It was in origin another intimidating wood-panelled box, but Ebele had been fierce with redecoration: antique oil paintings swapped out for student artwork, soft cushioned chairs in white around a modern coffee table, the obligatory computer desk and filing cabinets hidden in the back corner and kept impeccably clear. A pastoral deputy head was not a therapist or a doctor, not a detective or a judge, but the job involved elements of all of those. This was the room where the worst problems came, and the worst conversations took place. The phone next to the desk was where Ebele made the calls to parents, to the county council, in the worst case to the police: I believe this child to be in immediate danger.

Luckily, Ebele was not in a meeting. Walden could see her sitting at her desk, wearing a sunny yellow dress and chunky woollen cardigan—a performance of good cheer and matronly kindness as surely as Walden’s blazer and brooch and A-line skirt were a performance of traditional status and expertise. Just because you were performing, it didn’t mean it wasn’t true. Walden knocked and went in. “I’ve just dropped off Nikki at the nurse,” she said.

Ebele’s smile of welcome gave way at once to concern. “How bad is it?”

“She’s going to pieces,” Walden said frankly. “Walked out of our first lesson, and she just asked me if she can drop the A-level. She can’t.”

“Oh, Nikki,” said Ebele, with deep sympathy. “All right, I’ll go and check on her. We did a lot of talking over half term, that girl and I. Not enough, perhaps.”