Ebele, dressed today in warm and summery orange, set her tray down on Walden’s table just as she was polishing off the last of the sponge and custard. It looked like she’d skipped the hot food offerings completely and raided the salad bar for her supper: cold chicken and pasta, a heap of leafy greens, a ramekin of yoghurt for dessert. “I’m so glad I caught you,” she said. “I know you’re very busy. Could I have a little word? It’s about Nikki.”

“Is everything all right?”

“She got her Oxford offer,” Ebele said. “Three As. The email came through this morning. I imagine we’ll get the letter later this week.”

Walden was delighted. She’d seldom had a student who deserved Oxford more than Nikki Conway. “That’s wonderful news! She’ll get those grades easily. Remind me which college?”

“Wadham,” said Ebele. “But she’s thinking of turning it down.”

“She—what?”

Ebele inclined her head. “It’s her future and her choice,” she said, in the grim tones of someone who thought a teenager was about to make a very silly mistake. “I think—I hope—that Ezekiel and I have encouraged Nikki for as long as we’ve known her to grow into a young woman of character and ambition. We’ve had a conversation. Unfortunately, it went pear-shaped. Sometimes the overlap between Matron and foster mum is not very helpful. A teenager needs a person to rebel against and I think Nikki may have picked me. And we don’t want to bully her into something she doesn’t actually want.”