‘Well, you see’ – Rory’s eyes were lowered – ‘my headache was very, very bad. It was just after I had sung in chapel. Matron wasn’t in her flat, so I went down to Mr Frederiks’s study to see if he could give me something for it. Mr Frederiks was out and Mr Daneman was there instead.’

‘What time was this, Rory?’ queried Jazz.

‘I don’t know exactly. About half past nine, I think. All the other Junior boys were in bed.’

‘And what happened then?’

‘Mr Daneman asked me to come in and sit down whilst he got the tablets for me. Then he came back and said he was just making some hot chocolate and would I like some, too. I said yes, I would, cos I was feeling a bit miserable.’

‘Why, Rory?’ Jazz asked, knowing the answer.

He shrugged his thin shoulders. ‘The usual stuff, you know.’

‘No, I don’t,’ Jazz urged. ‘Tell me.’

‘The other boys, bullying me, mostly.’

‘Anyone in particular?’

Rory looked up at Jazz. ‘None of the boys are very nice to me, but Charlie Cavendish was always picking on me. He’d done it that afternoon and I was upset.’

‘Okay, so you and Mr Daneman have a cup of hot chocolate together. Did that help a bit?’

‘Oh yes. Mr Daneman is . . . was . . . always great to me. He looked out for me. He knew what it was like, you see. He told me he got bullied at school, too, when he was a boy. We got on very well. He was my friend.’ Rory shrugged.

‘That’s nice. It must have helped a lot.’

‘It did. He asked me what was wrong and I told him about Charlie calling me a “fucking gay boy” in the changing rooms after rugby practice. Mr Daneman said that I had to ignore those types of comments, that it was Charlie’s own insecurity that made him say things like that, and everyone knew he was a bully, and I sipped my hot chocolate and I felt better. Until . . .’

Rory’s hands moved up and down his thighs agitatedly. ‘Issy, do I have to?’

‘Yes, sweetie, you do. I know this is going to help Jazz so much with sorting out what happened that night.’

Rory took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Here goes: Mr Daneman came and sat next to me on the sofa. I was a bit tearful, so he put his arm around me, told me he’d speak to Charlie and make sure he’d leave me alone. Then . . . suddenly, he told me that he’d once known someone who looked very like me and he got hold of my face in his hands and he . . .’ Rory gulped in some air from speaking so quickly.

‘Go on, Rory, nearly there now,’ Issy urged.

‘Well, he . . . kissed me . . . on the lips . . . and . . . and tried to put his tongue in my mouth.’ Rory’s hand went instinctively to his face and he dragged his fingers across his lips, as if he was trying to wipe them clean. ‘It was disgusting!’