Ralph tugged up his jumper sleeve to check his watch, a slick black smartphone band Lucas hadn’t seen before, and then got to his feet with a sigh. ‘Look, Lucas, speaking as your friend, and quickly, because I really should not be discussing it, and if I don’t go soon, I shall be hung, drawn and quartered…’ He drained the last inch of his half-pint. ‘I think I understand where you are coming from, and your statement is excellent, but to show some true sympathy and understanding for Moira is going to be not just welcome, but vital. Who knows what she inferred from your exchanges that day?’

Lucas sat still, belting his arms across his chest while a sudden, despicable urge to punch Ralph’s kindly face swelled inside. Ralph with his picture-perfect life – the easy-going Catherine, and their three peas-in-a-pod children – the only thing hanging over his head was wifely castigation for staying too long in a pub. ‘There was nothing to infer…’

‘Maybe, but that isn’t the point,’ Ralph countered, with a terseness that hurt. ‘You have to respect how she – Moira – was feeling. How your actions allowed her to feel.’ He tucked in a loose flap of shirt. ‘You cannot discount other people’s emotions in this world any more, Lucas, and, though it can get messy, it is for the best reasons. We all need Moira to feel understood if we are to move forwards on this. We need her – and indeed all our students – to feel safe, right?’

Lucas nodded because he did not trust himself to speak. He felt like a student himself, a dim one, being lectured. ‘Et tu, Brute,’ he muttered as Ralph walked away. Once the saloon door had swung shut, he went to the bar to order another pint and a double chaser, which he drank steadily and swiftly, back in the chair that faced the wall and not the room.

Paying a call to the toilets before leaving, he leaned towards the basin mirror as he washed his hands. He looked fine. Surprisingly okay, in fact. No one would know the turmoil inside.

Out in the street he was aware of both his throat and his leg hurting a little less and his spirits trying to lift. He would push for the mediation to happen as soon as possible. Get it over with. Innocence cut through bollocks – it always did. He was worrying too much, anticipating worst-case scenarios. Dylan doing a runner had made him feel fragile, that was the trouble. His skin was thinner, less equipped to deal with anything. In the meantime, Ralph was right: he just needed to retain the courage of his own convictions, power on through, stay strong. He would start by going into college for the first time in days; maybe even do a spot of work, he decided, with the wild optimism of one who has downed three pints and a double Johnnie Walker on an empty stomach.