‘Problem was,’ I told Nick, ‘he didn’t like conflict. Always wanted people to get along.’

‘Painting over murals? What law’s that?’

I shrugged.

‘He should stick to … what’s he do?’

‘Preserves apricots,’ Curtis said.

Nick laid down the book. ‘Despite what I mighta told you, Clem …’ He stopped again. ‘They listened to Lennon cos he had money and wrote songs. But for you and me …’

I studied Mr Bulljaw. ‘Peter said you should’ve stood up to them.’

He returned to his book. ‘They give you a letter first.’

We all waited.

‘So it looks like they’ve followed some procedure. But it’s already decided. You’ve gotta go, it’s just a matter of how.’

‘They did that cos of the murals?’ one of the girls asked.

‘Because I was discussing other teachers.’

Curtis bit into his lip. ‘That was my fault.’

‘No, you asked. Then there’s a second letter.’ He held up a piece of paper. ‘That’s how it’s done, Clem. You think you want a revolution?’

We continued working. I said, ‘I can get Peter to look at those letters.’

He closed his book, picked up a Stanley knife and piece of plastic and said, ‘Who’s done?’

I held up Mr Bulljaw.

‘Let’s have you, Clem.’

The class gathered and he laid the plastic on a cork mat, and on top of this, my bull-hero. He used a pencil to trace over it then started cutting lines to make the shape. ‘Like this,’ he said. ‘Major lines thicker, the hair, here, thin for effect.’

I could see it. I returned to my spot and continued. We all did.

Nick sat at his desk, folded his arms and said, ‘That White woman has a face like a car accident.’

One of the girls explained how she’d never been married, and how it was always the way with that sort.

‘Which poses the question: is it morally acceptable to hate someone?’

‘Of course,’ Curtis replied.

‘You’d know,’ I said. ‘We’re probably all on his list.’

Nick seemed intrigued. ‘You’ve made a list?’

‘No point wasting time with dead ends,’ Curtis explained, then I told everyone about Curtis’s premature adulthood, his first cigarette, vodka from Gary’s cabinet.

‘Am I on the list?’ Nick asked, and everyone asked, although Curtis explained he didn’t make a point of discussing his list and how, when he died, it’d be published, with full comments, so people could know their shortcomings.

‘What about White?’ one of the girls asked.

He was enjoying it. ‘Late forties, single, sexually frustrated. There were, no doubt, ambitions, but she failed to realise them and set about making the world pay.’

We all laughed. Even Nick, who said, ‘Your first mark.’

And we waited again.

‘The most important.’ He stood, approached me and looked at Mr Bulljaw. ‘All done?’

I nodded.

He picked up the stencil, approached a cupboard, found a can of black paint and said, ‘Come on, you lot, bring yer stencils.’