“Yes?”

Veronica paused again, with unnecessary length, stringing it out. And now Sarah understood – the bitch had decided already. She had unilaterally made her decree over Amelia’s future. She’d condemned her. She’d sent the report. It was done.

“Over the past week,” Veronica continued. “Amelia has exhibited—”

But before Sarah could hear exactly what her daughter had supposedly exhibited, Amelia burst screaming into the room. Her hand clutched at her elbow and a trickle of blood was streaming down her arm. Abandoning the conversation, Sarah leapt towards her.

“Okay, okay, oh gosh,” said Sarah, forcing a peek underneath Amelia’s resistant hand.

The cut was deep, a thick layer of skin flapping over a wound full of dirt and pebbles.

“Oh Amelia, you poor thing,” cooed Veronica, leaning over Sarah’s shoulder to look. Then, to Sarah, helpfully, “The nurse will still be here.”

Even in the drama of the moment, the false sincerity in Veronica’s voice made Sarah seethe. She wanted to slap her. To make her at least finish saying the words that proved her deception, her attack on Amelia and her future, to make her at least own her manipulation. But there was nothing else for it. She kissed Amelia’s head.

“Come on Harry,” Sarah called. “We need to get Amelia to the nurse.”

Amelia was still screaming, but in the intervening seconds, Harry had discovered a box of tissue paper inside a cupboard and was pulling out the colours one by one. Holding Amelia by the shoulders, Sarah went over to him and lifted him up. But now Harry started wailing, and kicking his legs, and meanwhile Amelia was demanding to be picked up herself.

“I can stay with him,” offered Veronica, sweetly. “While you sort out Amelia. He’s fine here.”

Sarah couldn’t think of anything she wanted less than to leave her baby with Veronica, but Amelia’s shouts were getting louder, and she was tugging at Sarah’s neck, the blood was coming thicker, and Veronica was a teacher, wasn’t she, despite her scheming, despite her other failings of character, she was confident enough with children. “Okay,” mumbled Sarah quickly, lifting Amelia into her arms. “Thanks.”

It took only ten minutes for the nurse to first wash, then disinfect the cut, to pick out a stubborn piece of gravel, and then to bandage it with just the right amount of flippancy to reassure Amelia that she wasn’t dying, yet enough sympathy to bestow her with pride in her wound of war. But all the time Sarah found her mind flitting back to Veronica and her son. She itched to get back to them, hurrying Amelia out of the door as soon as she was able. Amelia skipped out proudly, a sticker on her summer dress. “Let’s show Harry!” she smiled. “And Mrs Reddington.”

Sarah nodded, and together they hurried back down the hall. Now that Amelia was tended to, Sarah brushed away the anxiety she had been feeling, attempting instead to listen to her daughter, who chattered loudly as she cradled her elbow, and in great concession to it, didn’t cartwheel. When they reached the classroom, however, and Amelia stopped chatting to burst through the door, the quiet of the room was immediately striking. It was empty.