She shook herself. Despite the propped open door, and the fan now on her desk, the hot room seemed to stoke everything. When somebody hit their head against the door handle and had to be sent to the nurse for an icepack, Veronica felt herself suddenly on the brink of tears, as though it was she who had been knocked to the floor. Her own head was pounding.

By the time they’d had lunch, Veronica had decided to abandon the day’s lesson plans and in an attempt at decisiveness, she instructed sun hats and water bottles, and then lead the whole class into the playground where they found a shaded tree at just the right angle to the gate to allow the tiniest breeze. She had brought Matilda with her, which she had occasionally been reading them snippets of, and she hoped to encourage an un-taxing discussion of their other favourite Dahl books. But Amelia was so far the only one to raise her hand. Brazenly, overtly there, blatantly being.

“The BFG,” she volunteered. “Mummy read it to me in the Christmas holidays.”

Mummy. Sarah. Veronica had a vision of the two of them cuddled up in bed, Sarah’s arm enveloping the child into her chest, laughing together at the giant’s muddled English. Laughing at her. Veronica had read her own copy of The BFG when she was living in Holland. She remembered because there had been a window in her bedroom that she’d imagined was like Sophie’s in the book, and so that’s where she chose to read it, nestled on a bean bag beneath the sill, every afternoon one half term when her parents were at work. She’d loved that book. She’d loved the idea that a child could be purposeful and important, and listened to, even by somebody so big.

“Anybody else?”

None of the other children answered and Veronica felt exasperation rising. One boy called Ryan flicked the ear of his neighbour, who immediately broke into whiny complaint. Amelia raised her hand again.

“Ryan, we don’t touch other children unless they allow us to, and we certainly don’t flick people’s ears,” Veronica sighed. “Over there please.”

Grudgingly, Ryan shifted himself half an inch in the direction that Veronica was pointing. Amelia reached higher into the air. “Mrs Reddington?”

“Ryan, further away please.”

He moved another half inch. Amelia began bouncing her arm up and down above her head. Sarah used to do the same. Veronica’s stomach throbbed harder. Her bra felt too tight, and sweaty beneath her top. She looked away from Amelia and cast her eye across the group.

“I asked, what are your favourite Roald Dahl books. Has nobody read any Dahl?”

There were nineteen vacant pairs of eyes staring back at her. Two pairs had even closed. Amelia’s danced eagerly.

“Nobody?”

Ryan was to the left of Veronica’s view. He kept his eyes obediently on her, but when he thought she wasn’t watching, shot out his leg to kick his neighbour.

“Ryan.”

He didn’t answer. In her periphery, Amelia was still bouncing her hand. The bouncing made Veronica feel sick. More nauseous than before. She wished the girl would sit still.