You came to me with concerns regarding the McGeown child, which I recorded. Bear with me while I find them, he said, and began leafing back through the pages of his diary. He located the entry in seconds; he’d been expecting her. He moved his hands across the page to smooth it, then picked up the pen again, pointing the nib at a paragraph in neat Quink. You told me, and I quote: ‘That woman is struggling.’ I am obliged, as principal of this school, to pass on any concerns regarding the welfare of pupils to the relevant authorities.

I was trying to make you feel sorry for her so Davy could get free school dinners.

So you exaggerated.

No. She is struggling, but she’s a great mother. I just thought she could do with some help.

This isn’t a game, you know. Pupils from this school have been taken into care. I had to report a British Army captain’s wife for burning her child with a cigarette. I cannot be seen to overlook children who may be at risk. I suggest you modify your language in future, and act at all times with rationality and integrity. Can I help you with anything else?

No, she said. This time she closed the door after her.

She sat in the car until her hands were steady enough to start it. The army captain’s wife had been reported by the nurse who checked the children for nits and rickets, not Bradley. Before Cushla’s time a child had come in with blood on the seat of his short trousers and Bradley had sent Slattery round to the house to have a quiet word with the father – he made the man put his hand on the Bible and swear not to go near the boy again. Slattery himself should not have been allowed near children. Bradley wasn’t concerned about the McGeowns. He was marking Cushla’s card.

At the house, she put the key in the door, praying for the chicken smell, but there was nothing. The radio was on in the kitchen, an afternoon programme playing light music. Gina wasn’t at the table. Cushla called her and, when there was no reply, ran upstairs. The bathroom door was ajar and before she pushed it open she got the smell, sour and chemical, like the caretaker’s mop. Gina was in the bath. The cold tap was running gently, and she was shuddering. Ribbons of blood were swirling on the surface of the water, dripping from a cut on her eyelid.

What happened? said Cushla, twirling the tap closed and pulling out the plug.