Mac sounded fed-up. ‘Yeah. I rang the police and reported what happened. I gave them your details along with Daisy’s and Laurel’s.’ Then, as if Grady had objected, ‘I had to report it. Jake, my headteacher, was in full agreement. If I don’t act, these individuals could go on to give problems to my colleagues. Pranks get embedded in teenage culture and become a thing.’

In his own school years Grady remembered the scribbling of an obscenity on a white board in an empty classroom becoming ‘a thing’, but not pantsing a teacher and tying him to his car. ‘Did you tell the police the kids videoed it?’

Mac’s sigh was almost a groan. ‘Yeah. Little shits,’ he added unprofessionally.

Grady could only imagine how hellish Mac’s life would be with such embarrassing footage flying around his school. ‘Do you think Daisy will be able to resist talking?’

‘Dunno.’ Mac sighed.

‘She’s a good kid.’ Grady hesitated, then asked, ‘Laurel was odd, wasn’t she? She’d been sort of sticking up for you when she called pantsing a sexual assault and then pretty much called you untrustworthy.’ When Mac didn’t answer he added, ‘What did you need to speak to her alone about?’

‘Erm …’ Mac said. ‘Aspirations Week at school. We ask successful people to come in and talk to the kids about potential careers. We haven’t had an artist.’

‘Oh, right.’ Grady wondered why Mac would request privacy just for that. ‘I wouldn’t have minded waiting around while you had that conversation. I was in no rush.’

‘Oh … I wasn’t thinking.’ Mac sounded as if he’d lost interest. ‘Fancy a pint at The Three Fishes tonight?’

Grady did, and they’d just made arrangements and ended the call when a young, female voice said behind him, ‘So, what’s next with Art December?’

He jumped to see Daisy standing in the open doorway and hoped she hadn’t heard herself and her aunt discussed. Judging from her usual round-faced smile, she hadn’t. Her hood was up and her long curls dangled out either side, like a scarf. On the front of her black hoodie it said in red: Yeah, underestimate me and see what happens. He grinned. That was so Daisy. He’d become fond of the sassy teen as they’d spent more time together this year, the Middledip arts and crafts scene gaining traction. Last month, Grady had put on a session of airbrush painting, helping people master the art by repeating ‘trigger down for air and back for paint’ about a thousand times. Everyone from knitters to card makers to artists to photographers had met at The Angel Community Café in the room called The Public, which was a nod to the Victorian building’s pub origins. Carola, who ran The Angel, was also head of the village hall committee so she pretty much had the community stuff covered.