The corridor was hot and stuffy and Laurel removed her coat. ‘I’m afraid the art class is the problem. My niece won’t be joining it until I’ve spoken to someone about the bullying she’s being subjected to.’

‘I can make you an appointment—’

Laurel pretended Mrs Jordan hadn’t spoken. ‘I’ll take a seat until Mr Williams can see me.’ She indicated four seats against the wall.

Mrs Jordan eyed her unfavourably. ‘I’ll send Mr Williams a message.’

Then Mac Cassidy stepped into view, showing himself to be the owner of the grey sleeve and black shoe. ‘Hello, Daisy. Hi, Laurel.’

Just who Laurel didn’t want to see. ‘Hello,’ she answered colourlessly.

Mrs Jordan turned to him with an air of relief. ‘I was just offering to make an appointment.’

Mac nodded. His eyes were wary, despite his smile. ‘I should think Daisy could go to her lesson while we see what we can sort out.’

‘Afraid not.’ Laurel didn’t smile. ‘Bullying is unacceptable. I’m sorry not to fall in with school processes but Daisy’s not attending that class until the situation’s resolved.’ She felt a surge of power.

After a moment, Mac addressed Mrs Jordan. ‘What does Mr Williams’ timetable say?’ Mrs Jordan tapped her keyboard, then turned her screen so Mac could view it. ‘Planning time.’ He turned back to Laurel and the mute Daisy. ‘Just let me see if I can have a word with Mr Williams.’

‘Of course. We’ll wait.’

After signing the visitors’ book, Laurel headed for the seating area, Daisy by her side. Laurel would have liked to take her hand reassuringly but knew it would destroy Daisy’s cred if any student were to witness a fourteen-year-old holding hands with her auntie. Mrs Jordan closed her glass screen and all fell quiet apart from faint voices drifting from elsewhere in the school. Both Laurel and Daisy took out their phones to while away the time.

Ten minutes later, Daisy whispered, ‘Here’s Mr Williams.’

Laurel looked up from a WhatsApp conversation between the artists at her old studios in Chiswick to see a thin, angular man in his forties loping towards them, clothes conservative, brown hair in no particular style. ‘Hello, Daisy,’ he said, as he reached them. ‘Miss Hill? I’m Mr Williams, Daisy’s form tutor. I wasn’t teaching and there’s a room available, if you’d like a chat.’ His smile was boyish.

Laurel felt instinctively that he could be trusted. With real gratitude she said, ‘Thank you very much.’

He took them to a small room with scuffed white walls, a big window, a table and chairs. ‘Take a seat, take a seat. Now, how can I help you?’