Tenderness did not come easily to Fletcher. He cleared his throat. ‘I know you’ve had a difficult time. And I know that part of your … challenging behaviour has been because of … because of what happened to your parents. And we have made allowances for that.’

Tom burned inside.

‘But I can’t have you causing trouble. All right?’ The matter was gone, dealt with. He turned back to his reports.

It wasn’t all right. None of it was. Tom felt like smashing the pen from Fletch’s hand.

But he didn’t.

Later, after a desultory supper of sausages and mashed potato, cooked by Fletch’s surprisingly kindly wife, where the three young Fletchers had largely ignored him, Tom gratefully slipped away to his house TV room, preferring not to be in his study.

He sat watching old comedies, about people living complicated lives in New York apartments, so far removed from his own. He slowly picked through a packet of crisps and sipped at a can of Coke, till he had to sign in at 10.30pm.

Fletch barely glanced at him when he turned up at 10.32pm. He was still finishing his reports.

Tom skulked on up to his bedroom. The stairs creaked loudly as he went. His whole corridor was dark and empty. Sitting down on his narrow bed, ready to get undressed, he felt exposed, as if he were the only person in the whole school.

He thought of the almost silent dinner, the few questions from Mrs Fletcher, which he’d answered in short sentences. The repeats on TV. There were only so many series he could watch on his laptop without getting bored.

He couldn’t stay here and do this every night.

The moon was out, casting School Quad with a gentle glow, whilst the lamps that lit the quad’s sides were being turned off one by one. His was the only light in the upper floors.

If Fletch wouldn’t let him go tomorrow, there was only one thing he could do. He would have to sneak out.

He looked again at the tickets that had come with the letter. It was clear to him. He had to get that train.

The station was about three miles’ walk away. It took a bit less than an hour if you went through the back lanes. But he would attract suspicion if he was seen walking down there in the morning with a bag.

So he would have to hide one in a bush by the gate tonight and pick it up on his way tomorrow.

There was a back route out of the school, a path that went down through the farmer’s fields, and there was a stile leading on to the road that went to the village.

By the time they noticed he’d gone it would be too late to catch him, and he’d be on his way to Mundham Farm.