“Quick pep talk for you.” She gives me a stern look. “If you want to take Ethan his gym bag because you trust no one else to do the job properly, fine. But if there’s an element of wanting to get a quick glimpse of him to reassure yourself that he’s OK . . . not so fine.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“If you indulge your own anxiety, you’ll make Ethan’s worse. He needs his gym bag; you’ve brought it in—problem solved.” She squeezes my arm. “There’s no need for you to see him, Nicki. You’ll only read unhappiness into his expression, whether it’s there or not, and work yourself up into a state. If he smiles at you, you’ll worry he’s putting on a brave face in front of his new friends. If he doesn’t smile, you’ll imagine he’s in the grip of a powerful inner torment. Am I right?”

I sigh. “Probably.”

“How about I take him his gym bag instead?” she suggests. “I’m the most reliable person on the planet. You know that, right? I’m even more efficient than you.”

“All right.” I smile and hand her the bag. For some reason, this tiny, shrewd, girly-voiced woman I barely know has a talent for very quickly making me feel ten times better. Every time she does, I can’t help thinking of Melissa, who has the opposite effect and is my closest friend.

“Thank you.” Kate turns to walk away, then turns back. “Ethan really will be fine, you know. He’ll be as happy here as Sophie—you wait and see. Some children take longer than others to form emotional attachments and adapt to a new environment, that’s all. The other kids are really rallying around, looking after him—this term even more than last. It’s sweet. He’s made so many new friends.”

“Ethan’s always been more sensitive than Sophie,” I say. “He doesn’t handle change well.” And his mother, knowing this, took him away from the school where he was happy. Two terms later, he still tells me at least once a week that he’ll never love this school as much as his old one—that however many friends he makes, Oliver-who-he-left-behind-in-London will always be his true best friend, even if he never sees him again.

“Nicki.” Another stern look. “Ethan’s fine. He occasionally gets anxious about things. Lots of kids do. It’s really nothing serious. Your anxiety, on the other hand . . . You should take yourself to a head doctor, lady,” she concludes affectionately.

“Kate, I—” I break off. What am I thinking? I can’t tell her anything. I can’t tell anyone, ever.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Bugger ‘nothing.’ You can’t start and not finish. Tell me or I’ll expel your children.”

“I’ve . . . been under a lot of pressure recently, that’s all. I’m not normally so twitchy.”