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OhGod.

‘Help!’ I hear myself sob. ‘Please help us! Call an ambulance. My son is having a seizure!’

Kate

7 p.m.

I’m starving. My freshly prepared sandwich was left unopened – there were reports to write, then the mad rush to the family centre and the Neilsons. I didn’t bother taking my lunch there – I’ve learned from experience you need both hands to deal with Lloyd Neilson.

After that, there were frenzied phone calls to the police, OFSTED and the Steelfield School academy group. I didn’t leave the Neilsons until I could assure Lloyd that Mr Cockrun wouldn’t be allowed back on the school premises.

Not until there’s a full investigation.

Leanne came to collect them late, as usual, and moaned about having to wait for my phone calls.

By the time I returned to the office, Tessa had eaten my sandwich. It was for environmental reasons, apparently. She can’t stand waste.

Fortunately, I’d packed a few snacks this morning in case I ended up working late. Now finally back at my desk, I have an opportunity to crack open my Tupperware box of cheese, crisps and a Pink Lady apple.

I’ve been thinking, thinking, thinking about Steelfield School, Mr Cockrun, the Neilson boys and Tom Kinnock. Something isn’t adding up and it’s driving me crazy, throbbing like a toothache.

I believe Lloyd. But it doesn’t explain what’s happening to Tom Kinnock.

As a teenager, I liked Isaac Asimov sci-fi novels. They were logic puzzles, most of those stories. A robot would misbehave in some way and you had to figure out how it had broken its programming and gone against one of the three robot laws.

But this logic puzzle I’m not enjoying. More pieces are in place, but things still don’t make sense.

Just as I take a crisp from its rustling plastic bag, the phone rings. Reluctantly, I put my lunch/dinner down and pick up.

‘Hello, Kate Noble, Child Services.’ My eyes wander to the crisp packet.

‘Good evening, Mrs Noble, it’s Doctor Khan here. I’m a paediatric consultant at the general hospital.’

‘Hello, Doctor Khan.’ I lift my crisps, hoping to grab a quick mouthful while he’s talking. ‘How can I help you?’

‘I’m told you’re the social worker assigned to Tom Kinnock. Is that right? He’s on your caseload?’

‘Yes,’ I say.

‘Tom has been brought into hospital again. Did you know?’

‘No.’ I put the crisps down. ‘What happened?’

‘Another seizure.’ The doctor clears his throat. ‘We thought it worth flagging up, given his history. I know he’s had injuries before. And the seizures … they’re following rather an unusual pattern.’ There’s a pause. ‘I had a chat with Tom earlier. I got a very distinct sense there was something he wanted to talk about. He mentioned someone called Pauly. And your name.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes. I think you should come in. There could be something he wants to tell you.’

‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ I stuff my crisps back into the Tupperware box.

‘Where are you running off to?’ Tessa barks. ‘Notanotherhome visit – there are reports to write.’

‘Tom Kinnock is in hospital again,’ I say. ‘A seizure.’

‘Anotherone?’

‘Yes. Another one. And he wants to talk to me.’