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The plants are plastic.

He says he wants to keep the children safe, I think.But what’s he really afraid of?

‘I hope you don’t mind if we make this quick, Mrs …MissRiley,’ says Mr Cockrun, offering me a chair and smiling his spiky jester smile. ‘I know this is important to you so I’ve made time, but … well, look, how can I help?’

He takes a seat opposite and looks attentive, but I get the distinct impression he doesn’t want to help at all.

I hear myself say, ‘Yes, thank you for seeing me,’ already beaten into gratitude.

Mr Cockrun moves his computer mouse around and squints at his computer screen. ‘Where is he? Thomas, Thomas, Thomas … Kinnock.’

‘ThomasRiley,’ I correct. ‘He’s Thomas Riley now. The name should have been changed.’

Mr Cockrun looks up, nodding and smiling automatically. ‘Yes, sure, sure. We’ll get that changed. You’ve cut your hair.’

‘My husband liked long hair,’ I say, by way of explanation. ‘Now we’re separated, I have more choices.’

Mr Cockrun’s eyes fall back to his computer. ‘So what’s the issue?’

‘I’m extremely concerned,’ I say. ‘Tom came home from school with marks on his arm last week. They looked likeinjectionmarks. Blood spots with little bruises around them. He doesn’t remember how he got them. Or if he does, he won’t tell me. But Tomalwaystells me things. So I think he honestly doesn’t remember. School is the only place he’s away from me.’ I leave a meaningful pause.

Mr Cockrun looks at me then, and for a moment his blue eyes swim with fear. ‘Have you discussed this with anyone else?’

‘What’s that got to do with anything? I’m telling you my son had strange marks on his arms. They looked likeneedlemarks.’

Mr Cockrun’s expression shifts to mock concern. ‘Mmm, yes. But … perhaps your imagination is running away with you just a tad?’

For a moment I’m wrong-footed and unsure, just like I was with Olly. ‘That’s what the marks looked like,’ I insist. ‘The nurse in the drop-in clinic was concerned enough to make a report.’

‘Well, I can assure you, Tom didn’t get any marks like that here.’ The headmaster stands. ‘So if that’s all—’

‘Hemusthave got those marks here,’ I persist, resisting the urge to stand too. ‘Tom is with me every moment of the day. This is the only place he’s out of my sight.’

‘It simply couldn’t have happened here,’ says Mr Cockrun. ‘I just checked Tom’s records. There’s nothing. No mention of an injury.’

‘Are you saying you watch over each and every child every minute?’

‘We keep a very good eye on them.’

‘What about his teacher? Maybe she knows something.’

‘We’re a little short on time, Miss Riley, so if you don’t mind—’

‘I’d like to speak to Tom’s teacher,’ I say. ‘Can you bring her in here, please?’

‘I’m afraid—’

‘I won’t leave until you do,’ I say, my new haircut giving me strength.

The headmaster hesitates. Then he says, ‘Fine, wait here. I’ll get Mrs Dudley.’

He darts out of the office and returns with the greyish-haired woman I met before. Today she’s just as awkwardly dressed in a pencil-skirt suit that makes a giant pear of her sizeable behind, feet large in mismatching brogues and a fashionable hoop necklace that would look better with jeans and a T-shirt.

‘Mr Cockrun says you have some concerns.’ Although Mrs Dudley’s words seem calm, I sense tension behind them. ‘But we cleared everything up the last time we spoke.’

‘This isn’t about the playground incident,’ I say. ‘Tom came home with marks on his arm. Very odd-looking pin-prick type marks.’

Mrs Dudley and Mr Cockrun exchange a meaningful look.