‘Well,’ started the headmistress, ‘obviously we’re all aware of Darny’s special circumstances.’

Austin raised his eyebrows and turned to Darny, whose hair was more auburn than Austin’s but stuck up at the front in a very similar fashion, and whose eyes were also grey.

‘Well, yes, but Darny’s special circumstances were six years ago, weren’t they, Darny? You can’t keep on using it as an excuse for ever. Especially not for …’

‘Using bows and arrows on the reception class.’

‘Quite,’ said Austin, looking disapprovingly at Darny, who stared even more fiercely at the floor. ‘Do you have anything to say for yourself?’ he asked the boy.

‘My loyalty is not to you, Sheriff.’

Kirsty looked up at the tall, curly-haired man in the slightly dishevelled suit and wished she were somewhere else. She wished they were both somewhere else. A bar perhaps. She thought, not for the first time, that this job was totally useless for meeting men. Everyone in primary teaching was female, and it was considered very much ‘not on’ to chat up the dads.

But Austin Tyler of course wasn’t exactly a dad … Would that make it OK?

Everyone at the school knew the tragic story. As far as Kirsty was concerned, it only made rangy Austin, with the horn-rimmed specs he kept taking off and putting back on again when he was distracted, even more attractive. Six years ago, when Austin had been a postgraduate student in marine biology at Leeds, his parents and his baby brother (the result of a silver wedding celebration that had given them all the shock of their lives) were involved in a horrible car accident after a lorry tried to do a U-turn on a busy road. The four-year-old in his car seat had been fine, but the front of the car had been completely crushed.

Despite being knocked sideways by grief, Austin had immediately given up his studies – a job where you had to travel the world being patently unmanageable – come home, fought off well-meaning distant aunties and social services, taken a mundane job in a bank, and was raising his baby brother as well as he could (which wasn’t always, Kirsty noted privately, as well as he could be doing it if, say, the child had a strong maternal influence in his life …). Now thirty-one, Austin had such a strong bond with Darny that although many women had tried to get in between them, no one had quite managed it. Kirsty did wonder if Darny had scared them off. Or maybe Austin hadn’t yet reached the right woman. She just wished the only chance she had to see him was not when she had to talk to him about Darny’s behaviour.

Still, she made sure she always handled these meetings herself, rather than letting the perfectly competent Mrs Khan do it, even though it wasn’t strictly necessary. It was the best she could do at the moment.

‘So would you say …’ said Kirsty, ‘that Darny is getting enough of a feminine influence at home?’

Austin ran his hands through his hair again. Why could he never remember to get a haircut? he wondered to himself. I do love longer hair on a man, thought Kirsty.

‘Well, he has about nine million well-meaning female relations,’ he said, biting his lip when he thought of the scorn Darny had for other people coming into the house (which, it had to be said, wasn’t always at its tidiest. They did have a cleaner, but she refused to pick up after them, which was really what they needed before the true cleaning could begin). ‘But no one more permanent, no.’

Kirsty raised her eyebrows in what was meant to be a flirtatious manner, but which Austin immediately took to be disapproval. He was always conscious of being scrutinized when he was with Darny, and sensitive about it. Darny wasn’t an angel but Austin did the best he could, and was sure that elsewhere the boy would be doing a lot worse.

‘We do all right, Darny and I,’ he insisted. Darny, although still staring at the floor, reached out a hand and squeezed Austin’s tightly.

‘I didn’t mean to … I just meant, Mr Tyler … Austin. We can’t have violence at this school. We really can’t.’

‘But we want to stay at this school,’ said Austin. ‘We grew up here! This is our area! We don’t want to have to move and go to another school.’

Austin tried not to feel a bit panicked as he felt Darny’s skinny fingers grip his long ones, but holding on to their parents’ home, and his old school, and the area they’d always lived in, around Stoke Newington – well, it hadn’t been easy to pay the mortgage, but it had felt so important to give their lives a sense of continuity, not to take Darny’s home away as well as everything else he’d ever known. Staying here meant they were within a community of friends and neighbours who made sure they never went without a hot meal if they needed one, or a sleepover for Darny if Austin had to work late. He loved the area passionately.

Kirsty moved to calm him.

‘No one is saying anything about moving schools. We’re just saying … no more bows and arrows.’

Darny shook his head violently.

‘Are you agreeing with me, Darny? No more bows and arrows?’

‘No more bows and arrows,’ repeated Darny, still refusing to take his eyes off the floor.

‘And?’ said Austin.

‘And, sorry,’ said Darny, finally looking up. ‘Do I have to go and say sorry to the reception kids?’

‘Yes please,’ said Austin. Kirsty smiled at him gratefully. She was almost pretty, thought Austin abstractly. For a teacher.

Janet, Austin’s assistant, met him at the door of the bank.

‘You’re late,’ she said, handing him his coffee (white, three sugars – having to grow up very quickly in some areas had left Austin lagging a little behind in others).

‘I know, I know, I’m sorry.’

‘Darny trouble again?’

Austin winced.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said, patting him on the shoulder and picking some lint off it at the same time. ‘They all go through the same phases.’

‘With bows and arrows?’

Janet rolled her eyes. ‘Consider yourself lucky. Mine went for firecrackers.’

Feeling slightly cheered by this, Austin glanced at his notes: someone looking for a café loan. In this market, very unlikely, and the terms were going to be punishing. Everyone thought the banks made harsh decisions, but actually lending to small businesses was a thankless task. More than half of them would never make it. Trying to spot which half was his job. He turned the corner into a small waiting area.