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free straight after school today,’ he added, ‘you’re apparently welcome to pop round there. Imogen’s dad won’t be there himself, but I figured you’d rather see her sooner rather than later, right? Otherwise, he’ll be back end of this week. Working away or something?’

      I nodded. ‘He’s a coach driver. And you’re right,’ I said, Imogen’s stony face coming immediately to mind. ‘Sooner is definitely better than later. And, to be honest, it might be better seeing Gerri on her own, in any case. I think she’ll be much more likely to open up about how Imogen’s been with her – not to mention the whole business of the first wife running off – without him there to censor her at all, don’t you?’

      ‘I think you’re probably right. Though she did say she won’t have that long. Got to take a cat to a vet or something. But I assured her it was only a quick chat you were after. Anyway, Sherlock, report back tomorrow and let me know how you got on, okay?’

      Tsk. Him as well now. I was beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t get myself a deerstalker and start smoking a pipe.

      For all my enthusiasm for visiting Imogen’s dad and step-mum, however, by the time the bell went at the end of the day a few mild misgivings had begun to creep in. For one thing I felt a bit sneaky. Yes, it was perfectly acceptable for me – or any other member of staff, for that matter – to speak to parents and/or guardians of troubled pupils without consulting them, because you did what you needed to do to help the child. But in this case I had the sense that if I put Imogen in the picture I might just inflame things all over again. She’d called her step-mum a ‘witch’, after all, so I didn’t doubt she’d have her own view on my going to talk to her.

      Which I could at least rationalise. Step-mums routinely got a bad press, both in fairy tales and in real life, and if you believed everything you heard from kids in the middle of acrimonious break-ups you’d think being a stepmother made you the devil incarnate, almost by default. Which didn’t seem to be borne out by the facts in this particular family – Imogen’s grandparents had made that very clear.

      But my other misgiving was more niggling and less readily countered. What was my plan exactly? What was I going to ask her when I got there? There was a fine line between gentle probing to try and glean a fuller picture, and interfering – for want of a less pejorative term – in someone’s life. And perhaps the business of her predecessor leaving was the last thing she wanted to talk about. And wasn’t I making a bit of an unwarranted assumption about how much she actually even knew?

      Oh well, I thought, climbing into my car and pulling my road atlas out. It was done now. I was expected. And I would learn something of value, surely? In for a penny and all that …

      The younger Hinchcliffes lived in a small, terraced house on a newish estate about half an hour’s drive from the school. It had a neat but plain-looking front garden – square of grass, concrete path, nothing more – and there were businesslike vertical blinds at all the windows, half opened to let in light but maintain privacy.

      The front door was opened by a slim, thirty-something-looking blonde woman, with pearl earrings, an expression of very mild agitation and, in her arms, an enormous white cat.

      ‘So nice to meet you, Mrs Watson,’ she enthused, nevertheless, indicating a door just behind her that I should go through. ‘Your colleague did tell you, though, didn’t he, that I’m on something of a tight schedule? I have to take Flynn here to the vets in half an hour.’

      ‘Yes, he did,’ I reassured her, as she followed me into a warm, woody sitting room. ‘Nothing serious, I hope?’

      ‘No, no, just a jab,’ she explained, nuzzling her face into the cat’s fluffy neck. It had long hair, and masses of it, too. ‘Flynn and Grace, there’ – she tilted her head towards another giant cat, curled up in front of a roaring coal fire – ‘they’re both show cats. Won all kinds of awards between them,’ she added proudly, ‘and of course we travel all over the country with them – well, I do mainly, as Graham’s so often tied up with work – and they do tend to pick up the odd sniffle, as you’d expect, as they’re constantly mixing with other cats. So you can’t be too careful.’

      ‘I imagine not,’ I agreed, sitting down on the sofa, following her invitation, while she perched on the edge of the armchair opposite. ‘And I suppose they’re more vulnerable, being pedigrees.’

      ‘Well, exactly,’ she said. ‘Weak immune systems, that’s the main thing we’re up against.’

      To which I wanted to reply ‘All that in-breeding, I suppose’ but felt it perhaps wouldn’t go down too well. Because this was someone who took her cat shows quite seriously, was my analysis – which wasn’t even much of one, because it really didn’t need to be. There was evidence enough all around me. Most obviously, there was a display cabinet not three feet away, which was stuffed with photographs, rosettes and a variety of framed certificates as well as a selection of cups and trophies big and small. Moreover, everything my eyes rested upon gleamed as if regularly polished, as did the clutch of framed photos that were clustered on the shelf below, which at a glance seemed to be of their wedding.

      ‘So,’ said Mrs Hinchcliffe brightly, ‘how can I help you, Mrs Watson? I know there have been some ongoing difficulties with Im, from what your colleague was saying. So she’s still refusing to talk to anyone?’

      I nodded. ‘Well, the odd word or two, but, no, sadly, we’ve not been able to make as much progress as we’d have liked.’

      ‘It’s such a shame,’ Mrs Hinchcliffe said, shaking her head, while still methodically stroking the cat on her lap. ‘We were all so hopeful that a change of school might do the trick …’ She sighed heavily. ‘So. Clearly not, then.’

      ‘That’s why I’m here,’ I went on. ‘Because I thought you might be able to shed a little further light on the background. What we’re most keen to get to is the root to all this –’

      ‘Oh, dear,’ she said. ‘In which case, you’ve probably come to the wrong person. As I said to your colleague, I’m not sure what I can contribute to all this, because where discipline’s concerned Graham and I have decided I’m better off keeping my distance.’ She frowned. ‘A long story, but an all too familiar one, sadly. Damned if you do and damned if you don’t, eh? I’m sure you’ve seen this sort of thing before.’

      ‘Well, yes, I have,’ I agreed, ‘but this isn’t really about discipline, Mrs Hinchcliffe. Imogen’s no trouble in school at all, it’s that –’

      ‘Oh, pur-lease call me Gerri,’ she said. ‘Mrs Hinchcliffe makes me feel so old!’

      ‘Sorry – Gerri, then, and, as I say, it’s not a discipline issue. Imogen’s never been less than well behaved. And it’s not that she hasn’t made some progress. It’s just that the specialist who’s been to see us to tell us more about selective mutism has told us that if we can establish some possible causes of Imogen’s difficulty, we will be much better placed to help her deal with it.’

      ‘Selective mutism – so it has a name then?’

      ‘Indeed it does.’

      ‘I didn’t know that,’ she answered, ‘though, of course, that does make sense. And I’m more than happy to help in any way I can, Mrs Watson. No doubt about it, that child has given me no end of problems, but I’m intelligent enough to know that it’s all down to her mother – she just can’t help but resent me, can she? Because I’m not her and will never be.’ She sighed. ‘So. What exactly can I help you with?’

      The cat on her lap, Flynn, launched himself off it at that moment and she jumped up and began brushing hairs from her clothes. ‘Now that’s the only downside,’ she said, smiling down indulgently at the mewing animal. ‘What?’ she asked it, continuing to pick fluff from her (rather impractical, to my mind) black trousers. ‘What is it you want, Flynnie-boy?’

      Since he wasn’t about to answer, I could only sit and suppress my urge to grin.

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