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quietly’ meant just that, it seemed Gavin just couldn’t help himself. ‘Miss!’ called Molly for the fifth time in as many minutes. ‘Gavin’s kicking my chair again.’

      ‘And he’s stolen my pencil sharpener as well, Miss!’ Henry huffed. ‘Gavin, you spaz, give it back!’

      ‘Miss, Henry said spastic!’ piped up Ben. ‘Tell him off, Miss!’

      ‘No I didn’t, you liar!’ Henry shouted. ‘I said spaz!’

      ‘It’s the same, isn’t it, Miss? Spaz means the same as spastic, doesn’t it?’

      ‘Boys!’ I said sharply. ‘Enough of this childish bickering! I don’t want to hear either word said in this class. And Gavin, will you please stop kicking Molly’s chair, now. And if you have borrowed Henry’s pencil sharpener, will you please give it back.’

      Naturally, Gavin, Ritalin-free, couldn’t simply return it. No, he lobbed it at Henry, whereupon it bounced off his head.

      ‘Oi, you retard!’ said Henry. ‘Miss, did you see that? He threw it at me!’

      ‘Miss,’ piped up Ben, ‘Henry called Gavin a retard!’

      And off we all went once again.

      Exchanging a look of exasperation with poor bemused Shona, I left her at my desk and went over to sort things out. ‘Right,’ I said, ‘Molly, I suggest you go and sit in Shona’s seat, out of kicking distance, and Ben and Henry, will you please just concentrate on your own work and stop this endless bickering. You’re not in flipping primary school! And as for you, Gavin, I would like you to get your reading book out, and –’

      ‘I forgot it, Miss,’ he said, drumming two pencils on the desk.

      I placed a hand on top of them. ‘In which case,’ I said, ‘I would like you to go to the book corner and choose a different one. And once you’ve chosen – and don’t bother Imogen while you’re in there – bring it over to me, quietly, along with a chair. Then, once I’ve finished what I’m doing with Shona, you and I will read it together.’

      Gavin got up, scraped his chair back, and hoicked up his trousers.

      ‘Is he getting told off, Miss?’ he said, pointing an accusing finger at Henry. ‘Cos he’s called me a spaz and a retard now.’

      I pointed a finger of my own. ‘Gavin, book corner. Now, please,’ I told him. And in a tone that left no room for debate, so he didn’t offer any. Instead, glaring at Henry, he stomped off.

      But if I thought that would contain things, albeit temporarily, I was wrong. Within seconds of my returning to my desk and chat with Shona, the air was rent by a loud and piercing scream.

      And, surprise, surprise, it was coming from the book corner.

      ‘Honestly!’ I began, stomping over to see what was happening behind the bookcase, ‘I give you one simple thing to do, Gavin, and you can’t even do that without – what on earth!’ I finished, ‘Stop this right now!’

      I probably wouldn’t have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes, but Gavin and Imogen were engaged in a physical fight on the book-corner beanbags. I had no idea what had started it, only that I would very quickly need to finish it, as they were laying into each other hell for leather. And, as I went to welly in, Gavin managed to wrestle a book from Imogen’s hands – presumably the trophy he’d had his eye on all along.

      Good, I thought, making a grab for Gavin – at least I wouldn’t have to haul him off her bodily. In terms of size, he was way bigger and stronger than she was, and only half an inch shorter than me. But in terms of sheer temper, she had the edge over him. And it seemed she didn’t care for having her battles fought for her, because even as I got a grip on Gavin’s other wrist she had lunged at him, reaching for the book, which he now waggled tantalisingly out of reach.

      ‘Give it back, you fucking bastard,’ she roared, ‘or I’ll fucking punch your face in!’

      You could almost hear the astonished gasp from the small crowd of onlookers, while, unbalanced by her cannoning into a now startled Gavin, I stumbled on the corner of a beanbag and lost my grip on his wrist.

      ‘Yeah, just try it, ginge!’ he retaliated, waving the open book in the air above her, before darting past me and across to the other side of the boys’ desk, where Henry and Ben were already exchanging smirks, full of glee at the unexpected floor-show.

      ‘Gavin!’ I snapped, following him. ‘Give me that at once!’

      ‘That book’s mine!’ Imogen screamed at him, bowling past me to get to him. ‘I’m going to fucking kill you, you hear me, dickhead? It’s mine!’

      Gavin was light on his feet though and dodged her again, and, seemingly not satisfied with the commotion he’d caused that far, then – for reasons that escaped me, and probably him, too – ripped a handful of pages out and flung them at her for good measure.

      It was cartoonish in its stupidity, but at the same time deadly serious; he clearly couldn’t have chosen a better action to enrage her. I could see the expression on her face change as she watched the pages flutter floorwards; then she spun around, grabbed the classroom door handle and, with a howl, fled the room.

      I looked across at Gavin with a kind of stunned incredulity. Yup. I have definitely lost control here, I thought.

      Thank heavens, then, for a man with impeccable timing. ‘Everything okay, Mrs Watson?’ came a voice. It was Gary. ‘Only I just saw Imogen –’

      ‘Ah, Mr Clark,’ I puffed, panting and extremely grateful. I had no idea which deity had arranged for him to be at the right place at the right time, but I sent up a blanket prayer of thanks. ‘Yes,’ I said, nodding towards the corridor, ‘do you think you could go after her?’

      ‘Right away,’ he said, giving me a thumbs up. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll grab her. Take her to my office. Oh, and I’ll send along Miss Vickers.’

      Then he was gone.

      ‘Wow, that’s a voice!’ observed Henry.

      ‘Right, guys, time to settle down,’ I announced, raising my voice above the growing din. Scuffles were ten a penny but Imogen’s colourful vocal contribution was a first, and with the tension now dissipated everyone seemed to have something to say – not least, as Henry seemed keen to point out, that mild-mannered Imogen knew three whole swear words.

      Everyone, that was, bar Gavin. He had slumped down in his seat with the demeanour of a condemned man – or at least one who, the adrenalin rush finally over and done with, is thinking, ‘Oops, might have gone a bit far, there.’ Still, I thought, feeling an unexpected rush of sympathy for him, at least he’d been stunned into temporary silence.

      I clapped my hands together twice to underline what I’d said. ‘Settle down, back to seats, quieten down now, okay?’

      ‘What about Imogen, Miss?’ Molly asked, looking concerned.

      ‘I’ll go and check on Imogen as soon as Miss Vickers gets here,’ I reassured her. ‘In the meantime, I want you all to choose a book from the book corner – one at a time, please. Go on, Henry, you first. And then read them quietly, okay?’

      Kelly was there in less time than it took them all to do so, by which time I’d picked up the pages Gavin had ripped from Imogen’s book, as well as the book itself, which lay tented in the middle of the classroom floor, where he’d dropped it, like the proverbial hot brick. As I’d half-realised from the cover illustration, it was the book Imogen had been reading at home – the Jacqueline Wilson one about the twins who’d lost their mother. A book that presumably meant a great deal

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