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tissue. ‘Poppy, look at me now! What’s going on? What are you doing? ’
    She stared at me in utter misery, sucking the end of her hair.
    ‘Are you on your own? Where’s Scarlett?’
    The horror of this, of her vulnerability, of what could have happened to a child her age, made me suddenly furious.
    I raised my voice. ‘And nobody knows? No-one at school knows you’re here?’
    Poppy shook her head forlornly. She twisted one thin, scabby leg round the other.
    ‘You’re coming straight home with me right now and we’ll talk about this until I know what’s going on. The thought of it, Poppy, Jesus Christ, the thought of you being here on your own…’
    ‘I’m quite safe here, Mum.’
    I went cold in the pit of my stomach. ‘What? What are you telling me? That you’ve done this before, this isn’t the first time?’ I was staggered. We were close. I truly believed that we had no secrets and now this – my God.
    ‘This is the first time. I couldn’t help it. I just couldn’t stay there any longer. I’m sorry.’
    ‘I daresay you are. And so am I. Daddy will be sorry. Mrs Forest will be sorry…’
    ‘Please don’t tell them,’ she pleaded with me. ‘Don’t tell Mrs Forest.’ And she broke into floods of tears again.
    This was impossible. I bent down to her level and held both her arms. ‘Listen, Poppy,’ I began, determined to be gentle and soothing. ‘Nobody’s going to shout or be cross. All we need to do is talk this through till we understand what is happening here.’
    ‘But I can’t tell you!’ she stormed.
    I looked at her hard. She was as stubborn as Graham.
    ‘But what can’t you tell me, darling?’
    ‘I can’t tell you what’s been happening, I can’t tell you what you want.’
    I made my voice extra cajoling. ‘Why not, Poppy? Nothing’s so dreadful that you can’t tell me, or Daddy if you’d rather. Or Martha? D’you think you could talk to Martha?’
    ‘It would only make things worse,’ she hiccuped.
    I looked across the busy arcade with panic-stricken eyes, at all the ugly, misshapen people, and brought both hands to my head. ‘Worse? Worse than you hanging around, seeking refuge in this God-awful place? Surely not worse than this, Poppy? When I think of what could have happened to you. And what about the work you’re missing? I can’t imagine how they didn’t miss you.’
    ‘I’m never going back there, Mum,’ she said, rubbing her eyes which were swollen and red. My heart broke to see my child so unbearably unhappy, drooping, head down and swaying slightly like a small corpse on a gibbet. ‘Whatever you do and whoever you speak to, I refuse to go back to school.’
    The first thing I did was go round to Martha’s, although she denies this now.
    ‘It’s Scarlett,’ I said desperately, ‘Scarlett and that Harriet Birch.’
    Heavy with complaint, I had to make her know how she’d wronged me.
    She moved the Brie and the plasticine. She pushed me a cup of coffee. She lit up one of her foul cigarettes: Samson Shag. She used to roll up with an angry urgency, believing these were better for her health, but her cough was worse if anything.
    She turned irritated eyes on to me and said, ‘I haven’t liked to say anything but it seems that Poppy resents Scarlett’s friendship with Harriet and it’s been quite difficult for all three of them.’
    Oh no, this wouldn’t do. This was denial. A twisted truth. ‘They have been deliberately unkind to Poppy,’ I said, ‘and it’s been going on for a long time. She says they watch every move she makes and my God, Martha, she’s been suffering in silence…’
    ‘Jennie, I don’t want to sound unreasonable, but that’s not the way I heard it.’
    ‘I can’t believe this. You knew? You’re saying you knew and you didn’t tell me?’
    ‘Jennie…’ She sighed, sitting back and allowing her ash to fall sloppily off the end of her bent-up rollie. ‘I don’t want to sound as if I think that Poppy has a