MRS. SIDDIQUI WAS crying at her desk, a handkerchief clasped to her mouth.
“Go in, September. He is waiting,” she said with a weak smile.
“Are you okay?” said Sep.
“Oh yes, fine, fine. It has been a frightening morning. We are all very worried.”
The door to Tench’s office jerked open, and the headmaster appeared, enormous and gaunt, his normally pink face gray and slack.
“Come on in, Sep,” he said.
Mrs. Siddiqui blew her nose, nodding as Sep passed.
Tench’s office was sweating behind half-drawn curtains. The headmaster, his face blank, sat behind his desk and began to wind in a reel of fishing line with a loud whirr.
“Sit down. You’ve heard about Mrs. Maguire?”
“Yes, sir. Wob . . . Mr. Clarke told us.”
Tench nodded. “A wonderful woman, and an excellent guidance counselor. I know you’re all scared of her, but she really . . .” He tailed off and shook his head. “She thinks a lot of you, you know,” he added.
Sep blinked. “She does?”
“Absolutely.” Tench nodded. “Did she never show you the reference she wrote for your scholarship? No wonder you were invited to apply, with prize bait like that.”
“Oh,” said Sep. He tried to connect Maguire’s snarls to a glowing reference.
“Anyway,” said Tench, “she’s stable now, and the police are investigating—your mother, in fact. And that’s what I was wanting to talk to you about, actually. Your mother wanted me to keep you here until—”
“What?” Sep shouted. “Why?”
Tench blinked at the outburst, then looked at Sep’s fist in the center of the desk. Sep took his hand back sheepishly and sat down again, his back straight and his stomach hard.
“Well,” said Tench, “since you’ve nobody to walk home with, and it’s not safe to be out on your own—”
“But I do have someone! Darren’s waiting for me.”
“Hooper?”
Sep nodded.
Tench puffed out his cheeks, and grimaced.
“I’m not sure Darren Hooper is really the best person for you to be spending time with.”
“And why not?” said Sep, his teeth clenched.
“Well, for one thing he’s on a totally different . . . academic trajectory, and for another he’s got a standing appointment in my detention. Not to mention the world of trouble he’s in for that incident in Mrs. Woodbank’s class this morning—”
“But that was Manbat’s fault. He deserved it!”
Tench frowned. “Nothing Wayne could have done would justify—”
“And so what if Darren’s not doing well in school?”
“Well . . . I . . . Your mother said she’ll come and collect you as soon as she’s able. But, since she’s working at least a double shift, you might have to get your dinner at my house.”
Sep shook his head. “You’re not my dad.”
Tench dropped the reel on his desk. “I’m not trying to be,” said the headmaster firmly. “But while your mum’s busy and . . . not feeling well—”
“I can take care of her,” said Sep shortly. “I can keep the house clean and make her food. I’m older than last time; we don’t need you. Sir.”
“Last time?” said Tench, looking puzzled. “Look, you can’t be on your own, so you just have to—”
Sep stood up. “I’m not on my own. And I’m leaving.”
“Now listen here, young man,” said Tench, his voice dropping. “The last thing Eleanor needs is—”
“The last thing she needs is you,” said Sep, trying to keep control. He gripped his headphones. “I can look after her. I can. We don’t need you to do anything.”
“September—” said Tench through his teeth, half turning away before looking back, his face open and calm. “I’m not trying to be your father. Only to look after you. At some point you’ll have to let people love you. You can’t hide behind the books forever.”
Sep pulled a face. “I don’t—” he began.
Tench sat down and began winding the reel once more. “You’re to stay here,” he said over its whirr. “That’s what your mum wants you to do. She doesn’t need to be chasing you around in her condition, and when one of my closest friends has nearly been killed, you’d better believe I’ve got more pressing concerns than your teenage mood. All right?”
“No fish talk?” said Sep.
Tench stopped winding, and spread his palms with a half smile. “Just straight talk,” he said. “And here it is: your mother loves you. I love her—and she loves me. Understand?”
“Yes,” said Sep, swallowing hard. The guilt began to tear at him with its sharp, heavy claws as he thought of the care and love and attention his mum would need, how he was claiming he could provide these things—while he was making plans to leave her behind.
“Good. So, what’s it going to be?”
They held each other’s stare, then Sep went straight past Mrs. Siddiqui into the cool, shiny corridor.