The bottom drawer of the filing cabinet is pulled out as far as it'll go, and Tom's on his knees, fighting a rising sense of panic as he flips through the dividers, hunting for a piece of paper that he knows is here - must be here - and has to be found before he leaves for the night. If it's gone missing, there'll be trouble - it's a lapse which in ordinary circumstances would bring him a massive bollocking from Michael, but with the way that woman's been running round the school lately, he'll be lucky not to be fired.
So Tom hunts, desperately, and tries to ignore the hungry rumbles of his empty stomach, and the way the harsh fibre of the cheap carpet is biting into his knees.
The door opens behind him. Nicki, Tom guesses. He doesn't turn round but gives a quiet grunt in greeting. Things have been weirdly off between himself and Nicki for a while now, and ever since she's become the sergeant major to Lorraine's commanding officer, things have been even more uncomfortable between them. Still, when she doesn't reply after a minute or two, he's a bit annoyed, so he turns, pokes his head above the desk, and opens his mouth ready to speak.
He stops.
Shit.
Nicki's hands are tangled in blonde hair, and one of the blonde's arms is wrapped round Nicki's waist, pulling her close, while the other -
Shit.
Tom drops back down behind the desk. Someone behind him emits a moan, almost inaudible, but Tom definitely hears it.
Shit.
Tom makes a decision. He slams the drawer shut, and prays that they'll hear reverberating clang and stop what they're doing. He kicks the drawer for good measure as he stands up, still facing away from them. He tells himself that if they've stopped doing what they're doing by the time he turns round, he can pretend he hasn't seen what he's seen.
He turns round.