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8.45am, Head's Office

Christine stalked past Sonya into her office, ignoring the secretary's startled gaze. When Simon followed her in, she wheeled to close the door with a firmness that kept it just on the controlled side of 'slam'.

'Right, Simon,' she said as she turned, arms folding, 'what is your problem? Your behaviour in there was insensitive, never to mention unprofessional—'

'Says the woman who allows a member of her senior staff to go AWOL without repercussions, loses half her sixth form on her first day, and aids and abets underage marriage—'

'Don't be absurd, they're both seventeen,' Christine interrupted shortly. 'Of legal age to marry, especially in Scotland.'

'It doesn't matter. You're supposed to be head teacher here, Christine! It's bad enough that your son is a pupil; it's even worse that you now have a daughter-in-law here as well! How's anyone going to take you seriously?'

Christine's lips thinned. 'I think you'll find that I made it clear yesterday just how seriously I intend to be taken,' she began dangerously. 'As for Connor and Imogen, we live nearby. Why should he have to travel to Havelock just because of me? I have my faults, but I don't think anyone's ever accused me of favouritism before.' It's more like the reverse, she thought with a guilty pang, but she was careful to show no hint of that guilt in face or voice. 'And Imogen is a young woman of great inner strength and genuine ability. Believe me, we'd all miss her if she left. Their relationship is not a secret; if it was going to be a problem we'd have discovered it by now.'

'You'll leave me to be the judge of that,' Simon responded. A bell rang. 'I'm going. As Clarkson's still AWOL, someone needs to cover his form's registration.'

'I was going to do that,' Christine told him quietly.

'I don't think so. That's the form your son's in, isn't it? It's not appropriate.' Before she could protest further he'd crossed the room to the door and opened it, glancing back over his shoulder. 'Just remember, Christine Mulgrew. You're on probation and I'm watching you.' He departed with an undoubted slam, and Christine sank, trembling, into her chair, her hands clenching and unclenching in her lap. Never had she so longed for a drink…

'Mrs Mulgrew?' Sonya ventured, and she glanced up at the secretary. Sonya's face could never lie, and her wide eyes and round mouth betrayed her shock. 'What was that?'

She managed to drag forth a reassuring smile. 'It was nothing, Sonya. Nothing.' She took a deep breath. 'Shall we get on with that pile of papers we put aside last night?'

Sonya smiled and vanished, and Christine concentrated on breathing in, and out, and in again. No-one ever said it would be easy, but she'd find a way to cope. She must.

11.01am, Mr Clarkson's room

'Are you serious?' Dynasty Barry's Scouse accent was stronger than ever as she leaned towards her best friend just after the bell had gone for the end of Break. 'You're not havin' me on? You an' Connor are goin' public?'

Imogen nodded brightly, spreading the fingers of her left hand to show her wedding ring to best advantage, and Dynasty grabbed the hand to examine the ring closely.

'You've seen it before,' Imogen pointed out with amusement.

'Yeah, but it was always on that chain before,' Dynasty argued, twisting Imogen's hand in order to examine the ring from every possible angle. She sighed. 'You're so lucky.'

'Says she whose boyfriend will be a multimillionaire by the time he's thirty,' Imogen teased as she hauled her bag onto her desk and began to extract her folder and her copy of Browning's My Last Duchess.

Dynasty imitated her with another sigh. 'Yeah, but who's to say we'll still be together? I'm no bimbo, but I'm not in Kevin's league, and after everythin'—' She stopped and tugged anxiously at one loose golden curl. 'He'll get tired of me, Imogen. I'm sure of it.'

'Rubbish! He worships the ground you walk on. Anyone can see that. He comes alight when you're near.' She heaved a sigh of her own. 'I think it's cute. Connor still sometimes behaves as though I'm some precious statue, even though it's months and months since the fire.'

The door opened, Mr Lowsley entered, and the class stumbled to its collective feet, Imogen knocking over her pencil-case as she did so. 'Bugger,' she muttered in an aside to her friend. 'That's the second time I've done that today.'

Dynasty smirked, one belashed eye following the new teacher as he moved towards Mr Clarkson's desk. 'You better get it together, Im. I don't think he'll accept love as an excuse.'

'Hah,' Imogen scoffed as Mr Lowsley barked at them to sit down. She bent down to retrieve her pencil case before retaking her seat, aware that the pounding in her head had suddenly become acute, almost migraine-like in its intensity. When she straightened everything turned fuzzy and she collapsed limply into her chair.

11.10am, Mr Clarkson's room

'Imogen!' Dynasty's voice was higher than she intended as she tried to rouse her friend without alerting the rest of the class that something was wrong; Connor frowned in her direction, and Dynasty gave him a wide smile before turning back to Connor's wife. 'Imogen, are you OK?'

Imogen's dark lashes fluttered and she opened dazed blue eyes. She blinked, once, twice, three times, and a fine line of confusion appeared between her brows.

Dynasty's stomach flipped with fear. 'Imogen, speak to me,' she hissed as Mr Lowsley began droning about what he expected from them. He'd been so occupied with drumming in his 'class rules' that he'd failed to notice Imogen's state. 'Please, darlin'. You're scarin' me.'

'Dyn… stop whispering,' Imogen murmured. 'I can't hear you.'

Dynasty heaved a sigh of relief. She'd encountered this before and she knew how to deal with it. 'Well, I'm not whispering, then,' she retorted quickly. 'It's them batteries of yours. They've gone an' failed again. Quick, you better change 'em before 'e gets wound up,' she finished, nodding towards the teacher.

Imogen was staring at her blankly, and Dynasty heaved a sigh of exasperation, reached out to grab her friend's pencil case and rapidly removed the blue six-pack of hearing aid batteries that lived there. 'Here,' she said. 'Put 'em in.' She tapped her own ear and Imogen nodded.

'They can't be flat already,' she muttered as she picked up the six-pack. 'I only changed them yesterday.'

'I can't help that. You're not hearin' me now, so change 'em,' Dynasty insisted, touching her own ears again for emphasis.

Imogen stared at her, her eyes very wide, and Dynasty gave her an encouraging nod. 'Go on, then.' The other girl obeyed, and when she returned the aids to her ear, Dynasty grinned. 'All better now?' She gave Imogen a thumbs-up sign, but her friend bit her lip and shook her head.

'It's still not right. It's not loud enough.'

'Try another,' Dynasty encouraged, tapping the pack.

Imogen swallowed and did so, and Dynasty watched in horror when her friend's usually pale complexion turned a sickly shade of grey.

'It's not right,' Imogen repeated, her hands beginning to shake. 'Dynasty, they're not working!'

'Hey!' a voice interrupted harshly, and Dynasty jumped. The new teacher had appeared beside their desk, and was looming over them, clearly displeased. 'Would you care to share your thoughts on the poem?'

'I—I—' Dynasty stammered, uncharacteristically flummoxed. Beside her, she was aware that Imogen was feverishly taking out batteries and replacing them, over and over. Her distress restored Dynasty's self-assurance, and she lifted her chin to its usual cocky angle. 'Sir, it's Imogen. She's shocking upset, like. Can't I take her away for a bit?'

'What's wrong with her?' Connor demanded, jumping up from his seat.

'It's her hearin' aids, see,' Dynasty explained, ignoring the increasingly irate teacher at her side. 'They're not working.'

'SIT DOWN!' Mr Lowsley bellowed. 'Yes, Mr Mulgrew, that means you. I don't care what's wrong with your wife or who your mother is, this is a lesson and you WILL NOT be allowed to disrupt it!'

Connor, almost as white as his wife, dropped sullenly back into his place. Dynasty nodded in satisfaction when she saw Kevin give their friend a supporting clasp of the shoulder; that took care of him and she could focus on Imogen, who was clearly struggling to keep it together. She glanced at Mr Lowsley, who was still glaring at her, and came to a decision.

'Sir, Imogen needs help,' she insisted, stepping away from her desk. 'Please, sir. Just look at her.'

'Take one more step, Miss Barry, and you'll find yourself suspended so fast it'll make your head spin,' Mr Lowsley threatened. 'I don't know how you've been allowed to behave before, but things have changed—'

Dynasty flipped her wild mop of hair over one shoulder, and her red lips curved in a disdainful smirk. 'And you're gonna stop me? I'd like to see you try it, sir!' And she twisted on her heel and left in search of the Head.

11.45am, Mrs Mulgrew's room

'Now, then, do you understand what I want you to do?' Christine smiled at the group of Year 7 pupils in front of her as they nodded eagerly. 'Good; get started and let me know if you want help—by raising your hand!' she added warningly. Some of these children insisted on shouting out, and they were too young to listen to each other.

When the form had settled to its work, Christine circulated a final time before returning to the familiar haven of her classroom desk. This was her place, she felt, not the isolated grandeur of the Head's office. Michael had been wrong about a lot of things, but he'd been absolutely right about the privilege of teaching, and she swore there and then that she would allow no-one to take that privilege from her—not even if she had to work to midnight every night to keep up!

Humming softly, she drew a pile of exercise books towards her. It was becoming clear that every spare moment must be utilised if she was ever to keep on top of both her marking and administrative work; a Head's work was never done. She glanced at the name on the cover and smiled. Lula Tsibi was a passionate young woman and her essays always made interesting—if not grammatically correct—reading. She picked up a green pen and began to scan.

The peace of the classroom was disrupted by the entrance of Dynasty Barry, looking angrier than Christine had ever seen her. She raised her eyebrows questioningly as the girl stormed down the aisle between the desks to stand before her, aware that the little ones were taking advantage of the distraction to ignore their own work.

'Year 7, back to your books, please,' she ordered firmly, and only when they had obeyed her did she turn her full attention to the older Barry girl. 'What is it, Dynasty?'

Dynasty gave the Year 7s a quick glance before she spoke, her tone quiet although her eyes still flashed annoyance. 'It's Imogen, Mrs Mulgrew. There's something wrong with her hearin', or her hearin' aids. I'm not sure which but she's in a right state, and that new teacher is bein' a complete shithead—' Her voice rose as she ended, and Christine raised her eyebrows in a silent warning to the Sixth former to moderate her language and tone.

The girl caught on. 'Please, Mrs Mulgrew. I've never seen her like this before. You've got to come.'

Christine blinked, caught for a moment in a haze of deja-vu. It was not so long since Imogen herself had used those very words about Dynasty.

'Connor's really upset too,' Dynasty pleaded, breaking into her thoughts. 'Kevin's keeping a hand on 'im, but everyone's gettin' angry and—and…' She dropped her long, false lashes and chewed her lip.

'All right. All right, I'll come,' Christine agreed, pushing herself to her feet. The children watched her warily, and she sighed inwardly. Now what was she supposed to do? She couldn't leave the Year 7s—

'I'll watch thes'uns,' Dynasty offered, as if she could read the Head's mind. 'They're working, ain't they? Can't be much to it.' Her eyes roved the class dismissively and Christine had to bite back a sudden insane desire to laugh.

'Are you sure?'

Dynasty folded her arms, looking offended. 'Why, Miss? Don't'cha think I can do it? Just watch me. You there!' One long, painted talon of a nail jabbed in the direction of a child in the front row. 'Yeah, you with the lime green pencil in yer gob. Spit it out this minute. Didn't your ma ever tell you there's germs on that?'

The stunned child obeyed on the word, and Christine nodded. It looked like Dynasty could keep them in hand, right enough—provided she didn't threaten them with that criminal of a brother, of course.

'OK, Dynasty, they're all yours. Class!' The children sat up and looked at her. 'I need to leave you for a bit, but Dyn—Miss Barry,' she amended with a secret grin, 'will stay with you until the bell goes or I get back. I expect you to treat her as you would a member of staff, is that clear?'

There was a subdued murmur of Yes, Miss and Christine escaped, once again dying to laugh—but when the door closed on the complacent Dynasty and the mildly terrorised first years, all amusement fled. Imogen's notes included reference to the fact that any blow to the head—even a light one—could result in further hearing loss. If that was what had happened…