“Another incident?”

“Another bullying incident.”

“Someone is bullying Madison?” She would throttle the kid. She would demand to see the parents. She was light-headed with rage. Someone had hurt the Sultana and she was going to have the brat for breakfast.

“Alice,” said Dominick. He looked a little stern. School-principal stern. “It’s Madison who is the bully.”

“Madison wouldn’t bully anyone.” She knew her daughter. She’d only known her for five days, but she knew her.

And sure, maybe she could be moody and a little, well, aggressive, toward her brother and sister when she was riled, but that was just normal sibling rivalry (she hoped). Her heart was in the right place. Look at the way she helped Olivia choreograph her butterfly dance. Look at the way she helped Tom with his geography homework the other day. Okay, Tom said she was being annoying, and it had ended up with Madison stomping off in floods of tears and Tom slapping his hand to his forehead and rolling his eyes like a miniature version of his father, but, well . . . Alice’s daughter would not, could not, be a bully.

“Are you still—not yourself?” asked Dominick carefully.

“Not quite,” said Alice.

“Well, this isn’t the first time we’ve had problems with Madison. A little boy had to have stitches a few weeks ago after an altercation with Madison.”

Ah, thought Alice. That was the “little incident” that Kate Harper had mentioned at the gym.

“I know she’s having problems, after Gina’s death, and with the divorce,” continued Dominick, his forehead puckered with school principal-ish concern. “Alice, I’m so sorry, but this is really—oh.” His voice changed as he saw someone over Alice’s shoulder. “Here’s your, ah—your . . .”

Alice turned around and saw Nick coming toward them. He was wearing his suit and tie and talking into his mobile phone. His aura of business and decisions and important mustn’t-be-disturbed meetings looked alien in the sunlit playground, with the sounds of children chanting something from the open window of a nearby classroom.

Dominick caught her eye. “Hope this isn’t too awkward.”

“Yes,” said Alice awkwardly.

As he got closer, they heard him say, “Well, let’s say two mil. Does that sound okay? Excellent. Bye.” He snapped the phone shut with one hand and Alice wanted to say, Oh, Nick, honey, stop being such a wanker.

“Dominick, isn’t it?” said Nick, holding out his hand, as if Dominick were there to sell them something.

“Yes, hi. How are you?” said Dominick. He was about a head taller than Nick and looked like a gangly schoolboy next to him. Alice wanted to hug him, but she wanted to hug Nick, too. They seemed like boys dressed up in grown-up bodies.

“This must be pretty important for you to call us both down,” said Nick, an edge to his voice.

“Yes,” said Dominick, and there was an answering edge in his voice. “Madison threatened to stab Chloe Harper with a pair of scissors. She also cut off a huge chunk of her hair and pushed her face into a cake. I’m going to have to suspend her at least until the school holidays. I think she needs to see a counselor.”

“I see,” said Nick, and he seemed to deflate and sag. All the power had gone to Dominick.

“There must be more to the story,” said Alice. “She must have had a reason.”

“It doesn’t matter about her reason,” said Dominick (a bit snootily, Alice thought, for someone who was trying to be her boyfriend). “It’s unacceptable. And you can imagine how Kate Harper is going to react to this. She’s on her way to the school, too.”

So Chloe was the horrendous Kate Harper’s little girl. Well, there you go. That explained everything.

“We’ll have to—I don’t know—offer some sort of compensation,” sighed Nick.

“I don’t think money is the answer in this particular case,” said Dominick. Ke-pow.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Anyway, I’ve got both girls waiting for us in my office,” interrupted Dominick.

Alice and Nick followed behind him like naughty children. Alice made an “Isn’t this appalling” face at Nick, and he grimaced.

In Dominick’s office, Madison and another little girl were sitting on chairs in front of his desk. The little girl was sobbing in an outraged “I so deserve to cry” way, cradling something in her arms, and Alice saw with sick horror that it was a long, blond plait. She had bits of chocolate cake and cream and cherries smeared all over her face and school uniform and the shocking, hacked-off line of her blond hair stuck up over the back collar of her uniform.

“Oh, Madison,” said Alice involuntarily. “How could you?”

Madison’s face was dead white, her eyes shining with fury. She was sitting very still and straight with her hands in fists on her lap, the image of a little psychopathic killer brought into the police station for questioning.

“You’ve got some explaining to do, young lady,” said Nick, and Alice nearly laughed. He sounded like a man playing the angry dad in a bad amateur play.

Madison didn’t say anything.

“Do you want to tell your parents what happened?” said Dominick, sounding much more authentic.

Madison shook her head passionately, as if she were refusing to reveal state secrets to her torturers.