A Game For All The Family by Sophie Hannah Page B

expelled him?”
    “No. There never was a boy called George Donbavand at Beaconwood. No one has been expelled for stealing a coat they didn’t steal. What you’re worried about . . .” She looks doubtful for a second.
    “Yes?”
    “It didn’t happen. Now, I have too much to do, as ever . . .” She stands up.
    “Wait. I’m sorry, no. You’re asking me to believe that Ellen dreamed up a boy called George Donbavand out of nowhere? She told me he was her best friend in the whole world.”
    Lesley is wearing a determinedly patient smile. “Justine, again, let me reassure you. There is no George, there never was, and nobody has been falsely accused or wrongfully expelled.” She moves toward the door of her office and clearly intends for me to do the same.
    I sit in silence for a few seconds, trying to process what I’ve heard.
    Finally I say, “Then . . . if there’s no George Donbavand and there never was, you should know I’m not going to be reassured at all. Much as I don’t want to see innocent boys punished, I’m going to be a hell of a lot more worried if I think my daughter’s insane or a complete fantasist.”
    Halfway through my speech, Lesley ditched her fake smile. She’s not even looking at me anymore. She doesn’t answer.
    “What’s going on, Lesley? When you said ‘Dear oh dear’ before—you weren’t surprised that I’d brought up this nonexistent boy, were you? You knew exactly who and what I was talking about. How come, if there’s no George Donbavand at Beaconwood and never was?”
    “Justine, I’m so sorry—really—but I’m going to have to draw a line under this now. Ellen’s a lovely girl. We love having her here. You can rest assured that there’s no problem at Beaconwood. I’ve never expelled a child from this school, and I hope I never will.”
    I cannot fucking believe this.
    “Is that a threat?” My palms are hot and itchy. I could so easily leap out of my chair and . . .
    “A threat? No, of course not.”
    “So you weren’t insinuating that if I don’t drop this and agree to pretend George Donbavand never existed, you’ll expel Ellen?”
    “No.” Lesley looks shocked. “Not in any shape or form.”
    “Oh. Okay, well . . . that’s something at least. Can you come and sit down? I can’t think straight with you hovering by the door.”
    Lesley hesitates. I’m surprised when she returns to her chair.
    Good. This is progress.
    “Listen,” I say. “Ellen’s not been herself lately. Not at all. I’ve begged her to tell me what’s wrong but she won’t. She’s kept whatever it is entirely to herself until today, when she told me about George Donbavand, the coat, him getting expelled—the story that I know you know as well as I do.”
    Lesley nods—or at least, I think she does. The visual evidence is inconclusive. She’s not committing herself to anything.
    “Lesley, if my daughter has invented a whole narrative involving the persecution of a boy who isn’t real, you have to tell me. If the reason you know the George story is that Ellen’s been in here, sitting where I am now and pleading with you not to expel her friend who doesn’t exist , that’s something I need to know. I needed to know it five seconds after it happened.”
    “Do you trust me, Justine?”
    “Not recently,” I mutter—an immature response, but I can’t help it.
    “Yes, you do,” Lesley corrects me with a smile that looks more genuine than its predecessor. “You entrusted Ellen to me and to this school, and I fully intend to honor that trust. I’m a mother too, remember.”
    “I do. As one mother to another: tell me what the hell’s going on.”
    “Take it from me, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with Ellen.”
    My body sags with relief. Then I’m annoyed with myself for taking her word for anything.
    “I don’t mean she isn’t unhappy,” Lesley qualifies. “I agree, she’s seemed rather down in the dumps lately. But there’s nothing wrong with