“Your daughter tells me she came to school this morning without having breakfast.” I sigh. Like I’m not busy enough running this school, now I have to educate the parents of my pupils.
The sound of children’s laughter drifts in through the open window.
“Children can’t learn on empty stomachs, Mr. Jackson. There’s plenty of research to underpin this.”
He stares at me and I look back, properly, and notice his jutting cheekbones, purple-rimmed eyes. My stomach flutters: with shame, ignorance. “But I don’t need to tell you this, do I?”
“No,” he whispers.
“This won’t do. How can I help?”