He had a wife and kids. He was a married man. Why hadn’t he told her? Why had he let her believe that anything might come of their relationship? How could people be so deceitful, so cruel? She had sat there, cheeks burning, as she heard him prattle on about the drama group and their Christmas show and blah-blah-blah, like a normal parent, a good old family man. He knew that she was a mum, she’d told him about Amelia – he’d had every chance to reply with details of his own kids in return. And yet he’d hidden them away from her sight, along with his wife, and let her think that he was hers for the taking.

‘You didn’t tell me you had children,’ she had said furiously the next time they were alone together. It was the end of the school day and she’d gone to find Andrew in the history block, where he was sat with a pile of marking. She had burst in there with such rage that her fists had actually been clenched, she remembered.

He had blinked at her, unperturbed. (Un-bloody-perturbed! She felt like perturbing him to death there and then for his irritatingly mild expression.) ‘You didn’t ask,’ he’d replied. ‘To be honest, I thought you knew. It’s not like I’ve kept it a secret.’

‘And a wife too,’ she’d gone on, her nails digging into her own palms. Later on, she would examine those livid crescent-shaped indentations and almost wish they had scarred her forever: a reminder never to fall for a smooth-talker again.

‘Would it have made any difference to you?’ he’d asked with that same bland demeanour.

He’d genuinely said that. Would it have made any difference to her, like she was some kind of marriage-wrecker, like she wanted to go out with a man whose life had already been wrapped up in a neat parcel with another woman. Who had kids, a family life, drama-club appointments in the diary. ‘Of course it would,’ she had cried, scandalized. ‘God, Andrew. You clearly don’t know me at all, if you think otherwise!’

He’d just shrugged, though, as if he didn’t care anyway. ‘It was only a couple of drinks, Maggie. Friendly drinks. You didn’t think there was anything more serious going on, did you?’

The question was like a dagger plunged into her heart. Friendly drinks? But we kissed! she wanted to yell. You pressed your leg against mine under the table! You looked into my eyes and said nice things to me! And now he was dismissing it as nothing, as friendly bloody drinks? Was she the deluded one or was he?