So that’s where Jack’s things are. I know they’re there, above my head as I potter about the flat, but not physically seeing them has … helped. I’ve spent less time staring into walls and applied the energy to my job, marking work thoroughly, making lesson plans, doing whatever odd jobs have been needed for the musical. Sometimes, I catch the eye of the man sat in the shopping trolley and apologise, as if he’s disappointed in me. ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ I’ve said out loud, ‘I can’t move on. I’m just very busy.’ And I’ll hear a creak of the floorboards upstairs – it can’t be Neil, he’s thousands of miles away in South Africa – and feel hatred towards Jack for haunting me, for being right there and not being there at all.

The applause for Layla is a gentle earthquake trembling through the drama hall. I spot Si’s face above the upright piano and see him flick away a tear from beneath his glasses with his thumb. As the stage lights fade to black and the audience shuffles, I’m knocked backwards by someone rushing forwards, into me. Arms are thrust around my waist, a cheek rests upon my chest, and I’m squeezed fondly.

‘Layla!’ I exclaim. ‘You did it!’

‘I loved it, Miss,’ she says. ‘Every second. I really loved it.’

‘You weren’t the only one.’

‘I wanna do this for the rest of my life.’

I refrain from my typical cynical ‘Oh, don’t we all?’ and say instead, ‘And you will.’

I mean it, too.

The car park is manic within ten minutes of the final bow. Parents are yelling at their kids to get in the back seat, to stop hugging their friends, to please hurry up, they’ll see them tomorrow morning for God’s sake. It’s impressive how quickly the place empties. I could probably leave now, but I need to speak to Si. Laden with a huge bouquet, he’s man of the moment, lapping up the praise and thanks from both parents and pupils.

‘It was touch and go,’ I hear him say, not for the first time.

Holding the door open, I usher the last few families out of the drama hall.

‘Hey, Miss Roscoe?’ Layla Birch is running towards me, dress in a plastic costume bag over her shoulder, phone in hand. ‘My dad wants to speak to you.’

‘Okay, no problem,’ and I look past her to see where he is.

‘He’s just moving the car, Miss. He was blocking someone.’ She rolls her eyes, typical.

‘Well, tell him to come and find me when he’s ready. I’ll be right here.’

‘Thanks Miss.’ Layla skips off, thanking Si, too. ‘You’re the best Mr S. You’re wasted in this school!’ And she disappears towards the main gate, embracing some of her pals along the way, grabbing a selfie.