I’d squeezed the teabag against the side of the mug with a spoon, turning the milky tea orange. If this were some other early relationship, I would’ve been cautious of seeming needy; worried about giving off the air that I couldn’t possibly have a life beyond my fella. But not with Jack. We hadn’t played any mind games or stuck to the sweepingly generic rules to keep each other keen. We were keen. And not ashamed to show it.

‘No, I’ll save me money,’ I’d said, tossing the teaspoon into the sink.

‘For Vietnam? In October? Avec moi?’

‘Yes, yes, and oui.’

‘Trust me. It’ll fly by,’ Jack had said again, and I believed him.

‘What did you say, Miss Roscoe?’ Si asks me, lifting his chin above the piano.

The drama hall is in silence and when I look up from my doodles, all eyes are on me.

I smile. We must be ready to start. A few sniggers waft over and some kids give me that look, as if I’ve just started dad-dancing in the nude. My smile remains fixed, but I’m confused.

‘You said something,’ Si says, and he cups his ear with his hand.

‘I didn’t,’ I tell him.

‘You did.’

‘No, I didn’t—’

‘You did, Miss,’ Layla says, her frustration apparent. ‘You said, “It’ll fly by”.’

‘I did?’ I ask.

Layla nods, as do some others.

Oh, God.

I try to wrench myself back to the present, but I can’t stop thinking about Jack. I realise how right he had been. Okay, we weren’t going on a big holiday for four months. But so what? In that time I’d be settling into the flat, exploring London, making dinner, going out for dinner, drinking in pub beer gardens, hitting a few festivals at the weekends, meeting old friends, making new friends, and of course, going to our Kit’s wedding, all with Jack. I think of the fridge. Our plans. Jack wanted to teach me how to ski. Me! Ski! Of course the time would fly by. Everything I’ve just listed sounds like pure heaven – the best four months I could possibly imagine. And fuck me, forgive me for using a big old cliché, but time flies when you’re having fun, doesn’t it?

Si and the students are still looking at me, waiting for an explanation.

‘I was just warning you all,’ I say, forced authority in my voice. ‘Mr Sullivan mentioned that the show isn’t until October, but don’t be fooled. It’ll fly by.’

Layla closes her eyes, dramatically taking my words fully on board. Si slams the piano with his elbow and grabs his throat with one hand, pretending to be strangled.

‘Aggghh! You’ve scared me to death, Miss Roscoe!’ he screeches.