Nor could we have been more attracted to each other.

‘I could stay in bed with you all day.’

‘So let’s stay in bed.’

It was one morning, soon after we’d met. I’d taken to staying over at his flat most nights, rather than at my house-share.

‘What about my pupils and your patients?’

‘This is more important.’

‘Tell that to the poor sod with toothache.’

He laughed. David had a great laugh. He would throw back his head and really commit to a laugh. I’ve always been attracted to people who laugh out loud when watching something funny on TV, or in response to a joke. Envious of those big belly-laughs that seem to erupt effortlessly and confidently out of nowhere. My sense of humour feels more discerning, more self-conscious. I’m laughing on the inside, I always used to protest, whenever David would tease me about it.

‘It’s their own fault – people need to floss more.’

‘I love it when you talk dirty to me,’ I grinned.

Still laughing, he rolled on top of me, pinning me down.

‘Hey!’ I pretended to protest. ‘You’re going to make us both late.’

‘I rather like getting into trouble with you.’

‘I’m the teacher – I’m supposed to set a good example.’

‘You know this was a boyhood fantasy?’

‘What? Being late for work?’

‘Sleeping with a teacher.’

We were dancing with words; back and forth, it was our form of foreplay.

‘I thought you went to a boys’ boarding school and all the teachers were men.’

Reaching for my hands, he interlaced his fingers through mine and pressed them into the pillow.

‘Didn’t I ever tell you about Miss Laurent, our French teacher?’

‘Non.’

Then he said something to me in French that I didn’t understand, but I didn’t need a translation. I knew how he made me feel, and that was enough. I was like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz when her world turned Technicolor, and I couldn’t have been happier.

Years later I would come to realize what most wives realize about their husbands: that the men we fall in love with aren’t wizards; once we get to see behind the curtain, we discover human beings with fallibilities and fears like the rest of us. But in the beginning I was in awe of David. Nothing seemed to faze him. He approached life with a sense of ownership, instead of as something to be scared of. He rarely apologized, whereas my default setting was always ‘Sorry’, even when it was someone else bashing into me on the Tube.

He was competitive, even at Scrabble, and would use two-letter words with triple-letter scores that I, as an English teacher, still have a sneaking suspicion don’t exist.

Meanwhile I couldn’t have been more different. Forget rules and tactics – my adrenaline high came from the dance floor. I love dancing, though now I’m older I don’t get the opportunity to do it nearly enough. I love the freedom it brings when you forget about everything and everyone and lose yourself on the dance floor. It doesn’t matter what kind of music. Salsa. Disco. Jazz. Big Band. Dancing is like mindfulness set to music.