‘No,’ I said, with a smile, ‘it’s Matthew.’

‘Why is he sending you flowers to work?’

Bloody hell, I wanted to say, one bunch of flowers and suddenly my relationship is public property? But that’s what flower deliveries are for, of course, they are as much for the benefit of a wider audience as the recipient.

Several other people crowded round and cooed and commented and I was congratulated and told how lucky I was that my boyfriend was so romantic – he’s obviously crazy about you, Lisa.

Not everyone in the staff room gathered round and praised me. On the other side of the room, leaning against the counter top that had the two kettles and the rows of jars of tea and instant coffee, was Amy Brampton, a woman my age who was also in the English Department. We were at very similar stages of our careers and would, it was inevitable, be competing for the same promotions – in that sense, she was my rival. She had pale skin and auburn hair and was quite posh. For some reason, we got on each other’s nerves – I had told Matty this. She was watching me being the centre of attention with a blank, unimpressed look on her face and I began to feel pleased about the flowers, as if Matty had done it to irk her.

Sitting on one of the soft chairs next to my small, admiring crowd was Bernice Chumunga, a Special Needs Co-ordinator approaching retirement, a woman with tight grey curls and a lively, sarcastic gaze.

She glanced up once, then returned her gaze to the notes she was reading as she remarked, to nobody in particular, ‘My husband sent flowers to work, I’d want to know what he’d been up to.’

‘Oh …’ admonished Jenny with a smile, ‘Bernice!’ There was chuckling from both of them; the small crowd broke apart.

It came to me that I had better text Matthew right away, to thank him.

*

It was early December. The tree trunks were black and bare. My walk home after school at that time of year was cold and dark. As well as my bag of papers, I had the flowers to carry, awkwardly: the bulbous cellophane base was too mobile to hold on its own and I had to put an arm around the bouquet, to support it without crushing the stems. Halfway through the walk, I wished I had just found a vase in the staff room and left them there – but then I thought of having to explain that to Matthew.