‘I say we need to practise at every opportunity we can,’ I agree, feeling dizzy and hot in anticipation. ‘Let’s go upstairs and do our best.’

Chapter Sixteen

Wicklow, August 2018

July, thankfully, went by in a blink.

My days of unemployment shouldn’t really feel as low as they do as technically, if I was still working, I would be off school now anyway enjoying one of the great perks of teaching: a very long summer.

Yet knowing that doesn’t seem to ease the pain I’ve been feeling as each day rolls into another and I can’t seem to see any hope ahead. I’m afraid to admit it to anyone else, but my self-confidence is on the floor and I feel my mood slipping deeper and deeper into a darker place. I’m totally unsure of who I am, of who I want to be, and of where I’m going next.

Kirsty came to stay with us like a bolt out of the blue, which both delighted and exhausted me at the same time, but there’s only so much of a person’s ever changing love life you can keep up with, and I was soon dizzy with names of dating apps, never mind names of actual dates. So by the time she left you could say I was more or less glad to see her go.

I then spent a luxurious two weeks in the South of France with Jack where we enjoyed long, lazy days exploring vineyards, museums, cities including Cannes and Nice, but since August kicked in, this summer seems to be just dragging on and on and on.

My mother made a list of alternative jobs for people with a degree in teaching, thinking it might spark me off in a new direction since my entire reputation as a teacher had gone down the drain. I know her intentions were good, but her execution was exasperating.

‘How about tutoring?’ she said one day at the start of a random phone call when I was lying in bed. ‘Maggie Farrell’s sister’s daughter does it and makes a clean fortune. Or is it her son? Anyhow, Maggie Farrell’s—’

‘I have no idea who Maggie Farrell is, never mind her sister’s daughter’s son or whoever is making a fortune, Mam,’ I told her, getting off the call as quickly as I could and burying my head under the duvet.

‘Keep busy,’ said Jack. ‘Something will come up, love. You’ll see.’