The clock glared 7.15. If I didn’t hurry, I’d be late. In the bathroom mirror, my hair was a matted mess. I’d been tempted to cut it over the years, tame my curls, but each time I suggested it, Adam was so upset that I’d kept it long. It was silly, but part of me felt that if I cut off my hair, I’d be cutting off some of his love for me. Shearing away more of the girl he fell in love with.

Grey morning light spilled in through the bedroom window as I sat at my dressing table, carefully selecting my make-up. I had taken more care over my appearance since the appointment of our new head teacher, Ross. He was young and dynamic and in his last post had turned a failing academy around. It was the thought of his deep blue eyes that studied me so intently that caused me to contour my cheeks. To cover my lashes with two coats of mascara rather than one. To blend my eye shadow, my blusher, so my look was natural. Barely there. It took ages.

Downstairs, I scooped last night’s curry-stained plates from the coffee table in the lounge; Adam had walked straight past them. On our wall was the framed map of my star. Every day I was tempted to take it down. It was a painful reminder of the way we used to be. But I knew if I removed the frame from the wall, I would see how the wallpaper had faded around it, the way the girl on a beach in Alircia, barefoot on golden sand, had faded away from me, and there was a part of me that wanted to cling on to her. Wanted to hold on to Adam – my boy from the bar – otherwise I’d have left by now, wouldn’t I?

After the final bell had rung and the kids had rushed outside, Ross sauntered into my classroom. Instinctively I smoothed my hair.

‘Are you rushing home?’ he asked. ‘Pub?’ We had progressed from sharing coffee breaks in the staff room to casual lunch-time paninis in the coffee shop near the school. We had grown close but this was the first time he had suggested something out of hours.

‘I’ve got a stack of marking to do.’ I patted the English books piled on my desk, aware I hadn’t answered the question. I busied myself tidying away my pens, straightening papers, my head and my heart battling. ‘A quick one won’t hurt.’ I didn’t know if I was trying to convince him or me.