Chapter 5

FIVE

Zoe

‘Wait, did he send you the chicken drumstick emoji or the real chicken?' Mia asks me, messily eating a sandwich and stealing her husband's crisps on the staff room sofas. Behind her sounds the familiar ping of the microwave, the boiling of kettles and the whispers of conversations as our colleagues recount the horrors of their mornings. This is how we endure the teaching profession – we share and relate whilst we heat up last night's leftovers, trying to find some humour in everything. I hear about how in physics, a child tried to escape out of a second-floor window. How in French, a child tied someone's shoelaces to a table and they're now in medical with a fat lip.

‘The real chicken,' I tell Mia.

‘So, basically he sent you a cock.'

I widen my eyes. I mean, Lottie had questions, too, but then we also got into a semi-argument because it turns out that when I was dancing like a bloody loon around our kitchen, trying to copy some viral dance routine, she was filming the whole thing and putting it on social media with public privacy settings and it was watched. Not only by my friends but from the looks of it, random strangers called Ben that I don't even know.

‘Also, rewind there. You both went on to Nando's? Like on a date? How did I not know about this?'

I shrug. ‘It was a week ago. We've all been busy,' I explain.

Ed's eyes widen at this point. ‘Jack's literally just started. Did you have relations with him?' Mia clings on to Ed's arm in response to his politeness.

‘Oh god, no… He was just good company. It was nice. He's nice…'

They both sit back on the sofa opposite me with curious looks, still chewing their lunch. Mia narrows her eyes. ‘Ed, I don't know your mate well enough. Is he nice?'

‘The implication there being that I would be mates with a complete idiot,' Ed replies. ‘He's a good person.'

‘What was he like at university? Did he get about?' Mia asks him.

‘He once shagged a girl in our kitchen. I had to disinfect the whole kitchen, even the countertops,' Ed recalls casually. I choke a little on my cheese sandwich, surprised that he's decided to lead with this particular memory. ‘I mean, I wish he hadn't. I prepared food on those countertops. I rolled dough, I had raw meat on there…'

‘Quite,' Mia replies.

Ed blushes at the innuendo which, knowing Ed, was not intentional at all, but which makes Mia snort with laughter. She nudges her husband playfully.

‘Was he dating this girl?' I ask.

‘Oh no, he never really did girlfriends. He's a bit of a…'

‘Jack-the-Lad?' Mia says, finishing his sentence.

‘Not even that. Girls like him. He's got that thing all the kids talk about… rizz?'

Mia squeezes his arm, impressed that he's expanding his lingo. I think I may know what Ed's talking about, though. I feel I've seen the rizz in full flow. It's certainly made me a little giggly in ways I shouldn't be.

‘He's personable. Never cruel, not the sort to not call someone back. He was always very kind. He once made the local paper at university because he saved a bag of kittens that he found in a skip.'

Mia cocks her head to one side, doe-eyed.

‘Yeah, except he brought them back to our student house and they were absolutely feral. This is why Jack has a scar above his eyebrow, because one of them attacked his face. I remember the night it happened – it literally jumped out of a houseplant like a very small tiger.' Ed turns his hands into claws, mimicking said cat.

I notice Mia studying everything he's saying, and I appreciate the concern she's showing in trying to weigh up Jack's character, almost as if she's checking he's good enough to be taking someone like me to Nando's. ‘So, what we're saying is that he's a nice enough bloke, likes cats, possibly slightly commitment-phobic, some sexual experience under his belt,' Mia concludes.

‘Pretty much. He likes his music, we used to like a fry-up on a Saturday morning, and he'd drag me around vinyl shops…'

Mia nods in approval.

‘Oooh… And if you wanted to know the person responsible for me wearing better fit jeans, then this is the man. Before I met Jack, I used to buy my jeans from supermarkets.'

Mia gives Ed a look. ‘I must remember to shake his hand next time I see him then. What about the job thing? Why all the career changes? Is the work ethic poor? Does he have issues with punctuality?' she continues. I appreciate this deep dive into his personality on my behalf.

‘Oh, that's all because of his brother…'

Mia and I sit there waiting for him to expand on his answer.

‘Ed, I've met this man a few times and you've not mentioned this. What about his brother?' she says, turning to him, worried.

‘I told you he had a brother. His name is Dom. Anyway, when we graduated, we all had plans, but Dom's wife passed away from cancer. She was super young, like in her mid-twenties, and he was suddenly alone with two young kids, so Uncle Jack moved in and helped him find his feet.'

I put a hand to my chest, sitting back on the sofa to hear it. Behind all that boyish charm is someone with real heart, with a warming back story that runs deep. I can't help but be moved by it all. Mia grabs a throw cushion and slaps her husband with it. ‘Ed! You did not tell me that!'

‘I didn't?' he replies. Mia looks incredulous. ‘He did that for about three years. Moved in, did part-time jobs to help look after them and then after that never really found his stride.'

I sigh, understanding where all Jack's mature empathy comes from. It comes from a good sincere place.

‘So, in essence, a decent human but a little lost?' Mia summarises. She smiles at me when she says that. It's sweet of her to think I'm in a similar situation. I'm not lost. I've been bloody deserted, marooned, stranded.

‘So… circling back to Zoe,' she continues, trying to lighten the mood again. ‘Was his subconscious talking when he sent her the chicken emoji?'

Ed shakes his head from side to side. ‘It could have been pure coincidence. He could have sent her the chicken drumstick instead.'

‘Which would have also meant he wanted to bone her…' Mia replies, which makes Ed laugh.

‘I really do not think Jack wants to bone me,' I mumble, almost unable to repeat that sentence out loud. It feels like a ludicrous notion.

‘Who doesn't want to bone who? What have I missed?' a voice says, coming over to take in the gossip. It's Beth who I haven't seen in an age. Such are the first weeks of school, filled with departmental meetings and time spent locked in the copy room trying to remember how to copy things on both sides of the paper. I give her a hug as she comes and sits next to us on the big staff room sofas, offering her canteen chips around.

‘The new teacher, Jack, went for a Nando's with Zoe and then he sent her a chicken emoji.'

‘Zoe!' Beth shrieks. ‘You're dating? Already?'

I raise my hands to the air to halt all the gossip in full flow. Beth was one of the first people who found out about the split from Brian as I knew her sister had gone through similar, so I asked her for advice. She's been a pillar of wonderfulness ever since. She sends texts to check in, sends me books on Amazon and occasionally just leaves Kit Kats in my staff pigeonhole. These are the small things that have helped tremendously.

‘Nooo, it's nothing like that,' I say, though the truth is I'm still trying to work out what it is. It's not like I haven't thought about Jack since the cock emoji, it's just not because of the cock. There is something about the distraction and attention I've received from him that feels like a tonic, that makes me not think about the disaster zone that is my life. That said, the flirtation behind it makes me deeply embarrassed. I don't know how to flirt, I've not flirted in years and not with someone who looks like that. ‘I am so far away from dating, like miles away, but I was just confused by the emoji, so confused that whenever I see him around school, I've taken to hiding behind doors and pillars. Seriously, I thought the aubergine was the penis emoji.'

‘Aubergine, baguette, lipstick, cactus, snake, mushroom, rocket, chicken, banana…' Beth reels off. We all stare at her. Mia offers her hand up for a high-five. ‘I went to the student cyber safety seminar last month, I took notes. So I'm confused. Jack sent you a sex emoji and you're not sure about him. Is he a dick? Ed, is your friend a dick?' she asks him forthrightly.

‘He's a very nice person. I've known him for a while,' Ed says, defending him. ‘Is it an age thing?' he asks me plainly.

Mia elbows him sharply in the ribs. ‘Rudeness. Zoe's in her early forties. She's in her prime. One of the best racks in the staff room,' she says, almost as if she's seen my bare breasts and can pass comment. I blush. They only look decent because I wear a bra, Mia. ‘I wouldn't blame Jack for fancying you. I fancy you,' she says, blowing me a kiss.

Beth looks supremely confused. ‘Oh. So we're saying Jack may fancy you? I mean… of course… but you don't want to go there?'

I try to ensure my intense confusion doesn't show in my face. ‘God, no. I don't think I'm ready for… that… him… all of it…'

Beth smiles warmly at my confusion. ‘Or… you know? He's young, you're freshly single. Maybe you just have a rebound fling to do some healing? Apologies, Ed. I am sure your friend has feelings and I'm not saying use him, but if he's flirting, flirt back a little? Have some fun, Zoe. You deserve that more than anyone I know.'

I laugh under my breath at the idea that this is even an option. This whole conversation has got out of hand. I just wanted to check in on emoji meanings. From the sounds of it, this man likes to shag on kitchen counters, and I don't think mine are stable enough for such action. ‘You are all hilarious, but I will find my fun elsewhere, thank you.'

‘Like another teacher?' Mia says. ‘I hear Vivaan from Chemistry is on Tinder.'

‘He also wears a bum bag, Mia,' I tell her.

‘Handy for condoms and such,' she retorts, and we all sit there giggling. Even Ed. This is all I need for now. This is fun. This sort of conversation that's removed from all of my sadness, from my crapbag ex-husband, that means I laugh, loudly, in a way I didn't think possible.

‘Look, I don't think Jack and I are a feasible option. It's just he was also there when it all happened, when I first found out about Brian, so it's been nice to know he's an ally.'

All three of them sit there squinting their eyes, like they're trying to work out this very complicated plot twist.

‘He was there? How?' Beth asks.

‘At the wedding. I got a call from Lottie during the reception and it all unravelled and he just happened to be there and called me an Uber and made sure I got home safely.'

Mia and Ed look absolutely devastated. ‘You found out your marriage was over at our wedding?' Mia asks me.

I nod, suddenly sad that I've divulged that news to them. However, before she has the chance to dig further for information, we suddenly hear a lot of shouting from the corridor beyond the staff room doors. Everyone in the room freezes, wondering who might take this on. I mean, we all have sandwiches to eat. Ed and Mia look to each other, then rise to their feet, swinging the doors open to see a group of boys running in one direction.

‘OI!' Mia screams after them. The boys don't stop. They exit the staff room and Beth and I look at each other. She looks down at her well-earned chips and I notice the way her body sinks into the sofa.

‘I'll rock, paper, scissors you for it,' she says, but I get up. ‘This one's on me,' I say, stealing one of her chips. I head out the doors watching as Mia and Ed try to cut off a group of boys at the top of the corridor. I would put a fiver on who at least three of those boys are, such is the joy of this school. To be fair, the majority of the kids are great. They keep their heads down, they know the value and privilege of education. It's a small sliver of dicks who spoil it for everyone else. The one thing I've learnt, though: don't waste your energy running after them. I descend a staircase trying to listen out for voices and footsteps. The boys' toilets. They like to assemble in there. They like to vape in there which is why we had to have a fire drill last week in the rain. I head towards the door and hear voices inside. I can't go in there. Do I knock? But before I do, the door opens. Jack. He looks me in the eye, mildly surprised to see me standing there, and smiles broadly.

‘Mr Damon…' I suddenly feel a bit more relaxed, but I hope his ears aren't burning. I know where you've had sex. I need to act normal. ‘That's a fetching hi-vis vest you're wearing,' I say, pointing at him. Four boys filter out of the toilet and past us, mumbling ‘Sir,' and ‘Miss' as they escape. He salutes all of them before turning his attention back to me.

‘I didn't know how much power the hi-vis gives me. I may just wear this all the time now.'

‘Just a hi-vis?' That was the wrong thing to say, and an image floods my mind. That image shouldn't be there.

He smiles and raises an eyebrow. ‘Well, I do believe that's not in the staff dress code, Mrs Swift. It would cause quite the stir. How are you anyway? I haven't seen you for a while. All good?'

I nod, not knowing whether to bring up the chicken emoji. ‘All good. How is lunch duty? I see they've roped you in for the fun stuff.' I reach over to him and pick off what looks like a piece of lettuce from his shoulder. I shouldn't touch him, but I can't just leave that there.

‘You have a warped idea of what is fun. There were salad wars, lettuce was thrown. Is there any more iceberg in my hair?' he asks. I scan along his hairline until my gaze lands on his eyes again, and a small scar above his eyebrow.

‘Just a bit of frisée,' I tell him, picking something off above his ear. ‘The type of lettuce, I mean – you have zero frizz in case that was a concern.' He finds that unusually funny and I feel the need to mute his response. ‘I've just found out something about you actually.'

He cocks his head to the side. ‘I expect that is Ed telling you university stories. Don't believe any of them.'

You had sex on a kitchen counter. We start ascending the stairs towards the staff room. ‘Something about a cat. The one who gave you that scar on your eyebrow.'

‘That scar was from a really tough street fight in which I stopped an old lady from being mugged.'

I raise an eyebrow at him.

‘Damn Ed, ruining my street cred. It was a feral kitten I saved from a skip. His name was Sushi because he was ginger with little white paws.'

‘That's kind of adorable.'

‘I know,' he says, a broad grin creeping across his face, his hands adjusting his hi-vis.

‘I was talking about the cat's name, not you.' He laughs loudly and I think this is what I like about Jack. It's not quite flirting, but it just flows so very well. I like the thin veil of innuendo in our conversation which entertains me even though I know it won't go anywhere. We stop in a stairwell that overlooks a playground and watch groups of kids huddled in the mid-autumn air, nibbling on sandwiches, gazing at phones, trading in banter and play fights.

Jack turns to me, looking like he might be taking a long breath. ‘Anyway, while I have you here. I just want to say that if ever you need a peri-peri friend again, I quite enjoyed our chicken date last week.'

‘It wasn't a date,' I say, almost reprimanding him. ‘It was company. And while I have you here, I liked the chicken emoji, by the way. Keeping it classy.'

At least I've handled the chicken-sized elephant in the room. It's dealt with, we can move on. I've drawn a line under what I think about the foundations of this acquaintance.

‘It's because we had Nando's – the chicken,' he replies.

‘The cock,' I whisper, for some reason looking down at his crotch in case he didn't get the message. I shouldn't have looked down.

‘OH my GOD…!' he shouts and two girls at the other end of the corridor turn around. ‘I just sent a very innocent chicken. You thought I was sending you a…?'

It's my turn to go bright beetroot now.

‘Oh dear, it's just… I shouldn't have raised it. The cock…'

‘You shouldn't have raised my cock?' he laughs.

And for some unknown reason, I push him. I cup my hands to my mouth. ‘I shouldn't have pushed you. Oh, my days, stop saying cock!'

‘You said it first!' he says, bent over laughing. I am lucky the corridor is clear and those two girls have moved on. ‘So that's why you didn't reply?'

‘I didn't know what to do with it.'

‘The c?—'

I put a hand up before he has the chance to say the word again and turn this into innuendo. ‘I was embarrassed because I didn't know how to respond. I didn't understand what you were hinting at and, deep down, I really didn't know if perhaps this was some sort of pity flirting.'

Jack steps back for a moment in shock, his expression changing. ‘Seriously? No, it's not like that at all. I think you're kind of…'

I put a hand to the air. ‘Sad and damaged? I know.'

His brow stays furrowed. I mean, there is truth in that. Have Ed, Mia and to some extent Beth put you up to this? Just go and flirt with the sad old divorcee, boost her self-esteem, make her feel happy for a short moment. Because I don't really understand otherwise why you, a handsome and obviously intelligent young man would be here, talking to me, making me laugh. Why would you want to enter my sad, complicated life? Why would you want to be another complication?

‘Zoe…' he says, brushing against my arm, but I back away.

He looks up at me, confused.

Why does he say my name like that? For a moment I look into his blue eyes and feel petrified at how it makes me feel.

‘THIS WAY!' a teen male voice suddenly roars, and the moment is interrupted by a stampede of boys running towards us.

‘Keep up, Mr and Mrs Rogers!' one of them screams, his bag hanging off his shoulders.

‘BOYS!' I yell but this does not deter them.

I spy Mia and Ed not too far behind at the end of the corridor. When they reach us, Mia stops to put her hands to her knees. Ed stands next to his wife to support her.

‘This is why I go running,' Ed tells her.

‘I'm seriously going to yack,' she says, turning to us. ‘Some help, guys. I can't even…'

And one last look and smile before Jack heads off to join in with the running.

I'm not going to run, obviously. But I really don't think I should be looking at Jack's arse as he runs away from me, should I? Who the hell am I?

Jack

‘Well, Mr Damon. I'm pretty sure this is the best turnout we've ever had for homework club,' Drew, the head of maths, tells me, looking at the half-full classroom in front of me. ‘Well done, everyone.'

I know Drew teaches maths so it shouldn't be hard to figure out that the room is eighty percent girls and I have a feeling that the reason half of them are here, not to toot my own horn, is to come and check out the new male teacher. For the past forty-five minutes, I've seen little homework – they've mainly been using this computer room to check their social media, look on YouTube and barrage me with questions. I have a feeling I may also have been part of a series of Snapchat fan-cams. If they have posted them, I hope they've used the right filters.

‘So where do you live, Sir?' a girl asks me.

‘Did you want a specific address? Maybe a whatthreewords to my front door?' I say, sarcastically. This is apparently funny. ‘I live in London.'

‘Boring!' the girl answers. According to the register, this girl's name is Hayley and I have no idea how she's keeping her eyes open as her upper lids are weighed down with fake lashes. As with the majority of girls in the school, her school skirt is rolled up so it resembles more of a belt and on the desk is what I thought was a pencil case. It's not. It's a make-up bag filled to the brim. I've been around women. I know how much Gucci lip oil costs. Yet even just to have those thoughts run through my mind makes me realise how I've made the leap into judgemental adulthood in just one week of being here. Because, in reality, being in this school has really rehashed many unpleasant memories of what it was to be a teen: learning how to live in new skin bubbling with acne; raging with hormones; covered in a light mist of grease and Lynx Africa. Trying to work out a style, what you like, what you don't. Being asked to choose subjects that determine the rest of your life, hoping you get things right, most of the time getting it wrong. And for once, I feel infinite amounts of empathy for all these kids. I want to shout clichéd mantras at them about ‘powering through' and ‘you got this' without sounding condescending, without sounding like the enemy.

‘Sir… is this right? I don't know if this is right? Could you check this is correct?' a voice suddenly says.

It's a mixed bag in here today. There are the Year Elevens, here out of curiosity, but also some of the new Year Sevens who I suspect are actually here to do some homework. I head over to the front desk where this little one is sitting. Her pens are labelled, and her school jumper is possibly two sizes too big. This is someone here to do some work and make me feel like I'm earning my overtime. I peer over at her book, the date and title underlined.

‘I'm no geography expert but that looks good, like it may make sense. Hayley, do you do Geography? Maybe you could help…' I point to the keen bean, Year Seven.

‘Bonnie, Sir.'

‘Could you double check this…?' Instead of sitting there chatting about nails. Maybe this is how I make this crowd work for me.

Hayley moves over and Bonnie's body tenses, looking absolutely petrified. ‘Yeah, that's good, Bonnie. I like your highlighters,' she says, peering over her desk.

‘They smell fruity,' she says, still scared.

‘Really? Can I?'

Bonnie smiles and just like that I've given Hayley a small little friend she can adopt for her last year here. I'm all about building student relationships. I hear a camera phone click and turn to see three Year Nine girls giggling. Do I pose? Do I confiscate the phones?

‘It was Isla, Vee and Polly,' a boy says at the back, slightly older from the looks of it. Here to do homework by the appearance of the books out in front of him.

‘SNITCH!' one of them screams.

He sticks a middle finger up at them and I try to get in between them so it doesn't break down into a full-on fight.

‘Girls, I don't appreciate it. Phones away, please. Thank you for looking out for me…' I wait for him to give me his name.

‘Gabe.'

‘How's the homework going, Gabe?' The lad looks up at me cautiously. I can't quite figure him out. The black trainers in place of school shoes tell me there's rebel in him but the majority of rebels wouldn't give the time and care to do their homework. I look down and see it's maths. ‘Who's your teacher?'

‘Mrs Swift.'

I can't help but smile to hear her name but think back to that conversation I had with her earlier, during lunch break. It was sad to hear all that self-deprecation, to hear her feel like any attention I'd given her was forced or born out of pity. I'd text her to tell her differently, but I know she's scared of my texts now. That'll teach me to text in emojis.

‘What do you think of Mrs Swift?'

‘Best teacher in this dump,' Gabe answers without hesitation.

‘Mate, I'm literally stood right here in front of you,' I joke.

This makes Gabe crack a smile and he sits up, shoulders back, leaning back in his chair to look me up and down. ‘Well, I don't know you, do I?'

‘You may be right, though. I've met Mrs Swift, she seems nice.'

‘She's not up her own arse, you know what I mean? She wants us to do well. She gets to know us. I respect that.'

I nod, wishing Zoe was here to listen to this appraisal. ‘Well, keep it up. I'll tell her you were singing her praises.'

‘Just don't make me look like a suck up, yeah?'

I laugh. ‘I'll try.' I look up at the clock. 4pm. My hour of goodwill but decent overtime pay is done. ‘Well, everyone, our time is up here. If you are planning on coming again when I'm hosting, I beg you to actually do homework. You can do Snapchat and attend to your make-up needs at home.' The girls roll their eyes at me, but I hear the scrape of chairs as they all gather their giant puffa coats and bags and head for the door. ‘Have a good evening, everyone.'

‘You too, Sir.'

‘Bye, Sir.'

‘Love you, Sir.'

I don't know who said the third one, but it wasn't Gabe. Does it feel nice to have amassed a small fan club in my short time here? Yes, but it's also petrifying as I've just done my safeguarding courses. I'll have to go home and look at my online presence. I went on Tinder once. I need to check I'm not there anymore. I also should possibly delete any incriminating photos from drunken lads' holidays in my late teens in Ibiza. I go around the room picking remnants of pens and bits of torn-up paper off the floor to see Gabe still lingering at the back of the room.

‘You alright, Gabe?' I say. He helps me rearrange some chairs, studying me closely.

‘So, are you like a real teacher?' he asks me.

‘Well, not really. I'm just cover. I went to university with Mr Rogers in biology. That's how I heard about this job.'

‘He's a g.'

‘He is.'

And then a moment. It feels like he wants to tell me something, but he can't. It's possibly because we've just met and he barely knows me, but experience tells me that sometimes it's easier to share secrets with people you hardly know.

‘You good, Gabe? How you getting home?'

He lugs a sports bag alongside his school rucksack. ‘Got to get the bus to football, innit?'

This might be my in. ‘Where do you play?'

‘Club or position?'

‘Both.'

‘Hampton and Richmond for their academy. I'm a centre back.'

‘I thought you had a Van Dijk quality to you…'

I see this boy relaxing as he laughs, snapping his fingers at me. ‘Wash your mouth out, man. You're in London. The quality is all Reece James.'

I shake my head. ‘Well, now you've let me know you're a Chelsea fan and I am frankly disappointed.'

He smirks at me. ‘And who do you support, Sir?'

‘Brentford.'

And he laughs. Hard. ‘You poor thing. Night, Sir. I'll say a prayer for you.'

I laugh, saluting him, and ensuring I've left the room in good order before gathering my coat and bag and turning off the lights. Did I bond with him, or did I possibly shame myself in front of a fifteen-year-old? Who knows? As I head down the corridor, the place almost feels ghostly; the animated bones of this school, usually full of life, are still and quiet, almost calm. I go down the stairwell and notice one classroom where something seems to be happening. I head down there to have a nose. It's not as busy a classroom as mine was, a group of maybe ten students sat there, but I flinch to see the teacher in charge of them all. Zoe. I haven't seen her since lunch and I'm not sure how to continue that conversation. There are definitely things to say, though. I stand at the doorway until she notices me. As she does, her expression changes.

‘Mr Damon, anything we can do for you?' she says, as her students start to pack away their things. I can't read that face. Is she angry with me? She seems a bit more serious than usual. She probably thinks I've come to hassle her. I've possibly pushed things too far. At the end of the day, she's a woman who's in relationship turmoil and I've maybe been too flirty, too full-on. Though, hand on heart, I really did think I was sending her a chicken.

‘Oh, I was just in homework club, and I noticed a light on. Hello, Mrs Swift,' I say, putting a hand up to acknowledge the children in the room. I lean against the doorframe, satchel hanging by my side.

‘Were you looking to join STEM club, too, Sir?' asks a boy at the front.

‘Is there space?' I joke.

This seems to soften Zoe's expression. ‘There is, but unfortunately you've joined us a little too late. We were just about to pack up. Guys, you were awesome – please remember to sign up to our STEM trip to Winchester in November. Letters went out today. There's a Rubik's Cube competition involved.' I'm not sure why because I can't do a Rubik's cube, but I put my hands up in the air to show that I think that's truly exciting. Zoe and all the children look at me curiously. ‘I will see you next week. Please can you put all the equipment away before you go, and have a really lovely evening.'

This wasn't like my homework crowd. This is a lovely younger attentive group who do as they're told. Not a phone or giggle in sight. They all gather their things.

‘Didn't I have you for Tech today?' asks one boy as he comes to the door. Possibly but they've put many kids in front of me this week and I couldn't recognise half of them in a line-up. They all have the same haircuts, bags and they're all either called variations of Jayden, Emily or Harry. ‘Yes, you did very well.'

‘Was he a good teacher?' pipes in Zoe.

Please don't tell her I couldn't control the boys in the back who didn't do any work and it took me five minutes to make the PowerPoint work.

‘He was alright,' he says, fist bumping me before running off. I will take that as validation.

I see Zoe laughing to herself as the rest of the kids politely take their leave. I stand there, hovering by the door as she gathers worksheets and puts things away.

‘You're still here, Mr Damon,' she says as I dare to step into her classroom. I may as well make myself useful. I head over, handing her some pens and mini whiteboards. There's something warm and lived in about her classroom. I like how she covers the pockmarked walls with pictures of isosceles triangles and maths words like OBTUSE. I paw over some handwritten thank you notes on her noticeboard from past students, ones who write long notes and draw lots of hearts and kisses.

‘I don't mind helping you tidy up. So, this is STEM club?'

‘It is. Seriously, if you wanted to sign up, there is space. There is always space,' she laughs. She blows her hair out of her face and reaches up to her forehead to find her glasses. ‘Those two boys sat at the back. One of them can't speak a word of English. He has no clue what I'm saying and just claps a lot. The other I think just sits here waiting on a lift. Talented doodler, though.'

‘It's a nice extracurricular club to have. You could have someone in here who ends up working for NASA as an engineer and it'll all be because of your STEM club.' She chuckles heartily at this, shaking her head. ‘They all seem to like you anyway. There was a boy in homework club who was very complimentary about you, by the way.'

‘Name?' she asks.

‘Gabe?'

She smiles. ‘Well, that's a pleasant surprise then. Nice lad.' She watches as I continue to help tidy her classroom, lingering when maybe I shouldn't. ‘You don't have to do that, you know.'

‘I do. It's helpful. You can get achievement points for that.'

‘You know teachers don't get those.'

‘We don't?'

She laughs and I watch as she shakes out her curls and puts her coat on. ‘Well, thank you, nevertheless. Don't let me keep you from your evening.'

I don't know whether that's code for her telling me to get lost, but I stay, my hands in my pockets, unable to go or do anything but watch her packing up. ‘Let me at least walk you to your car safely?'

She stares at me hesitantly, but I get a smile. ‘Christ, the school isn't that bad. But OK then.' She walks towards me and turns off the lights to the room, hiding herself in her scarf. Do I bring up the cock/chicken thing again? Do I continue that conversation or pretend it never happened? For once, it suddenly feels awkward between us and even though I barely know her, it's never been like this. We walk out of the maths block, and I hold a door open for her as we walk across the quiet empty courtyard.

‘So, how are you getting on… one week in? Have the children scared you off yet?' she asks me.

‘Quite the contrary, actually. I've met some lively ones, don't get me wrong, but it's quite an eye opener. We never caught up with those boys, by the way.'

‘Oh, they're too smart for that,' she explains.

‘Would it be bad if I told you that I was one of those boys at school?'

She laughs. ‘No, I can imagine that. Did you smoke in the toilets then?'

‘No, I smoked in the park, behind a bush like everyone else. Were you STEM club material then?'

She looks affronted. ‘I was. I had braces and I loved maths. I was a good girl.'

‘Really?' I say.

She stops before she replies, hesitant to have this descend into innuendo again. ‘Feels like a lifetime ago, though. I'm at some strange juncture now where platform heels and Nirvana t-shirts are making a comeback. Hard to have your school years referred to as vintage,' she explains.

‘You focus a lot on your age,' I say, almost telling her off.

‘Says the person who didn't get my Nirvana joke…'

‘I know who Nirvana are. Seminal grunge and why Dave Grohl is the man he is today. I'm just saying you're not that old. If we'd just met, I'd say you were in your thirties.'

‘Well then, I'll take that. My moisturiser thanks you,' she replies, almost gulping to have to absorb a compliment.

‘Plans this evening?' I reply.

‘Same old, same old. Kids, pasta and multiple cups of tea will feature, possibly some lesson planning and replying to emails. You?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Oh, to be young.'

‘There you go again,' I tell her, my tone changing to tease her.

She narrows her eyes and gives me a look. ‘Jack, I don't think you realise you have all the youth, none of the responsibility. You could do anything you want tonight. You could go clubbing, take in a film, eat a kebab on a bench without fear or judgement.'

‘So could you,' I tell her.

She scoffs at the suggestion. ‘The most exciting thing I might do tonight is to buy some chocolate at the petrol station when I fill up my car. I have a very boring and sad life,' she jokes.

‘You need to stop saying things like that, you know,' I retort, frowning at her. For some reason, she laughs away my attempts at telling her off.

She reaches into her bag to get her car keys. ‘Well, it is the truth. Ed and Mia's wedding and my Nando's with you were kind of the highlights of my social calendar. As we head into autumn, I'll start to hibernate like a small bear. My social life will mainly be pyjamas… and before you ask, not matching sexy pyjamas.'

‘Who wears matching sexy pyjamas?' I ask, trying to contain my laughter. ‘I don't.'

‘People. I see them in films. Kardashians. I bet none of them wear sheep print pyjama bottoms with an old hoodie and big fluffy slipper socks.'

I stop in my tracks. ‘No way, I was going to wear exactly that same outfit when I got home,' I tell her cheekily.

And she laughs, punching me on the arm again like when she pushed me before, bemused that this conversation is happening. I need to tell her I don't mind doing this, to chat, to just be by her side and get to know her better.

‘Are you OK, Zoe?' I ask her, still dawdling next to her as we walk across the decrepit school tennis court.

She looks over at me. There is something there. From having seen this since the very beginning, it makes me feel she isn't. I saw a light go out almost straight away when she found out the news. I look into her eyes, imploring her to tell me.

‘I don't know… I feel very lost,' she tells me, her breath shuddering as she exhales.

‘Understandable. Can I just say something? It was based on something you said before.'

‘Shoot,' she says. We both are still mid-amble – moving from tennis court to the low-lit corners of the bike sheds and school car park.

‘I just… I wanted to say… Before, you said that I was talking to you because I felt sorry for you, and I just wanted to say that's not the reason at all. I wanted to clear that up.'

‘Oh…' I see a blush rise in her cheeks. ‘Well, that's…' I stop by the bike sheds and get out a key, starting to unlock my bike. ‘Hold up, you ride a bike to school?'

I look up at her. ‘I feel judged. I can't afford a car in London plus it's very eco-friendly of me.'

‘It's an honourable and fine way to travel.'

‘It's a second-hand mountain bike, Zoe – it's not a horse.'

She cackles in reply. How would I park a horse here all day?

‘Where's your helmet?' she enquires.

‘And we're back on the helmet talk again…'

She laughs again, tipping her head back because it would seem that's what we do. We engage in back and forth that flows so very nicely, I make her forget, we find each other funny.

I stop for a moment to watch her. ‘You like a swerve, don't you?' I tell her, smiling.

‘Excuse me?'

‘I find when I try to say something nice, you change the subject or downplay the compliment.' It hasn't gone unnoticed. And the fact she can't see what makes her so lovely is really starting to make me ache. No one should feel that lost.

She furrows her brow for a moment. ‘I guess I…'

‘I just need to say something, Zoe… I talk to you because I like you.' And I don't know why but she starts laughing again. I'm not sure that was funny. Was it? It's not a joke. And a look – one we both can't quite shake. ‘You make these jokes about being old and boring but you're not. The Zoe I met was charming and interesting and I didn't see an age, I saw a person who made someone she'd just met feel completely at ease. And even when you were at your most hurt, you still exuded warmth, your empathy just shines through…'

She stands there, and I am not sure how she feels or whether she wants to reciprocate but I hope she's taking it all in. I see some emotion in her expression that makes me think she hasn't felt that way about herself for a long time, something thawing.

‘I apologise if that made you feel uncomfortable. That wasn't my intention, but I just wanted you to know that…'

‘I… I…'

I've mucked this up. I'll probably get fired for harassment. At least thank me or tell me I'm funny. Instead, she fumbles and drops her keys. We both bend down as I help her to retrieve them and our hands meet, both of us pausing for a moment at the brief contact. As we stand up again, our security lanyards entwine themselves around each other and I reach down trying to disentangle ourselves, both of us giggling. Her hands go to mine, and I can see her eyes searching for answers until they land on me. And she reaches towards me in the dim lights next to the bike sheds, her lips meeting mine. I kiss her back, reaching inside her coat, my hands reaching around to the small of her back, pulling her in close to me.