I had grown up and Adam hadn’t. Or perhaps we had just grown apart. Perhaps that was what happened when people got together in their early twenties. I had no idea at that age that one day I would enjoy meandering around art galleries, visiting stately homes. Longing for a garden I could landscape rather than the small, square box we had. I had no idea that Adam wouldn’t have developed any different interests to the ones he had when we met. Sport. Dreaming of all the places he had always wanted to visit but never had. Perhaps now never would. It had appeared incredibly romantic, him putting our relationship before his own ambition, but now I wondered if we were an all-too-convenient excuse for staying. Easier. Adam had never been good at arranging things.
That wasn’t quite true. On our first Valentine’s day he had a star named after me – I had laughed that he had called it Star – and that night we’d trudged up the hill, wellington-booted and huddled under layers, and he’d showed me, through a borrowed telescope, my gift.
‘How will I know which is mine?’ I had asked.
‘Because you always shine brighter than the rest.’
Was it wrong to have wanted life to continue like that, to have expected it? I knew it wasn’t about big romantic gestures, it was about the small things. But Adam didn’t seem to bother with those anymore either. His list of things to do pinned to the fridge had grown so long I had screwed it up and thrown it away in frustration, unable to bear looking at it anymore.
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.
The pub was quiet. I couldn’t help glancing around while Ross ordered at the bar, afraid I might see somebody I know. Guilt pulsed that I was doing something wrong, although strictly speaking I wasn’t. But over our lunches we had stopped talking about work and begun to talk about ourselves; we weren’t just colleagues now but something else. Friends? I was kidding myself. It was a slippery slope I was skidding down.
‘What shall we drink to?’ Ross poured from a bottle of Merlot.
‘Surviving another day?’ I raised my glass.
Ross laughed. ‘Yes, you know what they say about teaching?’
‘What?’
‘It would be a perfect job if it weren’t for the bloody kids.’
I scanned the menu, playing it cool. ‘Do you want them? Kids?’ I knew he didn’t have any.
‘God, no. I don’t. I think we see the best of them – the ambition, the curiosity – but we also see the worst too. I feel privileged to help shape futures but when I go home, I want to switch off. Is that horribly selfish?’
It was horribly alluring but I didn’t tell him that. Imagine being with somebody who didn’t want a child. I wouldn’t have to feel guilty then. I drained my glass and held it out for a refill. ‘We’re all entitled to be a little selfish sometimes, aren’t we? Not everyone wants a family.’
‘How about you, Anna?’ He paused until I met his gaze. ‘What do you want?’
It was a loaded question.
‘I… I don’t know.’
‘Are you coming to the conference in Derbyshire next week?’
‘I haven’t spoken to Adam about it yet.’
‘You don’t need his permission, do you? It’s an education seminar. Work, Anna.’ But we both knew it was more than that. There was an undeniable attraction between us. An attraction that meant two nights away in a country hotel was a terrible idea. The conference was for head teachers, deputies. Not for staff at my level. He wanted me there because he wanted me and, if I’m honest, I wanted him but…
‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea.’ I had told myself it was a line I wouldn’t cross but since he had asked me two weeks ago, I had shopped for new clothes. New underwear. Revelling in the what-might-be.
‘It could be good for you. Us.’ Ross placed his hand on mine. It was too heavy. Too hot. Too everything that wasn’t Adam, but I didn’t move it. Knowing that even if I did, I would still feel it there.
‘Anna,’ he whispered. ‘Anna. Why are you so unhappy?’
I found myself opening up to him. Not about my infertility or about Adam – that would have seemed disloyal – but the about the pressure I felt to look out for Mum since Dad died. To live up to Dad’s legacy as a head teacher. The worry that my nan was becoming more and more forgetful. He listened. The way Adam used to. The way he did in Alircia on the beach.
Ross wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘This was supposed to be fun.’
‘I know! Fuck me, it’s the last time I ask you out. It’s old Maude the dinner lady next time. She looks like a riot.’
I laughed and that was something that didn’t happen frequently.
‘I’d better go.’ I stood and looped my handbag over my shoulder.
‘Stay for another?’ He waved the bottle. It was dangerous. I should go home. ‘I can’t drink it, I’m driving. It would go to waste otherwise.’
‘Okay.’ While Ross went to the loo, I rattled off a text to Adam, telling him there was a staff meeting after work. I had almost convinced myself it was true until Ross sat down again, not in the chair opposite me this time, but next to me. His thigh pressing against mine.