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We all need that image removed from our heads, immediately. Jackie shakes her head. ‘Because we all wanted to know that, love,’ she says, burning with embarrassment.

‘You love it, it’s romance, all that intimacy,’ he says, winking at her.

‘Romance is flowers, chocolates, you buffoon,’ she says, blowing him a kiss.

I smile at both of them, headed over to grab another drink, taking two tins and walking over to Suzie.

I can do that now. I think. There have been times in the last few weeks when I would see her in the staffroom and walk away, going to sit in my car during lunch sometimes to avoid bumping into her.

I was confused, embarrassed. But what just happened in that hostel room?

It was Mallorca again. It was balancing on the edge of that bed and watching her legs straighten as she came, her body giving in to the moment, beads of sweat resting in her decolletage.

It was so incredibly intense. After that happened, there was another knock on the door.

We had to go through the fire drills, so we redressed, splashed water on our faces and tried to look like we hadn’t had the most ridiculous orgasms within ten minutes of stepping into this place.

After that, we headed out almost immediately, surrounded by teens; the only eye contact we had was over Christopher Columbus’ grave.

None of the kids knew who he was, which is fine because history is not my department, but Suzie knew, I knew.

We both knew. And maybe the most ridiculous thing is that all this tension has been built without even touching each other.

It feels like lightning in a bottle, electric – if I were to touch her, I’d implode.

Or to put it simply, my cojones would not cope.

‘Un coca para la senora?’ I ask as I approach her, sitting on a white stool surrounded by all the students .

One of the boys giggles because he is a child and I give him a look as I thought I was being quite smooth. ‘You thought I was offering Miss something else?’ I ask him.

‘Nah, Sir. I heard Coca-Cola, definitely,’ he jests.

Suzie narrows her eyes at me and takes the drink, putting the cold tin next to her forehead.

The heat here is different to Mallorca. Over there, you have the sea and mountain breezes but in Seville, the air is thick, it’s balmy and it sits there like syrup.

I look over at Suzie’s shoulder, the way the strap of her top rests on her collarbone.

She changed before into a white sundress.

I watched as she stripped and rolled it over her body before posing for me, cheekily.

I lean against the ledge of the roof, still keeping my distance, loving being able to just watch her.

‘There’s a lot of laughter coming from this corner?’ I ask the group.

‘We’ve been filling Miss in on the school gossip. Do you know Miss Swift in maths?’ one of them asks.

‘I think I do, we’re in the same house,’ I say.

‘Well, last year she got it on with one of the cover teachers and he was a bit younger than her, you know. One of the Year 11s reckons he saw them copping off by the bike sheds,’ he continues, eyes wide open.

‘I like stories like this, tell me more!’ Suzie says, her arms propped up on her knees. Don’t look at her knees.

‘Do you know Mr Rogers in science?’ a girl asks.

‘Ed?’ I say. There’s an inhalation of air as I say his real name to the crowd. These kids do think we just live at the school and have no identity, don’t they?

‘Well, before Ed married Miss Johnson…’ they all look at me expectantly to reveal her name.

‘Her name is Mia,’ Suzie interjects.

‘Ed was with some maths teacher who did the dirty on him. Now she’s at another school and we heard she got fired for having an online sex sesh with someone’s dad when she was supposed to be doing a parents’ evening,’ this boy speaks at about seventy miles per hour and Suzie and I laugh to hear him so enthused by all the hearsay.

‘So what’s your goss?’ a voice pipes in. It’s Lola who seems to be in her element now her clothes don’t look so out of place. ‘You’re both super new, I bet you both have stories.’

I glance over at Suzie. I don’t think those stories are suitable for this young audience.

‘Ooh, two truths and a lie!’ one kid suggests.

‘You what now?’ I ask.

‘You give us three things about yourself, two of them are true and one is a lie and then we have to guess which one’s the lie,’ he says, rubbing his hands.

There’s a group of about six to seven kids here, all waiting. Suzie laughs and looks over at me. ‘Well, I am twenty-six. I’m an Aquarius and I learned to speak French from my childhood friend who happens to be Timothée Chalamet,’ she says, earnestly. The children all roll their eyes and giggle.

‘I think the idea is that the lie is marginally believable…’ I tell her. She laughs, tilting back her head.

‘Well, I am twenty-eight, I once fractured my wrist in two places after an incident with a mechanical bull. I have a brother called Maximus.’

The children all sit there, trying to work it out. ‘Why were you on a mechanical bull, Sir?’ someone asks. ‘Like one of them bucking bronco things?’

‘Yes.’

‘But why? Are you a cowboy?’

‘Yes. But I gave up the Wild West to come to London and teach you neeks Spanish.’

They all laugh whilst Suzie looks at me, trying to work it all out. ‘It’s the Maximus thing, I reckon,’ she guesses .

I shake my head. ‘I’m twenty-seven. My dad was a big fan of the film Gladiator . We just call him Max now though.’

She smiles.

‘What Gladiators , like that show where they wear the leotards and have the muscles?’ someone asks. How have we let them all down so badly? Again, not my department. ‘What’s your real name, Sir?’

‘Charlie. And Miss is…’

‘Suzie.’

It’s like we’ve told these kids our passwords.

‘What about a middle name?’

I smile. ‘It’s also a bit random. It’s Rafe. But spelt like Ralph.’

‘Like the boy from Lord of the Flies ?’ a lad asks. English department representing well here.

‘Yes but no. On their first date, my parents went to see a film called The English Patient and they named me after one of the actors in that film.’

Suzie stops for a moment when I say that out loud, and I wonder if she’s thinking back to what she said on the airplane. That was a coincidence, right? She looks over at me, smiling.

‘Are you both single then?’ Lola asks.

‘That’s a very personal question, Lola,’ I reply.

‘?Estás casado, senor?’ she asks again. I now feel obliged to answer because she has asked me in Spanish.

‘Sí,’ I watch Suzie stop for a minute. ‘Mi esposa es Camilla Cabello,’ I answer.

They all moan. ‘You all laughed when Miss said Timothée Chalamet taught her French.’ I see Suzie smiling, taking another sip of her drink.

‘Anyways, enough about us because I think we should all be asking Lola how it’s going with Josh. ’

That corner of the rooftop all cheer teasingly, pushing Lola’s shoulders. I hate to shift the focus on to her but I need to avoid the awkwardness of talking about marriage and relationships with Suzie in the vicinity .

‘Sir, that’s a very personal question,’ Lola says. ‘I can’t believe you.’

‘I know Josh,’ Suzie adds. ‘I teach him French. He’s lovely. Are you two a thing? How long has it been going on?’

‘We’ve been talking for about three months.’

‘That’s quite a long time,’ I add. ‘Do you really like him?’

‘This is the thing, Sir,’ a girl interrupts. ‘They only talk on Snapchat. They’ve never actually spoken in real life.’

Suzie and I look at each other, smiling. ‘So what do you do when you bump into each other at school?’

‘I say nothing. He says nothing,’ she replies.

‘They’re too nervous, Miss,’ someone interrupts.

‘I’m not nervous. It’s just that it works nice on Snapchat, that’s all.’

‘And when we say chatting,’ I enquire. ‘It’s all PG, yeah…above board?’ I ask, putting my safeguarding hat on.

‘Oh yeah,’ Lola replies. ‘My parents would kill me otherwise, we talk about school and what we might do at college, gossip and swap memes. He’s well funny.’

A boy in the group scrunches up his face in disgust but Suzie and I smile at the sweetness of it all, we know what teen relationships can look like and how they can be rushed.

God, we know rushed, but here’s something where two people are taking their time and getting to know each other and these are the foundations every relationship should really be built on.

‘So why don’t you talk to him? You could call him now?’ Suzie suggests.

‘NO!’ Lola says. ‘Not with you spoons standing around.’

‘Or maybe go on a date?’ I tell her. ‘Go for coffee? Maybe go for a walk?’

The young people look at me strangely. You guys still date, no? Or do you just snap and do interpretative TikTok dances for each other?

‘That sounds like a perfect date…’ Suzie interrupts .

‘Or…’ Lola says. ‘You can all leave us alone. It will happen. I just…I’m scared.’

‘Of….?’

‘That he won’t like me when he gets to know the real me. What if I’m better on text? What if he thinks I’m an idiot? I’d have to be close to him, actually touch his hand. I don’t know how to do that.’

Suzie and I look at each other, smiling knowingly. ‘Then maybe you just take a chance. Be brave, go for it, right?’ Suzie looks her in the eye, holding her drink aloft so Lola can clink it against hers.

‘Maybe,’ she says. ‘Miss…you never told us if you were married?’ Lola asks.

She hesitates then searches for my face, still learning against that ledge, the city landscape still behind me and the warmth of the evening sun on my back.

Before she can answer, the conversation is suddenly interrupted by someone putting a Bluetooth speaker on.

This feels like one of the songs Brooke blasts out in the kitchen when she’s making a mess.

It might be Charli XCX but I won’t say that aloud in case the kids crucify me.

Yet I’m grateful it has some sort of beat.

‘Everyone,’ Lee shouts out. ‘Other people are also staying in this hostel. Please can we make good choices. Do not repeat some of these lyrics.’

‘But they’re in English, Sir, no one will know what they mean!’

It would be useful if Mark and Jackie also listened to this advice as they get up and start swaying.

I marvel at how they’re not even drunk unless they’ve been knocking it back already in their room.

A few of the kids get up and start to dance, shouting out the lyrics, hanging drinks in the air and swaying.

‘Come on Miss, Sir…’ Lola shouts, live streaming it all to someone, somewhere, on her phone .

Suzie comes up and stands next to me on that ledge, leaning back.

She holds her face up to count some of the stars peeking through then looks at me.

I think we’re supposed to be stopping this from getting out of control but it’s hard to resist the memory they’re creating on this rooftop drenched in sunshine that will stay with them forever.

We normally don’t see our teenagers so joyful.

‘Do you want to dance?’ I ask her.

She laughs. ‘The children would talk.’

‘I’m not talking slow dancing, tango style…’

‘Oh, you’re going to do a flamenco for us, are you?’ she jokes.

‘We wouldn’t even have to touch…’

‘That seems to be our thing at the moment,’ she says, grinning. I look down, trying to hold in my laughter.

‘This isn’t really dancing,’ she tells me. We look over at the kids, who are basically jumping with their arms around each other. ‘It’s more…letting go…euphoric dancing,’ she says, laughing to herself.

I give her a look as she shrugs her shoulders and invites me on to that dance space. And I laugh as she starts to jump around, throwing shapes, her hair swinging and backlit by the Sevillian sun. I don’t think she’s a very good dancer. I’m not sure I care.