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She laughs. ‘Look at your face. Your stupidly young face. You know what I’m learning in my more advanced years? The universe throws you these people sometimes at the strangest times. You can watch them sail past and miss out, or you can reach out and catch them.’

The bloody universe again. I stop to look down at my coffee and then gaze up at this mystic woman and all her wisdom. Who sent her? Because do you know who she reminds me of? She reminds me of my mum. The way she speaks with such clarity and heart. It’s a rare and wonderful thing.

‘That’s good advice,’ I tell her. She shrugs her shoulders. ‘You ever want to have a chat, Suzie, about divorce and all its intricacies then you come and see me. I’m in Maths.’ She reaches over and gives me the biggest and warmest of embraces.

‘I’m in French.’

‘Have you got a lot more work to do today?’ she asks, sipping at her mug.

And for a moment, I know exactly what I’m going to do with this day. ‘I’m working on a project of sorts. Just need to go to Art to steal some supplies,’ I tell her.

‘Well then, I never saw you,’ she says, pretending to close her eyes. ‘Just have faith, Suzie. It’ll all come good,’ she tells me.

I really hope so.

Charlie

‘Oi, oi! Mr Shaw!’ a voice yells from across the courtyard.

I look over to find out who is screaming at me this Monday morning and it’s Tyler.

Tyler from the trip, who I saw far too much of in Seville.

I’m glad he bears no embarrassment but allows me to feel that all on his behalf.

I put a hand up to wave to him. I envy the kids who stroll in here without the weight of the world on their shoulders, just a rucksack, a black puffer coat, most likely no pencil case but just a lone biro and the remnants of a calculator, possibly a protractor.

The sun sits low in the sky this morning and I look up, trying to feel some warmth on my face.

I guess wherever you may be, it’s the same sun wherever you go.

I fell in love under that sun but that feeling was short-lived, conflicting.

It’s made for a strange last few days of half term, where I spent a lot of time moping, treating us all to takeaways and playing Call of Duty .

Basically, I morphed into my fifteen- year-old brother.

There was a point where Brooke had to detangle my hair and spray deodorant at me, it got that bad.

Now I’m back at school and I don’t know how I’m going to do this.

I guess I’ll just plaster on a smile and get on with it.

Needs must. Maybe I should go and find her first?

Tell her? I’d rehearsed something but maybe it’s best in an email so I can say everything I need to.

I walk across the courtyard, up the stairs to my department, approaching my room to turn on the lights.

At first, I don’t quite understand where I am.

I assume because it’s so early and I’m not quite up that perhaps I’m in the wrong room, but then I look around and see that all my bunting has been re-hung, my flag sits proudly on the back wall along with a display of all the Spanish islands.

I jump when I turn to my desk as there’s a huge cut-out flamenco lady there.

Her skirt is made up of little balls of red tissue paper.

On my white board are laminated months of the year and days of the week in Spanish, there’s an adjective and opinions wall, grammar tips for all the tenses.

My display of badly hung fans is gone which is a bit of a relief.

The kids were starting to refer to it as my OnlyFans wall.

But as I walk to the back of the room, I see what could be described as a pièce de résistance, a tribute to Spanish football.

Players are cut out and have little speech bubbles coming out of their mouths, with matching club shirts and colours.

I go up to them all and read them, mouthing the words.

I then jump out of my skin. Some guitar music starts up in the background and I look around the room.

Is someone in the room? Playing a guitar?

I hope not. But I realise it’s coming from a speaker under the flamenco lady’s skirt.

I go over to her and see she’s holding a note addressed to Carlos. I open it tentatively.

Hola, Senor Shaw,

Your wonky bunting was haunting my dreams so I thought I would come in and work my magic.

There’s a switch if you want to turn the flamenco music off, it’s on a speaker under Carmen’s skirt – yes, she has a name.

I also named your pens. I’m sorry for the Pedro Almodóvar head in the corner.

He’s a bit scary looking, we might re-think that.

I did this for you because I didn’t know what else to do to make things right.

Because you are an amazing and excellent human being.

All the time we’ve shared recently has felt incredibly special.

You make me feel not only safe but seen, loved, held at a time when I thought I’d never find something like that again.

To say I like you doesn’t feel strong enough.

I feel like we belong, like we could be everything together.

I’m not married anymore. I’m in the process of ridding myself of Paul forever.

I don’t know how you feel about that and I’m sorry I never told you.

I just didn’t want to risk putting out the fire between us – to lose you again like I did in Mallorca.

I didn’t want you to run away when my heart has only just found you.

Mademoiselle Callaghan

I stop in my tracks, almost unable to breathe. Then a knock on the door gets my attention.

‘Sir?’ It’s Lola and, quite interestingly, a young man with her. I smile seeing them together, in the same vicinity.

‘Lola, ?qué tal?’

‘Super bueno,’ she replies. ‘Sir, this is Josh.’

‘Morning, Josh.’

Without him looking, she points at him excitedly. I’ll assume that means they’re talking and there’s a shine in her eyes which tells me this is a good thing. ‘My mum told me to come and give you this. It’s some wine and biscuits to say thank you for taking us on the trip. ’

‘Well, that is super kind. Gracias,’ I say, taking the gift bag from her.

‘What happened in here?’ she says, looking around.

‘Spain exploded, obvs,’ Josh says, gravitating towards the football players at the back of the room.

‘I’ve got some for Miss too, is she in?’ Lola asks.

I pause. I’m almost scared to go and have a look. Not because of the room, the note and the giant flamenco dancer but because of what I need to tell her, what I need to say.

‘Maybe just check her room. If not, leave it on her desk?’ I tell her.

Lola looks at me curiously. ‘You alright, Sir?’

I can’t even begin to answer that. ‘Yeah. Thank you for this, Lola. Really.’

‘De nada,’ she says, posing as she goes, taking Josh by the hand as she leaves the room.

I hear them bound down the corridor and then a few moments later a familiar female voice sounds out, telling them how thoughtful it is and how she loves that particular brand of wine.

As I hear her voice, my pulse races. I close my eyes, envisaging all of it.

Seville, Mallorca and just all those meandering steps that have led us here.

‘Bye, Miss! Au revoir!’ I hear Lola say, as she heads down the stairs.

And then I stand at my desk, waiting, hearing her footsteps in the corridor. Why is my heart beating so fast?

And as soon as I see her, I realise I’ve done something really, really stupid.

‘Morning, Sir,’ she says, waiting to be welcomed in. She’s in a navy midi dress, tights and ankle boots, her dark hair swept back from her face.

‘It’s like a swarm of elves have been in here…’ I tell her.

‘Too much?’ she says, hesitantly stepping into the room.

There’s a silence between us as she looks at me, wondering. I take a deep breath. ‘I need to say something. I…’

‘CHARLIE! SUZIE!’ a voice booms into the room. Before I have the chance to tell her, Lee appears in the doorway with a young man in chinos and a very well pressed checked shirt. ‘How are we all? How was the rest of your half terms? All recovered from Seville, I hope?’

Suzie looks at me, trying to work out the energy, the confusion in my face. ‘So Diego, this is Charlie who you’ll be replacing,’ Lee says, ‘And I mean, look at this room you’ll be moving into, this is so fantastic.’

I see Suzie’s face fall, and she glances between Lee and myself as if she can’t process what he just said. Diego looks at the flamenco dancer then back to me. Now is not the time to tell this person that I did not make that myself.

‘I’m sorry…’ Suzie says breathlessly. ‘Replace?’

‘Oh, did you not say anything yet, Charlie?’ Lee tells me. ‘We’re part of a scheme of schools in South London that take on language apprentices. Diego is going to do some training with us and Charlie is going to help out at another school for a bit.’

‘A bit?’ she says.

‘Just the half term,’ I tell her softly.

‘Oh…’

Lee looks between the two of us, realising that he’s broken the news before I had the chance to explain, that whatever he witnessed in Seville may have come to an abrupt end. ‘Diego…come with me and I’ll show you where we keep the dictionaries.’

He leads him out of the room as Suzie stands there, mute, looking a little lost and overwhelmed. I rub my face with my hands, feeling distraught to see her so upset.

‘Suzie…’ I whisper, watching tears fill her eyes.

She puts a hand up. ‘Don’t. Please. When was this decided?’

‘I knew about the scheme and asked Lee about it in half term,’ I admit, remembering the turmoil I’d been in when that email arrived from her ex at the worst possible time.

I knew that he was lashing out, that what he said wasn’t true.

That he was a wanker. But it also seemed clear that it was all too complicated, that Suzie needed to draw a line under her marriage before we even tried to work out what we had.

We needed space, we needed time, that was what my rational head was thinking.

But seeing her now in front of me, my heart feels very different.

I think my rational head might be a proper idiot.

‘I got an email from Paul,’ I tell her, knowing I need to be straight with her.

‘An email?’ she says, eyebrows raised. ‘Did he…what did he say?’

‘He wasn’t kind about you…He was telling me to steer clear.’

She puts her hands over her face in horror and then laughs under her breath. ‘Did he tell you he cheated on me?’

‘No.’

‘But you believed whatever crap he did tell you?’ she says, her tone changing.

I walk towards her but she takes a step back. ‘No. He described a girl that I didn’t recognise at all. I knew it was just anger, and bitterness. But it did make me realise that this…whatever this is…it’s happening so quickly. When did you leave him?’

‘March,’ she tells me.

‘That’s eight months ago.’

‘So your solution, after Seville, after everything we shared together, is to back away? After everything that’s happened in that time? How I’ve left him and rebuilt my life?’ she says, her cheeks flushed.

‘Because you never told me about any of it, Suzie. For all we shared, you never confided in me something that was really important.’

‘Or maybe not very important at all, because he’s nothing to me. You…you…are important. You…’ she says, her voice trembling.

My chest feels heavy and I can’t bear the look on her face as she says this.

There was rationale there. In my kitchen that night, high on Lenor and heartache, it felt like the only adult thing to do.

To not get swept up in this lusty, hot holiday romance.

To translate that spark into something more meaningful, that would have the potential to last. To get in the way of the universe and regain some control of my life.

I take a step towards her, longing to fold her up in my arms but not wanting to overwhelm her. ‘It’s only until January. This gives you time to go and sort things with your ex. Draw a line under that once and for all. So we can separate out the two and see things a bit more clearly,’ I explain.

She stands there in disbelief, then looks around the room. ‘Then all of this…’ she says.

‘Is amazing…’ I tell her.

‘No. It makes me look like a bit of an idiot,’ she replies, putting her hands to her forehead to hide her shame. ‘Scrunch up that note because I’m mortified. I…I…opened myself up to the possibility of us. Of loving someone again and letting them in and you’ve kind of closed the gate in my face.’

I stand there completely dumbstruck. The flamenco dancer’s skirt starts playing the Gipsy Kings and I bend down to flick the switch.

‘I just…’ I want you. Every part of you, right here, right now if time and place allowed for it, though we’d most likely get fired and put on some sort of bad teachers’ list. The universe is screaming yes but I’m putting my finger to my lips and telling them to just shush for a moment.

‘I can’t do this again. I just can’t.’ Her bottom lip trembles. She bites it to try and control the emotion.

‘Suzie…it’s not a no. It’s…’ There’s a touch of desperation in my tone .

‘A wait and see,’ she tells me. She looks me in the eyes and shakes her head. ‘I think I’m done here,’ she mutters.

‘Don’t walk away…’

‘No, that’s what you’re doing, Charlie.’

And with that, she brushes past me, turning away from me so I won’t see a tear roll down her face as she leaves the room. That’s when I realise I may have really messed up here. I’ve run away from the sun. My sun.

I widen my eyes as they travel around the room and all her handiwork before they land on my pens. I look at the labels. They’re all named Carlos.