irritating the likes of Matt Sadler might be, he would never dream of actually throwing the chalk. In the old days, the days when he was a student teacher and he and Suzie had been together, he would have been much more reckless. But that was then and this was now.
Suzie. He hadn't thought about her in years. Maybe Mark was right. That Levellers song in the pub the other night – “Fifteen Years”, wasn't it? – should be their theme tune. He was going to end up a sad, lonely old drunk, sobbing into his pint.
Rob entered the staffroom feeling a bit odd. He wasn't normally this introspective, what had got into him this morning? What he needed was half an hour's sit down and a cup of coffee. He was actually gasping for a fag, but the whole school was now a smoke-free zone. Soon he'd be joining his Year Eights behind the bike sheds.
Rob made himself a coffee and sat down in an uncomfortable ancient chair shoved in the corner of the staffroom. Thanks to Matt he was too late to join in with the conversations already in progress. Not that he felt much like chatting with the twittering women who ran Modern Languages and spent most of their breaks moaning about how unfair it was that the PE department were always trying to muscle in on their lesson time. And he'd had one too many conversations about the latest views on the Big Bang theory with Andy Peacock, head of Physics, just recently.
In the good old days, when he'd first started teaching, you wouldn't have been able to see from one end of the room to the other through the fug of smoke. Now, of course, the diehards like him were among the two per cent of the population made to feel like pariahs.
He leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes for a moment. Katie's face floated in front of him. How odd was that? Why was he thinking about her? Her and her fat thighs. He tried to dismiss her from his thoughts, but Katie's face stubbornly refused to go away. Then it came to him.
Katie reminded him of Suzie. Granted, Katie was much plumper, but there was something about her that was so like Suzie it made him wince. Perhaps it was her fair hair – or her petite form. Maybe it was that bright, joyous laugh. Suzie had laughed like that. She had been full of fun and life and joie de vivre. Until that day. Then all the light and love had gone out of her. Gone out of them. Rob tried not to think about all that any more. But damn it, Katie had brought it back.
This would never do. Rob picked up a Guardian someone had left lying around. It wasn't like him to be so anal. And it didn't get him anywhere. Besides, he'd left all that stuff behind a long time ago. He turned to the crossword and had a go at that instead. Much better than dwelling on the past.
Mark was whistling as he entered the surgery that morning.
‘You're cheerful today,’ Diana greeted him.
Ah, good. That made the morning even better. If Diana was here it was much more likely that things would go smoothly for a change.
‘Yes, I am rather,’ said Mark. It was an odd feeling, to be this cheerful. He had spent so many months embroiled in gloom, it was a refreshing change. And one he could only put down to one thing.
Emily.
Mark had thought of nothing else all night long. He hadn't enjoyed being in the company of any women since Sam had left him. And now, suddenly, here was one who had made him sit up and take notice.
It wasn't that he fancied her exactly. Although she did have, as Rob would have put it, All That. But more than that, they had had a laugh. And they had seemed to find common ground really quickly. The time he had spent with her had been all too brief. He hoped that she'd be going along next week.
He had a quick look at his day list, where he could see three root treatments, endless amounts of drilling and filling, a bridge to repair and Granny O'Leary to boot. It would have normally sent him into the doldrums. But not today. He was in too much of a good mood. And thankfully, there was no sign of Jasmine.
‘Have we heard any more about Jasmine's complaint?’ Mark asked Diana at lunchtime.
‘Not a dicky bird,’ said Diana.
‘Perhaps I should ring her?’ Mark asked, not really relishing the task.
‘Oh, you know what Jasmine's like,’ said Diana, 'she'll be on to the next thing soon and it will all be forgotten. Particularly when she's in pain again.’
‘Good,’ said Mark. Diana was right. It would doubtless blow over.
As usual, he barely had time to pause for breath, and by the end of the day three cups of cold coffee were lined up on the side. It was only as he got into his car to go home that he allowed himself to think about Emily again. She was the most attractive woman he'd met since he'd been single and he didn't even know her surname. Or where she lived. Or her phone number.
There was no help for it: he was going to have to go dancing again.
Emily was coming to the end of a long day and feeling absolutely exhausted. She had enjoyed the previous evening much more than she would have thought possible. And it hadn't actually mattered that much that she was crap at dancing. Mark had been equally crap. And she had enjoyed dancing crappily with him. It had been fun. Plus he had been, well, so gentlemanly and attentive. She wasn't used to that after Callum.
She paused from filing away some case notes. Callum versus Mark. Callum was gorgeous, of course. And made her feel gorgeous. He was sexy. He made her feel sexy. He was dangerous, which gave him that edge.
Mark, on the other hand, didn't seem the dangerous type. He seemed sweet and kind and thoughtful. Could she do sweet and kind and thoughtful, after mad, bad and dangerous to know?
Emily laughed out loud. Listen to her. She'd spent, ooh, half an hour in the presence of a very attractive man, and already she was lining him up against Callum. She was being ridiculous. As if he was even interested.
The phone on her desk rang.
‘Someone to see you down here,’ drawled the bored-sounding receptionist.
Emily frowned. She wasn't expecting anyone.
Oh God, no. As she approached the front desk she vaguely remembered Callum had had a big pitch on today. Please don't let him be here and be drunk.
‘Hey babe,’ he said. ‘Am I the dog's bollocks or what?’
‘What, I think,’ said Emily, squirming under the gaze of the supercilious receptionist.
‘I just won the shittest, hottest pitch in town. You are looking at the new account handler of Smile, Please! I am the man. ‘Callum raised his hands above his head and practically beat his chest.
‘Callum,’ hissed Emily. ‘I'm at work.’
‘I just wanted to see you, babe,’ he said, lighting up a cigarette.
‘This is a non-smoking office,’ said John Turnbull, one of Emily's more likeable colleagues, who'd just walked in.
‘Sweets for my sweet,’ said Callum, ignoring him and proffering a rather squashed box of chocolates.
‘Thanks very much,’ said Emily. ‘But can you just leave now. I've got stuff to do.’
‘Oh, babe, don't be like that,’ Callum pleaded with her. For once it had no effect. She was furious. How dare he
