with another woman. And yes, he was hurting, because all their years together had meant something to him too and he’d probably expected her to fight harder to keep him.
He could have accused her of driving him to this, but he never had because that wasn’t his style. He didn’t blame others for his actions whatever the provocation. He was a decent man, not a coward who hid behind excuses. In some ways that was a failing, for often he claimed responsibility when there was no need to.
‘You’re not angry any more,’ he stated, and she heard his surprise and pique.
She was angry all right, so angry she could turn violent simply to think of him with another woman – especially that one – like she had when she’d first found out. A lot had been smashed that day and she didn’t doubt that more would go the same way during the darkest moments ahead.
She was going to hate sleeping in their bed alone, not hearing his key in the door at the end of the day, pouring only one glass of wine, not having him to talk to or watch TV with. For as long as she could remember they’d been the closest couple amongst their friends, no one had expected this to happen, theirs was the marriage that would go on to the end.
It would have if it weren’t for the affair …
It would have if he’d been there for her when her world had spun out of control, when she’d lost the sense of who she was, and asked herself what point there was to anything any more.
Maybe he would have been if she’d told him, but she hadn’t, because she couldn’t, and wouldn’t.
Some things were just too hard.
And so he was leaving.
CHAPTER ONE
1968
The really cool thing about teasing Sir – (Mr Michaels the music teacher) – is the way it makes him blush. It starts under his collar and creeps out like mischief, slowly, cautiously, as though checking to see who’s looking before suddenly revealing itself with rosy abandon over his neck and cheeks. It makes him seem younger, closer to our age in a way, but not so close to give him the air of a teenager, or someone lacking in worldly sophistication. He definitely isn’t, for he seems to know everything and isn’t easily shocked, only easily thrown or discomfited by a roomful of fifteen-year-old girls intent on claiming his attention.
He’s not tall exactly, but few of us girls can look him directly in the eye – I don’t think he’d allow it even if we could. We’re too challenging, too full of ourselves and determined to score points over one another at his expense. I can tell he understands that and he never assists. I’m not one of the girls who dares to throw myself at him – no one does really, at least not in an actual physical sense. However, some are brazen enough to try and treat him to glimpses of their stocking tops or to ask if he thinks they should wear lipstick when kissing a boy.
‘Sir, do you believe in free love?’
There’s a big, exciting world out there, beyond the walls of our boarding school, where people are drawing power from flowers and ‘finding themselves’ as though they’ve been lost, and we just know that in his free time Sir is one of them. There’s more to him than his beige corduroy suit and deep brown eyes that try not to twinkle (and rarely succeed) – and his love of music.
‘Sir, did anyone ever tell you that you look like Andy Fairweather-Low?’
‘Who?’ he asks and we almost riot, before realizing he’s teasing us back.
We’re all mad about Amen Corner’s lead singer, so for most of the girls this is the biggest compliment we can give Sir, but in my opinion he looks more like George Harrison. Or he did before George let his hair and beard grow long. Sir’s face is always shaved, but it has a similar sculpted look to George’s and in my opinion he has the same air of secrecy about him.
What are his secrets?
How we all want to know.
Actually, Sir is much more thrilling than a pop star, mostly because he’s here and so accessible, possible even, and because he’s willing to treat pop music as if it’s as important as any other kind. Our lessons are called music appreciation, so I guess that makes sense, although I can’t imagine our previous