Chapter 1

As I tell this, you'll probably wonder how I could be so naïve, so oblivious. All I can say is, I was. Again and again, you'll hear the words, 'I don't know'.

For example, 'I don't know' was what I thought to myself each day as I stood under the shower in the gym. I kept asking myself why I kept putting myself through the torture of a daily workout, when the only pleasurable part was the hot shower after.

Oh, I knew the facts, the history. I could recite the how, the when, the why of what happened, but the emotional side, the 'how could I be so stupid?' side – that was something I just couldn't get a handle on; even the 'why me?' was imponderable.

I couldn't blame my wife ... my ex-wife, it certainly was no fault to Juliet. She behaved better than I could have expected. Actually, I'd have preferred a towering temper tantrum much more than the quiet disappointment. I couldn't bring myself to argue, to beg, to plead for our twenty-year marriage; I just said, "I'm sorry". Her response, equally low-key, "So am I."

I can't really blame 'the other woman'. After all, it takes two to tango, horizontally as well as vertically. I suppose she'd be called a 'cougar'. I like that term, it suggests a predator with no real interest in the feelings of the prey. She wasn't spectacularly beautiful, or even particularly pretty, but she had a way of turning on a sort of potent sensuality that made appearance irrelevant. In the first instance, I didn't feel worried or threatened, anything like that, the first time she approached me at lunch-time. I might have wondered why a woman from the staff of the Business School would approach a man from the staff of the Faculty of Development and Society; of what interest would an English teacher, quiet, happily married, reserved, would be to an unmarried lecturer in Business Administration. But I didn't. And she was knowledgeable, widely read, enough that she was interesting to talk to.

I had no suspicions when she invited me to a party that it might be any more than the sort of social interaction that the University encouraged in order to foster good working relations within the staff group, particularly across Faculty divisions.

It was only as the rest of the group faded away, leaving me with Celeste and a half-finished bottle of wine that I began to have concerns, and they were muted by the quantity of alcohol I'd already consumed.

"It would be rude to leave it," she said, filling my glass and topping off her own.

And, yes, it would have been rude to leave then. Sensible, even right, but rude.

So you see, I know how I came to be in an empty class-room with her, judgement impaired by alcohol, even how we came to be kissing and tearing one another's clothes off, but somehow the whole process seemed to be beyond my control. Pathetic, isn't it? If I'd been straight with my wife immediately, we might have ridden out the storm, but, embarrassed and guilty, I didn't. Perhaps it was a coincidence that my wife found out just about the time Celeste decided to leave for a promotion to a Business School in Birmingham. Or perhaps not.

So, yes. I know the how, the process, of how I came to be divorced, living in a static caravan just outside Sheffield. My wife let me take my motorbikes, books and lap-top, most of our savings; she kept the house, almost paid for, and the car.

So you could say I had my freedom, except that I didn't want to be free and had no idea what to do with it. You see, having met my wife at College, she was my first everything ... until Celeste was my first adultery.

I keep saying 'I don't know' but I did realise one reason I kept on working out at the gym, and that was the young women in those skin-tight work-out outfits. I'd have been far too insecure to actually approach any of them, but at least I got to see them.

Something else I did know was that I loved teaching. I've always loved my subject and it seemed I had no difficulty in transmitting that love to my students. Well, most of them, anyway. I've got to admit I wasn't so happy with younger kids, but the undergrads and occasional Masters students at University ... I suppose they were the reason I didn't take the easy way out. So, I had my teaching, somewhere reasonably comfortable to live, and I had my bikes.

Oh, yes, the bikes. I had two; a BMW R90 fitted out for touring, with fairing, panniers and top-box, and an old ex-War Department BSA, a 350 c.c. single, which was ideal for rough or icy roads and awkward places. That got me to work each day, anyway.

Teaching, I was happy enough, but other times? Not so good.

It'd be a year, I think ... yes, a year, after the decree absolute and it was the middle of Autumn. It always makes me feel gloomy to see the leaves fall and have the days shortening. I love the colours, but somehow ... Anyway, I was in the gym, thinking how boring the cross-trainer was. Someone moved on to the machine next to me and I glanced round.

She was pretty. A bit plump, maybe, but short, dark, curly hair framed a sweet face. Our eyes met and she smiled. I blushed and turned back to the display in front of me. Once I got over my initial embarrassment, I thought I recognised her. She'd been one of a small group taking an English module as part of some other course, so not one of my regular students. Anyway, I got on with the business that brought me there and kept my eyes to myself. I finished out my hour and had my shower, dressed and headed to the cafeteria for coffee.

One of the ways I avoid stress and things I don't want to think about is I read. Not too surprising, perhaps, in an English teacher, though I suppose Asimov and Heinlein, Tom Clancy and some other authors ... what the hell, I might as well confess ... Freya North as an example ... are probably not what would be expected. So I got my coffee and a bacon sandwich, opened my book and began to read.

"Mr Burgin?" A quiet, feminine voice penetrated my concentration on Jessica Adams' 'I'm a Believer' (No, nothing to do with the Monkees, it's a romance). It takes some doing to penetrate my escapist fantasy world, but I wasn't absolutely immersed. Not quite.

I looked up; it was the dark-haired girl I'd seen in the gym. "Yes?"

"I, er, I'm sorry to disturb you..."

My habit of politeness is far too deeply ingrained to break, even if I'd rather read.

"Not a problem."

"I was wondering if I might have a word with you?"

"I thought you were?" I smiled, hopefully removing any sting from the words.

She coloured slightly.

"Sit," I said, "or perhaps you'd like to get a drink? I'm not going anywhere for ... twenty minutes or so."

"Okay," she said, "back in a minute."

Now, I don't know how to ... flirt. I'd be terrified if I had to initiate a social conversation with a young woman, but I'm a teacher. I don't have a problem talking to a student who comes to me with a question. I thought that was what she was doing...

I watched her disappear into the servery, then reappear at the till with coffee; she paid and walked back toward me. She sat and sipped her coffee thoughtfully, then looked at me.

"I really enjoyed the module you taught last year," she said, "it almost made me wish I'd chosen English instead of Psychology."

"Thanks," I said, "I recognised you, but, I'm sorry, don't remember your name."

"Why would you?" she paused, then, "Sandra Saunders. Sassy."

"Really?" I raised my eyebrows quizzically.

She grimaced, "My parents inflicted 'Sandra Alice Saunders' on me. I've been 'Sassy' for years."

"And do you like it?"

"I'm used to it," she replied.

"I seem to remember the name," I commented, "you handed in an assignment on the origins of words that I liked a lot."

"You graded it 'A'", she said.

"The only one in your group," I added.

She blushed, "As I said, I really enjoyed your module," she took another sip of coffee, looking down at the table, then, looking up, "I was going to ask a favour."

I shrugged. "Ask away."

"I've had a novel synopsis accepted by a publisher."

My eyebrows raised without any conscious input from me, "Congratulations."

"They took one look at the first chapter and told me to come back when I'd found an editor I could work with."

"Unusual, I would have thought," I frowned.

She looked down at the table again and her next words were directed at it rather than me.