The Summer We Danced. Fiona Harper

Lucy had her lessons and I knew I might see Tom, then my pulse would skip into overdrive and I’d start feeling all restless. It was pathetic how often I discovered something urgent to put on the noticeboard just as her classes finished. She was terribly scatty, so at least twice a week Tom had to march her back inside because she’d forgotten a cardigan or her school bag, or because she’d arrived at the car with only one ballet shoe. We’d nod our greeting at each other, then I’d return to my desk, face flushed, and try to concentrate on Miss Mimi’s accounts.

      It was stupid, I knew. A total waste of time. If Tom hadn’t found the younger, prettier, thinner version of me appealing, there was very little hope of him being interested in the present-day Pippa. Besides, we were both on the tail end of a divorce. Even if something did happen, it would probably only be a rebound fling, and that would be even worse. I’d rather not have him at all than be the mistake he’d rather forget.