So I’d established that I wanted to know more about this very tall and mysterious teacher of Chemistry. I knew he was from the North East. I knew he was Dr and not Mr Harrison. I knew he’d taught in Botswana. And I knew he thought I was a southerner, given that I’m from North Yorkshire and his home town is another two hours’ drive north from mine!

But how was I to find out more when he always seemed so happy to sit with his pint on the edge of the group, observing, listening, watching, whenever we were out with friends? It was clear he wasn’t one to be the centre of attention and there was no way he was going to join us on the dance floor at the end of the night!

My opportunity to get to know him came at different times…

…it turned out we both worked late at school, for our different reasons.  We were the ones the caretaker often had to turf out; me from my classroom, Steve from his lab. So it often happened that we were both leaving school via the staffroom at the same time of evening. With no one else around, his reserve had gone and conversation flowed naturally, until one of us would turn to leave; Steve to drive over Cleeve Hill in his Astra, me to walk or cycle back to my little house in the village.

It began to feel  like the norm, that we would meet like that for 20 minutes’ chat before going home. I almost wondered if he was now timing his daily departure in order to see me and on the odd evening when our paths didn’t cross, I felt a surprisingly deep sense of disappointment.

Then one day, instead of having our easy chat by the pigeon holes before going our separate ways, we must have been particularly engrossed in our chatter and it was a light, Spring  evening, so one of us must have suggested we chat over a drink in the pub by the little river that runs through the village. I can’t remember who suggested it, but looking back, I’d have to hazard a guess the suggestion was mine.

Half an hour went by. An hour. Towards the end of the second hour, when it really was time to head home, Steve said he’d really enjoyed the evening, that he’d never found it so easy to talk to anyone as he found it with me. He said it without guile, in a matter of fact way and my heart soared. The thing was, I’d been attracted to men before. Let’s be honest, I’d been in love before. I knew what it was to have my heart broken too. But with Steve, things felt different. In some ways he was a mystery to me. His personality was the antithesis of mine. Gosh, he was the antithesis of any other man I’d fallen for before. There were moments of guilt with this consciousness – it was still very soon…

But in our interaction everything felt so straightforward, so uncomplicated. Steve would not play games; flirting wasn’t in his repertoire. But integrity certainly was; he had that in spades and at this point of my life nothing seemed more attractive to me.

But was he attracted to me?

I decided I had to find out…

…one night after a function (admittedly I’d had more to drink than I intended, following a very awkward phone call earlier in the evening), I couldn’t get back to my village, so Steve kindly offered me his spare room. I knew he was being a gentleman, but secretly hoped it might be the ideal opportunity for him to show me how he really felt. Back at his house his body language gave nothing away. He got his spare bed ready and said goodnight. I couldn’t bear it. I needed to know if this was mutual or if it was just me. So I went after him, to kiss him goodnight…