Neil Diamond sings Hot August Night. This August night in Glasgow was not hot, far from it. It was grey, gloomy, and wet. A new school term had just started. The summer holidays had gone for another year. I’d been in Florida—my first time across the Atlantic. I loved it. It seemed a lifetime ago. I was feeling down. Sunshine had gone, a new class had started, and there was endless paperwork to attend to, and my daughter was off to college. My husband was in his usual place, the local pub.

I stared at the computer screen, Forward Planning, Assessments, Personal Development. Mind-numbing, to my mind pointless, paperwork. The joys of teaching, the part they don’t tell you about at University. In the staff room that day, my friend had told us about a site she had found on the internet. Friends Reunited. It was a site that did just that. People joined up to find, in the main, school friends they had lost touch with. OK, I suspected it was also good for looking up first loves and the ones we fancied but never quite managed to catch their eye. The school we taught in had lots of ex-pupils on it. She said that I was mentioned a fair number of times. She also said I should have a look. She knew what a poor marriage I had and that it would give my confidence a boost.

I shut down my outline for September’s Maths Programme and searched for Friends Reunited.

The page appeared. It was easy to navigate and I filled in all the details, including schools and universities I had attended, along with the dates. Once I was registered, I searched for Nethercastle Primary where I was currently teaching. Sure enough, there were lots of ex-pupils recounting their experiences and sharing old school photographs. It was fascinating and heartwarming to see what had happened to many of them. Some lived in Europe, others in Australia and America. Thankfully no negative comments about me, though some of my colleagues were not as fortunate. I was touched by so many warm comments about me. I moved on to my High School page and browsed through for some time. I found many names I knew.

It was then that I decided to look for an ex-boyfriend. He had attended an all-boys school in the city. We had met while we were in the fifth year at school and we both had Saturday jobs in a department store in the City Centre. I guess he was my first love. I dated him for 9 months, a long time when you are 17. I was a virgin, but was pretty sure he wasn’t. He was more experienced than I was, and it was with him I had my first sexual experiences. The attraction was really strong. He had dark hair and green eyes, and he was a smooth operator, to quote Kris Kristofferson, a silver-tongued devil. Buttons undone, bra unfastened before I was aware of what was happening. The first time his hands touched and stroked my breasts was unforgettable and the desire that flooded my body was intoxicating. It was then that I learned of male arousal. I felt it, but never actually saw it. His name was David.

For 9 months we continued with long sessions of heavy petting. Somehow, surprisingly, it never went further. My lower body remained intact and untouched. Now that I think about it, he was probably a virgin too. I left school after the fifth year and entered Teacher Training. He stayed on at school. It was inevitable we would drift apart and we did. We met once when I was 21. I had just started dating my future husband. I chose him, not believing the silver-tongued devil’s words of still being in love with me. What a wrong choice I made.

Many years have passed. At an in-service event, I met one of his school chums. He told me that David and he still met up for the rugby internationals and after a few drinks, the subject often turned to me. Where was I now? Was I happy? And that he’d never forgotten me.

David was now a very successful businessman, living just outside London. He was married with three children.

Purely out of curiosity, honestly, I clicked on his school page. Yes! His name was there. No details just the years he attended the school. There was a facility for sending an email to contact the person, not their personal email though. Should I? After all it was just an email to say hi. In all my years in a dead marriage, I had never strayed. Probably there would be no response. Fuck it! I typed a very uninspiring email, fired it off and got on with my life.

Ok, I did check my email more frequently. It didn't take long, two days. You have a message from Friends Reunited. My heart stopped. A rush of excitement filled me. Eagerly I opened it and read. He was pleased to hear from me, repeated what I already knew about catching up at the Rugby and discussing me. He told me about living in England, a little about his life and that sadly, he and his wife had separated. Was it wrong of me to be pleased to hear that? We e-mailed frequently and it was the highlight of my day. You have mail has taken on a new meaning. After about two months, the inevitable email arrived. David was coming to Edinburgh on business, then staying in Glasgow for an overnight. Could we meet up?

This was now more than an Internet correspondence. Decisions. I didn't answer immediately. I was married. Still sleeping, though only sleeping, with my husband. I had a responsible job of teaching, and a daughter. Then I thought, it's only an old school friend. Where’s the harm? I sent the email back, saying yes, but reminding him that many years had passed and I had changed from a slim, youthful 21-year-old. His reply was, that eyes don't change that much. He’d recognise me anywhere because of that feature alone. We exchanged mobile numbers. I was pretty new to texting but was careful to store his name under Dorothy.

We arranged to meet in the reception of his hotel in the City Centre. I took my car. I needed all my wits about me, I remembered his charm and silver tongue. We recognised each other at once. Yes, older with some grey through the dark, but instantly I felt the attraction. He recognised me too, although my long brown hair had been replaced by a short, highlighted pixie cut. We went for dinner in a small Italian restaurant. It was very romantic and I felt like a female again after years of being a wife, mother, and teacher. He took my hand as he walked me back to my car. He kissed me goodbye and I drove home in a cloud of happiness. My husband was sound asleep, alcohol induced, when I returned. He was oblivious to my adventure. My phone pinged. David! He wanted to see me again. If I'm honest it's what I hoped for when I sent that first mail.

We met several times. I took a taxi into the city to meet him. He wined and dined me, bought me gifts including a DVD, You've got Mail. I had never seen it.

It was Christmas Time. I told my husband the staff night out was at The Hilton in town. I had a feeling I wouldn't be home. He was disinterested. I dressed carefully. A sleeveless, plain well cut black dress with silver jewellery and heels. I never wore heels. I grabbed my camel coat and bag and into the taxi heading for town.

He was waiting to greet the taxi, which he instructed to head to a small restaurant where he had made a booking. The city was busy with revellers. It also looked very pretty for once, sparkling with lights. A short trip to the restaurant. I don't remember much about the food because music started to play and he led me to dance, It had been years since I had danced. He held me close as Fields of Gold played. It was magical, I could hardly breathe. I drank more than normal, but I wasn't drunk. David called a taxi. He turned to me and asked “Home or the Hilton?” He had never asked before. I chose the latter.

His room was on the tenth floor with spectacular views over the city and the River Clyde with its beautifully flood-lit bridges. Ever the gentleman he helped me out of my coat, then turned me to face him. He held my hand and tapped my wedding ring. “Are you sure?” My answer was to kiss him deeply. I was out of practice but I remembered the moves! He unzipped my black dress and then deftly unclipped my bra. As he had done so often all those years ago. He had removed his coat and I began to unbutton his shirt. We took our time undressing each other.

We had all night. Finally, we were both naked together for the first time. We moved to the bed and completed what we had never done as 17-year-olds, or 21-year-olds. This was our third and hopefully final attempt to be fully together. We made love slowly and lingeringly, savouring each kiss, each touch. He still had a good body, years of rugby playing a large part. My body had given birth and fed a baby, but he gazed at me and caressed me as if I were a heavenly being!!! He told me he thought this would never happen, for years he had longed for it. Yes, he had been happy in his marriage for many years, but I was his one regret. Unfortunately, I had many regrets. One was waiting back home for me.

Next morning was Christmas Eve. I returned to an empty house across the river. David was driving south to the family home. He had moved out, but was spending Christmas there for his children's sake. We said our goodbyes and he told me that he loved me and wanted us to be together. Then he left.

Christmas passed in a daze. No questions were asked about my absence, I doubt it was noticed. My daughter came home and we spent time together. David and I texted frequently, but carefully. I never actually told him I loved him too. We could deal with the future and feelings when we met next. The New Year came and went. January the first arrived with snow. On the morning of the second, I was woken early by my phone ringing on my bedside table. Unusual. Friends called my landline. My husband was asleep beside me. I snatched it up and answered without looking at the screen. I didn't want him to waken.

“Am I speaking to Elizabeth?” the voice asked. I replied that it was.

“This is David’s wife, does your husband know what has been going on?”.

I shot out of bed and into the bathroom, where I locked the door.

“No. There is nothing to know. We are old friends who have met up for coffee. He also told me you were separated.” I was beginning to shake and feel sick.

“We were, but this Christmas spent together has made us decide we want to try again. Should I go to be tested for any unpleasant diseases?”

I ended the call, then promptly threw up. For days I was in a haze of utter misery. I blamed it on a tummy bug. I heard nothing from David. I destroyed my SIM card and returned my phone to David’s address at his flat. He had bought me a new phone. I changed my email. It was over. I was heartbroken. I had believed every word, had taken huge risks all for nothing.

Or was it? I never saw David again but he had made me feel alive and shown me what life could be like. I could no longer settle for a half-life and a dead marriage. 18 months later I left my husband and embarked on a new, fulfilling chapter.

And David? I never forgot his number and months later I sent a short message. He replied immediately. The reconciliation story had been lies. She had found his phone and read the texts. He had been ill in hospital without his phone. He did not know about her call until weeks had passed. When my phone arrived back to him without any message, he thought that was my way of ending things between us.

I guess we were never meant to be together. I'll never regret him though. He led me to the life I now enjoy.