AS I drive my Citroën into the driveway, I am thrilled to see our sunflower yellow front door, the green privet hedges along our long garden, the picket fence along the front lawn and the solid Edwardian stonework of our century-old semi-detached home. Our children, 8 and 4, are jabbering away in the back, telling me about their day, what they did at school, who they played with and what they have eaten for dinner. We are so fortunate : the four-year gap between our children really works. There is no competition and they truly adore each other. Our daughter’s dearest wish, from the day she could speak until the day her brother was born, was for us to give her a sibling. To this day, if you ask her what is the greatest gift she has ever received, she will always say it was her little brother. I don’t think we’ve ever seen her smile a bigger smile than the moment she met him on day one in the hospital: he was perfect. And she’s been his friend, playmate and second mother ever since…

I am so blessed.

A loving husband by my side, a beautiful home, a daughter and a son, loyal friends in the neighbourhood and family close by.

Ten years since we got together, we both had jobs in good schools, with leadership positions and options to move up the ladder. We were still in the Cotswolds, having sold our two-bed Victorian terrace near the station for the more spacious four-bed property nearer the children’s fabulous school. We even had an incredible childminder, who cooked yummy, often home-grown meals for the kids. And, what’s more, my Mum had been living around the corner for six years – she loved to take care of the children two days a week and saw them most days. They were able to have such a close bond with her and that, for me, was priceless.

We were living the perfect life…weren’t we?

Or were we?

Something felt not quite right. It was easy to blame so many things for that deep down unsettling sense of disquiet and it seemed impossible to change any of the key components that made up our life.

Mostly we blamed work. I was working 10-hour days, dropping the children at 7.45 and collecting them at 17.45. Steve had two hours a day commuting to his school. The worst part was not being able to leave work at work; the evenings were not our own. I would have an hour with the children whilst getting some dinner, then as soon as the children were in bed, we would begin the marking, or planning, or report writing. I remember, with some degree of shame, the nights when one of the children would come downstairs, unable to sleep or after a bad dream and instead of comfort, a cuddle, or kindness from a parent, they were greeted with frustration and annoyance that they were interrupting our work time.

We were sitting in our beautifully decorated lounge, with its period fireplace, high ceilings and picture rails. But were we able to enjoy it? We regularly had discussions about our finances: how would we continue to pay for both mortgages, two cars, childcare etc etc?

Our home was situated in the cute countryside of the Cotswolds, yet how often did we find the time to don our walking boots and get out into the hills? Not often enough.

The community we lived in is among the 20% poorest in the UK and we had already been burgled twice.

And exercise. Exercise? There were very few opportunities for that.

I could see us slowly ageing, losing our youth, our health and for what? What is ‘career’ for? My childminder and my Mum were spending more time with my children than I was. When my son was little, I would not know from day to day who would see his first steps or hear his first words…what was this all for? Yes, I still loved to be in the classroom, but at that time teaching had become something else: it was all so political and complicated. I just wanted to teach teenagers to speak French!

That climate in education was making us grouchy with each other and that in turn put our relationship under stress.

And you know? The niggle underlying all of this, I had never envisaged my life like this. I didn’t plan to teach. To marry an Englishman. To live in England. The Cotswolds for goodness sake! I’m a free spirit. I was going to roam, to live in exotic places, to travel the world, speaking many languages. And NEVER have a mortgage, yet here I was with two!

I knew that from the outside we led the perfect life. Other people would dream of the life we had. But the unhappiness was creeping in, slowly but surely, spreading like an insidious mould.

We couldn’t carry on like this for much longer…

 

 

When I look back on it, all these years later, it’s hard to comprehend how I could go from feeling deeply, unhappily bereft, to a place of love and renewed happiness in such a short time. But would it last?

Many times, from inside and outside of our relationship, people have pondered, “what makes this work?” To all intents and purposes, we are so different. Where faith and spirituality are important to me, Steve holds onto a scientific curiosity with the world. Where I love to socialise with large groups of people and draw energy from a party, these things are more draining for the introvert in Steve. And where my response to most conversations is, “And how do you feel about that?”, emotional currency was not top of Steve’s repertoire. Logic ruled.

And yet…it seemed to be working. Despite all of that and more reasons beside.

We found each other so intrinsically fascinating, so ‘other’. Never would our brains tackle an issue from the same angle! But there was a comfortableness in time spent together. And the more we talked, the more we discovered that we had in common. There were many parallels in our upbringing and our life experiences. But most of all, we shared common values. Integrity bound us together: we always knew we could and would speak the absolute truth to each other. There have been no lies and no deceit.

There has been plenty of travelling and plenty of friendships; friendships formed, renewed or strengthened.

That first summer together was so meaningful. When I discovered that Steve had never really visited London, I picked up the phone to my fabulous Colombian friend, Catalina, who was teaching in London and living with her husband in Lewisham. They were happy to host us so that I could show Steve the sights of the Capital – we had a fantastic few days being tourists.

Then I rang and booked a night at St John’s. Steve had expressed immediate interest in seeing where I’d studied. For varied reasons, Cambridge is an important part of my story. I had first visited aged 8 when my second sister, Libby, was studying architecture there. Ten years later I followed in her footsteps, but reading Languages. For both of us, it seemed a privilege to study there; to walk daily through these ancient, symmetrical courtyards, courtesy of a full grant. On the Bridge of Sighs with Steve, I explained how 18-year-old me would pinch myself crossing the bridge to go and fetch my post each day. It was a dream. But I was never quite sure I was meant to be there, partially due to the ethereal beauty of the place and partially because it was SO hard. I struggled and lost confidence many times (the constant sense of not being good enough). But, as so often in my life, the people around me during those 3 Johnian years carried me through (along with the knowledge that Libby had come through the other side!) And I was delighted to be able to show Steve around (I’ve almost enjoyed Cambridge more since I left than I did at the time.) In addition, I was entirely single through university, so it felt pleasantly novel to walk down The Backs, beside the Cam, hand in hand with a man…

From Cambridge we travelled north. It already felt significant to go and meet our families and see the places we are from. Steve had met most of my family at the housewarming and Mum had been down to visit too. In fact Steve had to come and bale us out when we got lost on a walk in the Cotswolds! He then impressed Mum by cooking us a 3-course meal…the man knew how to dazzle the one who would be his mother-in-law. We’d also taken my baby niece to Warwick Castle together…for such a tall man, he was amazing with little ones; even shy ones would quickly be smiling and laughing at Steve.

In Ripon, the Yorkshire Dales, we stayed with my fourth sister, Helen, who lives close to Fountains Abbey, which is a perfect spot for a walk together. At reception we had a choice: to buy tickets for the day, or to take out a year’s membership. It just seemed like the logical thing to do, as we were heading up to Northumberland from here – many more historic houses and castles to explore. But afterwards I did wonder, was this merely pragmatic (just a tight northern bloke saving a few pounds) or were we already saying we would still be day tripping together in 2005?!

When we headed to Northumberland, to what had been the world’s largest coal mining village, a warm welcome awaited us. But at the same time, I was slightly at a loss. I hadn’t realised how strong the dialect was in Steve’s home town. I was used to Steve’s soft accent but he had been away nearly as long as he had lived there. ‘Gan’ was ‘go’. ‘Wor’ was ‘our’. ‘Me’ was ‘my’. ‘How’s ya fettle marra?’…what was I meant to reply? I didn’t want to seem rude. I am a northerner too. And a linguist to boot. This inability to communicate was embarrassing! Now I am aware that there are English: Geordie dictionaries and that Ashingtonian is a different dialect again – books can explain about the unique culture and language here – I could not.

But there was no misunderstanding the generous hospitality of Steve’s Mam and Dad. It was as if they had never expected their son to bring home a young lady…after all, their friends had been grandparents for many years and many were already great-grandparents.

Despite the fact that conversation was a little stilted at first, the Harrison family seemed very happy that I had arrived in their lives. I hoped to have many more opportunities to get to know them better…

After the housewarming party I was keen to spend more time with my soldier friend, if I could find a way. This is when a mutual friend stepped in, whether knowingly or unknowingly, by inviting us to watch the Euro 2004 matches with him. Martin had begun teaching in the department at the same time as me (both NQTs), so we helped each other out a lot that first year of teaching. Where my second language was German, his was Spanish, but we shared ideas for French and for planning, making, games etc. We still share ideas to this day!
So we all wanted to watch the Euro matches and the best place at that time was a converted Chapel in Cheltenham, called, ‘The Pulpit’. We would go into town after work, grab something to eat and head to ‘The Pulpit’. Sometimes there were quite a few friends there; sometimes it was Martin, Steve and I. But always I enjoyed those evenings.
The Championship got off to an interesting start, as Germany, Italy and Spain were all knocked out in the first round. Even Portugal lost their first match to Greece, who had qualified for the first time in 24 years. The rising sense of hope was palpable there among the ‘Pulpit congregation’. Could this be England’s year? Once again, we dared to believe that England could go on to win a tournament…

We made it through the group stage and to the quarter finals, where we played Greece. Surely we would make it to the semis? If I’m honest, my main reason for wanting England to win, was less about the football and more about continuing to watch the matches with my new footie friends. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy football, and I did want England to win…it’s just that these matches gave me the perfect opportunity to spend time with Steve, on a ‘no pressure, just getting to know each other’ basis. Conversation wasn’t always necessary either.
Of course I still lived in my village and I still couldn’t drive (I’d failed 3 tests already that year – tests that my Mum does not count, to this day, as they were so soon after James’ crash.) So after each match Steve would make available his spare room and happily drive me back to Bourton the following morning.
But when Greece beat England, I couldn’t be sure that Steve and Martin would continue to watch the final matches so religiously, once England had been eliminated. To my relief, they seemed just as keen to watch the semis and the final in early July.
With the end of the tournament, how could I guarantee time with Steve? I couldn’t tell whether he was just being kind or whether there was a spark there between us.
I don’t need to explain what happened next – next was the night of the Sixth Form Function – the night when James’ parents rang between courses and demanded that I return to them every single thing of his that I had: they “needed to have his estate”, including any gifts he had given me. In shock, I drank a few too many, not aided by the fact that my main course never arrived! I felt I had made a fool of myself. And that was the night that you know already, Steve turned me down.
He turned me down with good reason. He wanted to know I was emotionally OK, emotionally ready to start a new relationship. And he was right when he said we should wait, “It’s not ‘no’; it’s ‘not yet’”. We should be friends first and see what happens.
So a week later (it did feel like much longer), unable to concentrate on lesson planning, I walked down to his lab and asked if he’d like to go to the cinema. Shrek 2 was out, and although I’m not keen on animation, I had really enjoyed Shrek. To my surprise, he said yes. We packed up, left school in his Astra and drove over Cleeve Hill to his little house in Bishops Cleeve. There was something so reassuring about sitting beside Steve in his car. He was very comfortable driving, as my Dad always was, and he was so steady, reliable, unflappable. All that was so different from me, now seemed so attractive.
We went to the Odeon and bought 2 tickets. The film was perfect: light-hearted, funny and a tiny bit romantic. Half way through the film, Steve put his hand in mine. How can such a simple gesture cause such emotion? My hand in his. Happiness.
And that night, on his beige sofa, sitting side by side, he kissed me.

We all worked so hard to get the house ready – so many kind people wielded paintbrushes and rollers in the house and strimmers and trowels in the garden. Family, friends, colleagues and even my sixth form class asked to come and help decorate my house. It was like a miracle; not just having a home I could afford but having such lovely people in my life and rooting for me.

In May I was persuaded to host a housewarming party. Some days I even felt excited about the upcoming party (although other days I was utterly daunted and worried about my ability to socialise with everyone – what if I couldn’t think of anything to say?)

I named the house ’Serendipity’. It seemed so fitting and I’d always loved that concept since I first heard the word as a young woman; it seems so invigorating to discover something unintended whilst looking for something quite different.

The invitations were made…but who to invite?

Family. Obviously. Colleagues? Of course. Then who? Friends from PGCE? Friends from university? James’ friends? What if that would be too many people? And the house is tiny. So is the garden…what if the May weather was inclement and we were unable to use the garden…?

But, decisions made, the invitations went out and preparations were made. Lots of lovely people were making arrangements to come, travelling locally and from further afield – from Oxford, Worcester, Leamington Spa, London and Yorkshire. Once again family and friends helped out, which enabled me to relax, get ready and look forward to a day of happy reunions.

There was just one disappointment. I had inadvertently organised the housewarming party for a weekend when Steve had a prior commitment. Hence, he was unlikely to be able to make it. Maybe that was a good thing, with some of James’ friends planning to come over from Oxford? But then, what was I worrying about? Steve and I were just friends.

He had helped me to prepare the house. I was, after all, living in a village and had not yet passed my driving test. So when there were small things that I needed and couldn’t find by myself, he would volunteer to look in the bigger DIY shops in town for me. And this small act gave me a good deal of hope.

The day of the housewarming came around quickly. It was a beautiful, Spring day. The house looked bright and welcoming and it smelt of fresh paint. The sunny weather meant that people could take their drinks out into the garden, where the children of colleagues were playing alongside my nieces and nephews. I love it so much when ‘my people’ from different phases of my life get to meet each other, and they get on! It doesn’t happen so often; we tend to compartmentalise our lives by location or age. But it is strangely uplifting when the strands of our lives collide and blur into a rich tapestry before our eyes; when friends perceive in each other the beautiful qualities that first drew them to you too. And the party was so much fun! I felt strong. I felt surrounded – cushioned on all sides by those who loved me, who had invested in bringing me through to this point.

Then the doorbell rang and an unexpected thing happened…

…there at the door stood a very imposing, tall figure. Dressed from head to toe in camouflage gear, still with traces of cam cream daubed on his face. Who was this striking soldier at my door? I was momentarily speechless. And then he spoke, “Sorry I’m late.” And the mystery was solved: I saw the familiar warmth of my Geordie friend’s eyes. When he’d told me he was an army cadet instructor, I had not imagined this feast for the eyes.

Once I’d regained my composure, I welcomed him in with enthusiasm. He went to clean up in the bathroom and then ensued a barrage of questions from sisters 2, 3 and 4. I didn’t even realise they had seen him arrive! But then sisters do tend to have this sixth sense when something significant may be afoot.

It would be fair to say that they approved! We all have a ‘height’ thing and I would not be the first sister to fall for a man in uniform. My sisters certainly gave me their seal of approval to pursue a new love interest…

… I had no idea if I would, if he would, if the timing was right, but this affirmation made me happy.