Tom recalled how his ex-wife had walked out on him to live with a much younger man. He’d distracted himself from his divorce and high-pressured job by wood carving and creating incredible sculptures and furniture.
‘I don’t know if I can explain it properly without sounding like an idealist or a hippy,’ he began, ‘but one day it was like I had an epiphany. I realised that I was actually capable of doing anything I wanted to if I put my heart and soul into it. And being creative with wood gives me more fulfilment than the path I’d mapped out for myself in law. The other lawyers in the firm thought I was mad when I resigned, but I had to give it my best shot even if the odds were stacked against me. Do you understand what I mean?’
I identified with every word he said. And, like me, Tom was new to the dating scene.
‘I quickly learned that a man who’d quit being a lawyer to follow his heart into the unknown isn’t as attractive to women as one who knows where he belongs,’ he continued. ‘That’s what I like about you. You didn’t look at me like I was barking mad.’
Likewise, I examined his reactions to my story when I went into more detail than my blurted summary at our first meeting: one morning, my husband simply fell off the face of the earth.
‘Do you think he’s still alive?’ Tom asked.
‘No, I don’t think he is,’ I replied. ‘I’ve been through every scenario of what might have happened, but I don’t think I’ll ever really know. So the kids and I have accepted we’ve lost him.’
‘And you’re ready to move on?’
‘Yes,’ I replied with certainty. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘Good.’ He smiled, and reached out to hold my hand.
12 June
Tom knew without me ever having to explain that I was a repair in progress.
I took our relationship slowly and cautiously, with post-lesson drinks, pub lunches, coffees and then finally a kiss. Although the front seat of his car outside a DIY store wasn’t quite straight from the pages of a Jackie Collins novel, it didn’t matter. He’d given my life a much-needed thrill.
And with that came guilt. Was I cheating on Simon’s memory? It was all very well promising till death do us part, but there was no clause in our wedding vows to cover an unexpected disappearance.
I asked myself what he’d do if the roles were reversed, and I wasn’t convinced he’d have moved on. But after all I’d been through, I felt I deserved a spring in my step.
That said, I still made Tom wait nearly four months before I was ready to make love. I’d become used to my body as a solitary vessel navigated by a crew of one. And Tom was someone who wanted to steer her into fresh waters. With each touch, each stroke and each kiss, I found it hard to concentrate on pleasuring him or feeling him pleasuring me, as I was too focused on stopping my body from involuntarily shaking. But when the second time came around, I was much more relaxed, and by the third, I couldn’t wait for more. And there was a lot more.
I still had inhibitions over what my body had to offer to Tom or any man, so lights-on lovemaking was a strict no-no. The war wounds of five pregnancies gave me as many hang-ups as hang-downs. But Tom didn’t appear bothered. He was no Kevin Costner, but I didn’t need a six-pack, tree-trunk thighs or the libido of an eighteen-year-old to satisfy me.
I enjoyed doing couply things like visiting the cinema and the theatre, taking long walks by the canal with Oscar or visiting woodwork and textile museums. We each took an interest in what the other liked, and slowly I began to develop real feelings for Tom, so much more than just a crush on the first boy who’d shown me a glimmer of attention.
The kids were the only part of my life I wasn’t ready to share. My relationship with them was as honest as it could possibly be, so I didn’t want to lie by keeping him hidden like a dirty little secret. But I didn’t want to rock the boat either.
James’s temper no longer had me on tenterhooks, as he focused all his energies on his guitar. I was so proud the first time I saw him on stage playing in the school orchestra, and I embarrassed him by standing up and cheering when he finished his first public solo. Robbie’s conversational skills were also gradually improving. I’d resigned myself to the fact he was never going to be a chatterbox like Emily. But when he started accepting invitations to school friends’ birthday parties, I knew we’d turned a corner.
So I began by slipping Tom’s name into conversations here and there, explaining he was a friend of Mummy’s from night school. As our dates became more frequent, Emily was the first to cotton on that there might be more to him than just the man who helped Mummy with her maths homework.
‘Can we meet your friend, please?’ she asked as we fed stale bread to the ducks in the park.
‘Which friend?’
‘The one who makes you smile. Tom.’
‘Why do you say he makes me smile?’ I asked, and felt my face go bright red.
‘Whenever you tell us you’re seeing him, the corners of your mouth go up like this,’ she replied, giving me a huge, cheeky grin. ‘You love him!’
‘Yes, Mummy, why can’t we meet him?’ chirped James.
So, to my delight and terror, the decision had been made for me.
9 July
I’d both looked forward to and dreaded Tom meeting the children in equal measure. It’d just been the four of us for so long that I’d forgotten what it felt like to be five.
The day before he came, I had a sit-down chat with the kids to explain that Tom wasn’t going to replace their daddy, and if they didn’t like him, they should tell me. I’d always put their feelings before mine, so if it meant Tom and I were going to be prematurely nipped in the bud, then so be it.
By the time he knocked at the door, I was fully prepared for them to charge through the full gamut of childhood emotions like tantrums, awkward silences, hostility and general boundary-pushing. How wrong could I have been? They were so inquisitive, well mannered and polite that I thought I might have to reassure Tom I hadn’t kidnapped them from Stepford. I also felt bad for not giving them more credit.
Tom was relaxed and had a natural chemistry with them, despite not being a father himself. He paid each one equal attention, and they couldn’t wait to show him their bedrooms and toys. Even Robbie spoke a little to him – a huge sign of his approval.
As I stood at the kitchen sink washing up the dishes after dinner, I closed my eyes and took a moment to listen to my children’s laughter and a man’s voice echoing around the house.
I’d not expected to hear either of those things under this roof again.
24 November
Introducing another ball into my juggling act was tricky, but I found a way to make it work.
I was winning in my battle with basic bookkeeping, and Margaret was winding down and dreaming of sunnier climes. Tom knew he was going to come third in line for my attention, after the kids and the boutique. And although we weren’t able to see each other as often as we’d have liked, he understood.