danced to seventies’ music in the pub after dinner, we went for lazy, long lunches and romantic walks on the beach. The drive back to the airport was so sad – the end of a beautiful weekend. The conversation was punctuated by throwaway remarks of the possibility of me moving to London. After only four days!
I was due to fly off to Thailand in June for a five-week break on a small remote island. We both decided I could not go off into the distance without our seeing each other again. An e-ticket was e-mailed to me the next day, so I flew to London for a quick visit. It was wonderful, amazing, exciting. Superb restaurants, shows, shopping, walking the streets of London hand in hand. He spoilt me rotten. I cried on take-off, happy to be going on holiday to Thailand but sad to be leaving something that felt so right after just nine days. I had such a strong conviction the minute he had walked through the Cape Town International doors that he was my man. Apparently he’d felt the same.
We did my Thailand holiday via text, me on an island in the middle of nowhere, he in London. I’d receive a text as soon as he woke up every morning, banter during the day, and at least one phone call and Skype session every other day. We were inseparable. I had told him I wanted to enjoy my long-awaited holiday without being on the blower to him constantly, but we both ignored this. I thought it was endearing being in constant contact with him, and loved the way he wanted to know how I was every day. It made me feel wanted. I had finally met a man who truly wanted me in his life, who wanted to love me back, who wanted to know what I was doing every minute of the day. It was easy to get carried away with this feeling. Easy, too, to ignore the fact that we were not in an everyday situation. If we had been, the incessant texts may have come up on my radar. But I got used to it really quickly. In my mind, it formed the basis of who we were together – that closeness, that feeling of being a team.
We discussed the move to London and decided we would not do the long-distance relationship thing. We would jump straight in and give it a go. Because the school year started in September in the UK, we decided I would move then, so that my six-year-old daughter could start with all the other kids. Did I mention that he was supportive of my daughter? Another expectation met.
When I got back from Thailand he flew to South Africa and we had a whole week together, a full seven days. It was amazing. We spent the first two days alone in a small seaside village up the west coast. Very romantic. I was convinced I was doing the right thing. He had booked us into a lovely boutique hotel. He treated me like the love of his life. We had the most beautiful room overlooking the crashing waves. We lay on the rocks watching the ocean, feeling the energy between us. We had picnics and went for long walks, drank champagne and planned our lives together. We slept in each other’s arms all night long. Our chemistry was unbelievable. I was the happiest woman on earth, and did not want the weekend to end.
I can still remember it clearly, and feel it.
I planned to carry on designing remotely for my existing clients on a freelance basis in London, and to look for work as soon as I was settled. I upped and left with a few changes of clothes and a bag of toys for my daughter. I had a few months of savings, a UK bank account from previous years in London and my laptop for my freelance work.
Sitting still on the flight over gave me some time for reflection. Because this was all so sudden, the last thing I wanted was pressure on me or him about the longevity of this relationship. So, I decided to lay down some rules that I thought might mitigate the seriousness of what I was doing: for six months there would be no talk of babies, engagement or marriage. I had been told that 90 days was a good test for a relationship, so I chose double that just to make sure. That was it, a six-month plan to get to know each other properly, with no expectations.
Wait – did I just say no expectations? You’re probably wondering what happened to the woman who had her expectations all figured out. Maybe I meant no complications.
I know, now, that I may have expected things to be more perfect than they could ever be. I know, now, that relationships – even really good ones, healthy ones, ones that go the distance – do not stay in a honeymoon phase forever. Now, I know that my expectations could never be realised. So, my thinking that I was arriving in London with no expectations was unrealistic. I get that. I get that I went to London expecting certain things.
Well, I never expected this. Any of it. It came as a huge shock. I still can’t believe I got through it reasonably unscathed. I started writing this diary as a record of my experiences, as evidence of those six months. I had no one to turn to. I thought I was going mad, that it was all me. But deep down I knew it wasn’t me, that I was not to blame, that I was the ‘normal’ one, the sane one. Deep down I knew I was living with a deeply flawed person. But I was in denial.
And stuck in London, with my daughter to think about …
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