Letter number 1: The start

Dear Alexandra,

Can you remember how things started for us? We were both heavily into a vibrant live music scene. We met briefly seeing our favourite band, we connected on social media and after a barrage of online banter we were soon destined to be in the same place at the same time to see that band again.

I was really excited to see you — I had no idea there’d be any romantic future for us, the fact that you were so much younger than me meant the very idea of such a thing hadn’t even crossed my mind. I just loved your infectiously fun personality, we had a lot of fun together. I got to the venue really early, a considerable drive for me compared to you (or your Dad, as you can’t drive) — I found a spot to sit and grab a drink and listened to the band soundcheck.

An indeterminate time later and you arrived, you walked into the room and punched me playfully on the arm — I’d been teasing you about something trivial on Facebook, I think it was about using too many hashtags in a cross-post from Instagram. I really am the banter king, huh?

Over the next few weeks and months we went to more gigs — I even stayed on the sofa at you and your Dad’s house after one where my hotel had been double-booked. We spent the whole night sat in the same house messaging each other. The next day you had to work, so I took your Dad to the next gig on the tour. Annoying your work didn’t need you after all, so you could have come.

We brought you a drum stick back, laughing that you quite fancied the drummer of the band.

Then came festival season — I’d just bought a massive new tent, you tended to share a small one with your Dad. The first one we crossed paths at we were getting really close, but still romance hadn’t really occurred to me. You were so much younger. Mutual friends had started to make assumptions and / or suggestions but I laughed it off. I was a little over a year out of a 12 year relationship which did end amicably (of course, with sadness) and had been enjoying the opportunity to be a bit more decadent. I was living with my parents having sold our shared house, still working out what my next move should be with regard to living.

There’s some lovely photos of us relaxing by a campfire at that festival, probably burdened by a little too much cider and mead I had my head in your lap half-dozing whilst a friend played guitar, you were idly stroking my beard. I remember feeling unfeasibly excited and impatient for your arrival — I always got to things early, you and your Dad were always late!

Fast forward a week or two and we were to coincide at another festival — your Dad’s tent was knackered, he practically insisted you share my big tent, whilst I agreed to take and set up my spare tent for him. It turned out years in a garage had rendered it less than robust to the weather — and this festival certainly had some of that! I was at the festival the night before, I got absolutely smashed — but was up and again the next morning impatiently awaiting your arrival.

We had a great day and it was that first night that I kissed you. I really don’t know what got into me, but you kissed me back. We stopped, you were in an unhappy relationship, I didn’t want to be that guy, we talked instead. We both confirmed we loved each other, I expressed doubt about our age difference, the distance, the fact you couldn’t drive — all the barriers. I’m not sure what conclusions we drew other than that you clearly needed to have a fair and equitable conversation with your boyfriend before we could consider doing anything further.

The weekend was amazing, though. Knowing I was part of a choice equation was tough and I felt guilty for initiating something that I now know would repeat itself in my own future, but felt that at least we’d not gone on to sleep together and agreed that we needed to consider other people involved. We had a Sunday Dinner in the festival, got soaked and frozen in the rain and hibernated in the tent in onesies, as well as dancing like loons to music.

You and your Dad even popped to my parents (where I was living) for a cup of tea on the way back from the festival, as you’d got a tattoo appointment afterwards so were coming back later in the day. You’d been talking to the tattoo artist about your dilemma, you were thinking hard about the right thing to do — as was I. Friends encouraged us — the spark between us obvious to all of them before it was to us. We arranged to go on a ‘date’ to the zoo on the first day of the next month.

You caught the train up to the station near my folks, I picked you up — I won’t lie, I felt ecstatic to see you. We went to the zoo, we had a great day — we’d developed some in-jokes about certain animals prompted by songs that musicians we loved had written. We posted a lot on Facebook. It felt a little bit like being on a soap opera as friends were tracking our day with giddy excitement just as we were.

At some point, near the Gorilla enclosure, I asked how your thought process was going and whether you wanted to see if we could take things to the next level. You agreed. I was thrilled.

I do hope that you let your ex-boyfriend down gently — let’s call him John. You said that he’d not been interested in your burgeoning passion for live music, and had been resentful of you for it and borderline controlling. You never had much nice to say about him, and whilst I bore him no malice I didn’t really give it much further thought, I find myself now feeling much more empathy for him.

Our relationship was like a saccharine fairytale, we had more festivals and gigs — people celebrated our happiness with us, it was wonderful. Underpinning that my family disapproved massively, and that was and continued to be a difficulty we’d butt against a number of times.

I used to write about things we’d attended on a blog, you used to take photos which I’d pinch to augment my writing. We were a team!

Nearly every weekend you’d come up by train on a Friday— sometimes near to my work, sometimes near to the house. I bought you a railcard to make it cheaper. I’d drive you home on the Sunday, it was a long drive but felt like nothing. I’ve done that drive hundreds of times now, I’ve learned every route — it still doesn’t feel too far to be reunited with you.

Your family were (and are) wonderful. Your Dad was instrumental in us getting together, he claimed to have seen it coming and approved. I met your Mum and Step-dad and other family at your Aunty’s wedding, you were a bridesmaid and looked stunning, I came for the evening do — I felt so nervous, I picked a shirt that matched your dress. Your family were so welcoming — it still warms my heart now. I am nearly the same age as your Mum, I’ll always love her for not jumping to horrible conclusions given our age gap.

We sent each other silly notes or trinkets, we went to see gigs, animal themed places. We were always excited to see each other, even if we didn’t have particular plans — although we usually did, whether it be friends running music events in parks, we even gatecrashed another friends’ holiday. I was really careful not to push our intimacy too far — I think it was on that holiday we first actually had sex.

When we met you worked in a restaurant, and you were planning to get your driving test sorted. That would make our ability to see each other much easier. Subsequently work became tricky, you had no job for a while when we first became ‘official’, later you worked at a t-shirt place, and I guess on reflection that sowed the seeds of the financial disparity between us. One of the first things you challenged be on was me insisting on paying for us to go to the zoo. I wasn’t trying to seek control, just mindful that I was earning and you weren’t.

It’s something that kind of became a bit of a habit in our relationship though, and I think I’m partly to blame for that — maybe we needed to redraw those boundaries once you’d started earning again. I won’t deny that occasionally I would resent it, but I couldn’t find the best way to address it and didn’t, so definitely that aspect of things is probably mostly on me. I worried that not having the bill worries I do that you were financially quite irresponsible, you subscribed to anything at the drop of a hat — Netflix, Amazon Prime, Spotify, god knows what else.. I shouldn’t complain to be fair as even now (for now) I’m sharing your logins.

I used to joke that you couldn’t move in with me before you could drive and had a job up here. It was a joke, although with a bit of seriousness. I think you took it as a doctrine and I could’ve done better at clarifying that. I’m not very good at serious and maybe it was my way of saying that you needed to have a bit of independence in being able to get around and financial independence, as well as being able to contribute to getting around and funding our activities.

I still worry about that now. It’s hard to imagine you coping in the ‘real world’ with financial and organisational responsibilities for running a home, car etc. Maybe I too readily accepted that since I’ve done a reasonable job at this that it wouldn’t matter if we ended up properly together. Or just couldn’t find a way to discuss it without you getting upset. I’m really not sure. But I worried. I worried that if we grew old together and you outlived me how you’d cope.

I worried and I never said anything. You used to get really angry with me if I made a quip that it was likely that I’d die before you. I just couldn’t find the way to gently suggest that you could perhaps be a little more fiscally prudent — I probably should have done. I instead focused on things I could help you with, I helped you rewrite your CV, we talked about the future. We had a slight disconnect when it came to having children — I didn’t want them, you hadn’t closed off the idea, although you’d had complications in that area in the past which means that it might not be an option anyway.

My fairly established stance on this — on reflection — must have felt like a brick wall as it’s not something that came up again. In some respects we were brilliant at being open and transparent with each other — in other respects we were not. We used to mess around with each other’s phones all the time. I’ve started talking about back of mind things openly, these weren’t things that constantly occupied my mind, that was all the happy things. I adored spending time with you, talking to you. I was happy, I think you were too.

I don’t want it to sound like I was fixating on money type stuff — I wasn’t really, but I was just worried that you weren’t very well prepared for real life. I should arguably have been better at trying to help with that preparation.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this foray into memory lane — when we got to know each other and grew into a couple will undoubtedly be one of the genuinely happiest times I’ll experience, and I think back fondly on it. I’m sure a lot of the less positive addenda I’ve added are coloured by the benefit of hindsight. We took joy in each other’s company, we had amazing intimacy — fantastic sex — and were part of a bigger community of shared interests. Real halcyon days.

But I guess the ‘fun’ side that was consuming 99% of my mind back then was built upon some real concerns too. They probably didn’t feature much in my thoughts at all — hindsight is an amazing thing — I was mindful you were young, and it’s quite appropriate that you didn’t have a ‘grand plan’ just yet for the future in terms of career etc. And I let it slide, and now you’re at an age where you should have some kind of life plan. Ironically you kind of do now, which gives me heart. You’re qualified and set for a career that should always be in demand.

Anyway, I’ve waffled on for long enough now, I’m not sure how I’m going to structure or theme these letters going forward, how often I’ll write them or — well — anything really. I’ve really enjoyed thinking back fondly to happier times though. We were happy, and we were in love.

I still love you now, although I can’t see right now a way that we could ever have a future together beyond friendship. I don’t think that you have the emotional maturity yet for us to even maintain that. But never say never.

I love you, Alexandra.

With love, Bert.