On a cold February evening, Chris came to Hampstead to pick up me and my suitcase. Julian, the man I loved, was storing another, heavier one, which I didn’t want to cart around at this point. (I’ll explain that particular relationship later.)
My Life Coach-to-be then accompanied me to my favourite local pub for a beer and some sad goodbyes in the glow of a lively fire – and led me to Wimbledon. As we sat in the tube, I glanced sideways at him and suddenly realized what I was doing – shacking up with a man I knew very little about.
Had my tendency to be trusting and spontaneous finally betrayed me? Perhaps, I imagined wildly, behind closed doors he would transform into a tyrant who expected me to scrub and clean the house for him, run his bath, wash his socks, iron his clothes, and serve him tea five times a day.
After all, I was going to be totally beholden to him for generously putting me up before I left London to start my life all over again. The best word to describe my situation was vulnerable.
