Things are hotting up: two dates in one day

Two years ago today, we sat our children down at the kitchen table and I delivered the bombshell that was to blow up their lives. “Mum and Dad are splitting up.” Time stood still. Their faces crumbled in slow motion. I’d released a wrecking ball and, in just six words, smashed their lives to smithereens. Delayed shock on small faces, they curled into our laps like the toddlers they once were many moons ago. Everything felt heavy – like a woollen coat caught in the rain.

When I travelled to LA for a holiday with a girlfriend two weeks ago, for the first time I’d wake up astonished to discover I didn’t feel like crying. It’s easy to forget everything on vacation, nevertheless it was a relief to have some respite from the knot in my stomach and the high-pitched fizz inside my head that follows me around like an irritating mosquito. It’s time for a new coat: something lighter, something brighter, I realise. The rain-drenched wool look no longer suits me and I should probably bin the thing and move on.

But moving on isn’t easy, and I’m not entirely sure what I thought might happen in the days, weeks and months that followed the wrecking ball scene in our spring kitchen. One minute we were all bright colours and happy hues; the next we were a family fading to grey in an unopened photo album. Two or three children and a husband is all I ever wanted; it was unimaginable to me that my marriage would end. But it did, and I am only just coming to terms with a new world order. There’s been so much to mourn and many losses to count, but as time passes, sparkles of golden joy are undeniably visible among the ashes.

There are wins to celebrate, such as getting to know my children better than ever. Two years ago, I worked full pelt in a corporate job. I’d struggle home through rush-hour traffic or on packed Tubes every evening, only to see my children for 10 minutes before putting them to bed. Two years on – for their sakes, mostly – I’ve reworked “work” to fit around my kids. I earn far less, but I’m able to do school pick-ups three times a week and I’m infinitely more involved in their lives than I ever was. They may only live with me for part of the week, but we are closer, and my understanding of their needs is as deep as it was back when they were two weeks old – back when all you had was instinct and no sleep.

Being a parent is an act of intuition, no matter how old the child. The more present you are, the more able you are to tune in and listen to the chorus of their lives. Time is passing fast, and with it so the pain of leaving gently subsides. But still, there are no plans to discuss dating in front of my kids, as I have zero desire to become sexualised in their eyes. I’m just their mum, a comedy boomer who requires huge reading glasses just to read a text. That’s fine by me; I’ll take that role. The “boyfriend” word is never mentioned in our home, apart from the other day when the youngest child suggested I “date Justin Bieber”, which made me laugh, but also took me aback. Wait, so I’m allowed to date, but only famous pop stars?

If I were to meet someone and fall in love again, I would struggle to introduce my children to a partner. I’m never saying never, but I’m amazed at how quickly, easily and seamlessly recently separated men and women are able to introduce their children to a new love. A friend who’s been dating her boyfriend for just over three months has already introduced their same-age sons. I just couldn’t do it. Although if Justin Bieber asked me to “go steady”, I’d probably have to bring him home, for fear of reprisals.

I very much doubt I’ll date a pop star at this stage in life, but the LA actor I mentioned in last week’s column is “in town”, as Hollywood might say. He’s here for six months to film another episode of a well-known series.(One I’m never going to tell you the name of!)

As soon as he landed, a message asking to meet up flashed on my phone. Whoa – could I blend a holiday flirt into real life? My real life is batch-cooking packed lunches, and sorting out school uniforms between two houses.

Real life aside, when you only have your children for 50 per cent of the time, there are entire weekends and evenings free. So, last Saturday, we arranged to meet near Hyde Park so he could join me for a dog walk. I’d left my house late, as per usual, and needed a drink (non-alcoholic for a change). I dashed into a nearby shop, leaving him on the street holding the lead. Running down the aisle, trying to find the fridges, I imagined my dog deciding to poop right at that moment. No famous actor from LA needs to be papped scooping up poop in Notting Hill. Daytime dating anxiety: amazing where the mind can wander.

After a long walk, we went to one of my favourite pubs and sat in the sunshine drinking pints. People gawped, but my hair does match my ginger dog, which often raises a laugh and a whispered comment I’m not supposed to hear. But it wasn’t us they were looking at this time – it was him.

“Do you get this a lot?” I asked, putting on dark sunglasses, mildly embarrassed.

“Get what?” he replied. Of course he hadn’t noticed. Way too cool for that. It was late, and I had to leave for another date planned that evening.

I said goodbye in an uncharacteristically awkward fashion and walked home wondering if he wanted to be “just friends”. I couldn’t read him.

Arriving home at 6pm, I changed and headed out for a blind date with a man I met on Hinge the week before. Two dates in one day felt disorientating, but the second was just as much fun. He was my age and also a single parent; we had more in common, more to talk about, so I said yes to a second date.

But I’ve been here before, thinking I have lots in common with a man, when in fact all we have is the shared pain of divorce. Two wounded strangers meeting for the first time feels like the safe space you both need until the second date, when you both realise that all you have in common is… divorce. The actor is younger, never been married and without children; on paper, the single father is so much more suitable.

“I want to see you again,” wrote the actor the following day, moments after I’d agreed to a second date with Single Dad. Unsure of what to do next, I hit the heart emoji by way of reply. In the two years since that wrecking ball moment at our family kitchen table, things have changed beyond recognition. As individuals and as a unit, we will never be the same again and yet we are living proof that families can be rebuilt.

Rebuilt and better than before? Yes, I’d say so. Despite having Justin Bieber as a newly-anointed stepfather.

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