She wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer
When I was a student at Oxford I went to a gig and hooked up with the singer in the support band. He lived in London or in various transit vans when on the road. After a short time it became clear that his rock and roll life was not compatible with seeing a starry-eyed humanities undergraduate and we eventually had a summit meeting in a Soho pub during which I think he tried to finish with me. I sobbed throughout, missing most of the vital information other than, “No one’s actually dumping anyone” and “We’re not splitting up, per se”. We spent that night together which I took as 100%, solid gold, incontrovertible truth that our love was as strong as ever.
Of course, that was not so. He went back on the road and then moved house without leaving a forwarding address or telephone number for me, so making it very difficult to sustain our relationship (the idea of which obviously existed mostly in my head). This was a time before email and cell phones were commonly in use, so I looked up the number of his father’s business (which handily kept his unsigned band habit afloat) and wrote to the errant boyfriend via his father’s address. Evidently impressed by my cojones, he made contact 6 months later. I was so overjoyed that we got back together – for a brief period. However, at least the second time that he ended it, he told me to my face.
Anne, 34, London
