ADELE PARKS, 35, is the author of five novels. She lives in London with her son Conrad, 4, and her second husband, Jim Pride.
In the Teeside town where I come from, everybody was married forever, which is probably why, when my first husband walked out, I found it so hard to accept.
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My childhood was normal and uneventful. Dad, an engineer, was the one who established firm boundaries; mum, a receptionist, was patient and loving and always went that extra mile, probably too much so because the real world seemed very harsh once I reached it.
Andrae, my elder sister, has been happy to repeat the pattern — she is married, with three children, and lives close to where we grew up. But I was always going to move on. My total focus was on getting my O and A levels and getting out and I didn’t allow boyfriends to distract me from that. There was only one relationship in my teens and it was ridiculously innocent. We played Connect 4 and read poetry.
I was still a control freak when I got to university. I didn’t drink, or do drugs and, although I was chatty and confident, I was also slightly inaccessible. Then, in my second year, I had my first love affair. Pete was eight years older than me and savvy, but I thought I was savvy too. He told me we had to keep things quiet because he was a tutor; only after three months did I discover the real reason for his secrecy — he was living with someone else, and sleeping with at least one other student. I was heartbroken. I didn’t have the sense or the experience to know that he would be just one of many of the loves of my life.
I was working as an English teacher in Italy, when, for the first time in my life, I let myself go. I got drunk, had flings, lived for the moment. Then I came home, began a career in advertising, and fell into a relationship that should only have been a friendship. Grant and I lived together because it saved paying two lots of rent, but economically driven relationships are rarely healthy.
At 24, I met Simon. Within a week, I had decided he was the man I was going to marry. He was solid. He had five-year plans. He seemed to be as independent and energetic as I was. I thought we were a good match, but looking back I can see that I muted several aspects of my personality to make us compatible. The most fundamental difference between us was that he didn’t read books. While I was with Simon, reading became a solitary passion. We were good at talking about practical things, but we never had the big conversations I craved.
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It was when we had Conrad that the cracks showed. I was no longer a superfantabulous career woman, but a mum at home. Having a beautiful, healthy baby didn’t bring us together, it did the absolute opposite. When Conrad was 10 months old, we sat down to talk. I had planned to be sensitive, but when Simon told me he was unhappy, I snapped. He left that night. I hammered away at him, but he wouldn’t take my calls and failed to turn up to arranged meetings. There was a painful six months before I finally realised that you can’t make someone do what they don’t want to do.
We worked out the details of our divorce ourselves rather than go through lawyers. When you become a parent you become very practical. I just wanted a happy, calm home for Conrad. Learning to be kind to Simon took some doing, but I am glad we are in a comfortable place now. I still love him — he was a huge part of my life for seven years — and I’m glad that, although we couldn’t make each other happy, we remain friends.
Six months after Simon left, I met Jim, a 32-year-old marketing director. He jokes that he’s a honed version of Simon, but actually he is my soul mate. We married in May. So it is a happy ending, although, of course, I am aware now that happy endings are entirely dependent on where you finish the story.
Still Thinking of You by Adele Parks, Penguin, £6.99